Creative Corner- ‘Supernatural’ Showcase

A collection of poetry on the theme of 'The Supernatural'.

In light of recent spooky holidays *cough cough Halloween* this months showcase focuses on the macabre, unearthly and most of all The Supernatural!

Witching Hour


This existence as a fatigued ghost-

each waking moment

an aching darkness.


Lauren Winson




I tiptoe through the graveyard of souls

Of runaway hearts

And runaway ghosts

Statues of ivory angels

Dart in and out of trees

Frozen, always fleeing

Some praying on their knees.

Silver teardrops

Gather in her blinded gaze

Stony, unseeing

Forever stranded in this state.

On a sea of graves

She is forever thrown

Searching, always searching

For her dead love

Among the depths

Of the unknown-

She reaches out a desperate hand

But I flee far away

As the church bell tolls

My eyes then close

And I finally reawake.


Esther Kearney


The Witching Hour


Lost souls whisper their last goodbyes

As spirits tread the earth under starless skies,

In the darkness I’ve wandered far and wide,

Lost in tunnels of light as our hearts collide.

Memories haunt me as darkness falls,

But somehow, somewhere your heart still calls,

Your love echoes at night through these darkened halls,

Seeping through the cracks in these starlit walls.


You’re a fire inside the earth, bursting up,

Swelling and breaking through its burning crust,

You consume me; I’m whispering words of love,

But in the moonlight I crumble and turn to dust.


Irfan Chowdhury




Outside the glass of the window pane, I hear the voice of a frail

Ghost who left me long to shame. Her hand stretched out of the long thin vast

Night sky; got caught on its old remains….

As snow falls it cracks and flickers

on the stone brick walls

Turned frosty- bitten, her voice (she calls) it’s written, on, my

Scars…. Scared of a shiver, steadily she goes

Stolen from me, watch me now implode and

Go, shrink down: so there is nothing left

Not even the remains of the bear and bereft; unfree…. The theft of

Love was ours to remember

Hold dearly, half forgotten, in the days of December.

My darling, my heart, why aren’t you there?

Not even a trace of your brown curled hair

Can I hold in my fingers once more…

The wind it howled, at us, aggrieved:

It longed for the things that once had been.

So lie on the heath, lie on our rock- not up in the air, on our dreams that were

Not. In my piercing scream… you don’t believe; the

Unholy grails of our divided dream.

Take me back to the days when you were only with

Me: not drifting a further on this cold snowed breeze.

Meet me here (again) for I know we will;

Two figures (now ghosts) on our castle hill.


Olivia Morel


Fate & Dance


It has ended now.

I am fully grown.

We are moving on,

moving on.


But I hate the change,

I hate the way the wind will blow.

I dislike the road,

dislike the misted over hills.


I wish I could learn,

see the map drawn by the fates,

see the way the feet will fall,

here on moving on.


Instead, I see the dancers feet

and the shadow of fates cloak

and live with the pressing truth

that I will never know.


Holly Wilson



To get your work featured, send your submissions to, or message Esther Kearney via Facebook.

Featured image courtesy of Georgia Butcher.

Image 1 courtesy of Neil Tackaberry, image 2 courtesy of Petras Gagilas , image 3 courtesy of CLAUDIA DEA, image 4 courtesy of NIKOS karakasidis and image 5 courtesy of dydcheung via Flickr. 

Image use licence here.

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