The Rocking Chair

NOTE: This is a poem I wrote a couple of years ago for a Halloween poetry contest on another website (I didn't place). I thought I'd offer some background on this little piece because it as actually near and dear to my heart. When I was in middle school (a long time ago...lol), my best friend lived in an OLD farmhouse. One Halloween, she had a slumber party and told us all a ghost story about an old couple that used to live in the house. After the story ended and we moved onto other things, we began to hear a creaking sound above us like a rocker on old wooden floorboards. My friend said that we should go up to investigate, but we were all WAY too scared (and I mean nearly to tears). She finally broke down and told us that her mother was up there waiting for us, so we finally relented and started to climb the stairs. Even though we were prepared, we were all still scared, armed only with a flashlight. We climbed the stairs into the dark cavernous attic and creeped ALL the way to the far end where there was a little nook. They had decorated the nook in spider webs. there was a little empty cot (very old looking) and her mother was dressed all in white sitting in an old rocking chair. You've never seen 5 girls run out of a room so fast in your life! AND WE KNEW! LOL

Anyhow, I didn't mean to make a short story long, but I wanted to let everyone know where the inspiration came from. Although the poem is definitely my own, the story behind it is from a night I will never forget. The reason I inserted the little "creaks" was to try to give the feel of what we heard and also to give the impression of late night ghost stories rather than just a poem.

Please enjoy! :)


{c}The Rocking Chair

Gather children and listen please,
To this tale being told on All Hallows Eve.
It happened right here in this very place,
Just up above in the attic space.

A long time ago an old man died
As his loving wife sat by his side.
They said she went crazy, “Mad as a hare”,
Rocking, rocking in her old rocking chair.

(creak, creak, creak)

She couldn’t eat
She couldn’t sleep.
She rocked for days.
She rocked for weeks.

(creak, creak, creak)

Her hair grew long and her face grew pale.
Her skin grew slack and her bones grew frail.
As cobwebs and spiders the attic filled
And still that rocker never stilled.

(creak, creak, creak)

She couldn’t eat.
She couldn’t sleep.
She rocked for days.
She rocked for weeks.

(creak, creak, creak)

Until one day when she met her mate
Her growing madness had sealed her fate.
They found her sitting in that rocking chair.
With her mouth hanging open and a wide-eyed stare.

And from that day forward, so the story goes,
On All Hallows Eve at the midnight stroke,
If you listen real closely, you can still barely hear
The old lady rocking in her old rocking chair.

CREAK, CREAK, CREAK

(Written October 6, 2005)