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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The Rocking Chair That Keeps… Up in the attic, there’s something or someone that keeps creating an eerie, dreary air: for the darkness is greedy as it smothers a world of mystery, a century of family history, all boxed and cased in a crust of rust and dust! Pictures of Dad as a sprightly lad, Gran with no wrinkle, just a youthful twinkle and bits of me bagged and forgotten. However, it is the empty, rocking chair that reaches out with a squeeze of….. unease. Yes, up in the attic, there’s something or someone that offers, a bite of fright and a dreaded dare: as pipes snake into secret, cobwebbed lairs and wooden beams stream like overhead train lines while the excitement of discovery hides in the past. But it is the empty, rocking chair that grips and grabs at my attention as I sense ‘something’ harbouring its wooden frame. Oh yes, up in the attic, there’s something or someone that keeps, nudging and grudging with a gloomed glare: the room suddenly trembles, my heart holds tight but it’s only the wind galloping by at night. Immediately a watery giggle, gurgles the length of a pipe increasing my midgets of fidgets. I turn and an aged mirror offers a face of fear but I breathe again – for it has only borrowed mine. Up in the attic, there’s definitely something or someone that keeps, me uneasy, even queasy, each time I am there: for the darkness is greedy as it smothers a world of mystery, a century of family history, all boxed and cased in a crust of rust and dust! But now…. something far more shocking, a lone rocking chair that keeps.…rocking! Ian Souter 2025
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