In February 2005 Primary Six used Walter De La Mare's poem The Listeners as a model for writing poems of their own. We were trying to build up atmosphere. Please add comments to let us know what you think.
“Is there somebody there?” said the traveller.
Knocking on the big, black door.
And the moonlight shattered the darkness,
And lit up the forest’s floor.
And in the silence the trees swayed slowly.
Their trunks gnarled and old.
Beside the statues stood whispering,
About this man quite foolish but bold.
Inside the house stood ghosts,
Of people that lived there before.
But after the terrible accident,
They could live no more.
The traveller was now in a rage.
He put his hat on his head.
He climbed upon his horse,
“ I came, I waited but you broke your promise,” he said.
The ghostly figures listened.
To the traveller who’d waited a long time.
They also listened to his horse,
Trotting through the forest of pine.
the night of mystery
`I am back from my journey where are you?’
Asked the traveller tapping on the moonlit door
And tawittawoo was his answer as an owl soared out the trees.
He rapped on the door a second time and said
‘Where are you?
But all that he heard was a howl,
No one answered to his plea.
No creaking of an opening door.
The 1 thing left to see;
A small light coming from the window.
The 1 thing left to hear;
the crunching of footsteps on stone,
so the traveller tuned to see;
A statue staring back at him,
With eyes made out of gems.
He banged on the door again and said,
'Is there any body there?'
But still there was no one to hear him .
No one to answer the door ,
Except for the 1 thing,
A poltergeist bobbing around but not making a sound.
Then the traveller said,
'Tell them my journey was smooth but was spoiled for you not being in.'
‘You said you would be here’ said the traveller.
Knocking on the wooden shed.
And an owl flew out of the window in the silence of the night.
And he saw the dead leaves lying on the woods weedy floor.
And he heard his foot steps on the gravel as he shuffled up to the door.
All was quite that night
That night he knocked on the door
What he heard that night was the whistling of the wind so cold.
What he could see that night was the old and tattered door.
Then suddenly he shouted,
‘Tell them I came and will return’.
Phantoms in hiding
“It’s me,” muttered the traveller
Chapping on the mossy door.
And the gargoyles gazed down at the man
They had surely saw before…
The Ivy crept up the eerie house
As the clouds fell across the full moon.
The owls are hooting, the traveller is worrying
His horse will be back soon.
“Do hurry up,” moaned the traveller
“Please can you let me in”?
“There are spiders and cobwebs, whispers and murmurs
Something’s rattling inside that bin…
Oh you will not guess what was inside the bin
Something the man didn’t know.
It was a group of ghastly phantoms
That wanted him to go…
They tapped and tapped till their feet were sore
Trying to make a din.
But it was no use and so the head ghost
Flew out of the grey, smelly bin.
“Go away “droaned the phantom
“Your not wanted here”
And the traveller fell back in shock
“Quickly the traveller whimpered in terror and in fear…
Are You In Here ?
Are you in here? Whispered the traveller,
Rattling on the corroding door.
And the stretching shadows of the swaying trees
Moaned to the dark eyes of the ghostly wolves.
And a bat fluttered out of the cracked pane,
Clipping the traveller with its leathery wing.
And he kicked upon the damp, dusty door.
Are you in here? He spake louder this time,
But no peering eyes from beyond the door were seen,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a herd of ghastly souls
That dwelt behind the cracked walls,
were listening in the shattering moonlight
To that chant from a distant world.
Stuart .. P ..
The Traveller Mystery
UNLOCK THE DOOR I SAY SAID THE TRAVELLER,
WHEN THE MOON POLISHED GROUND SHOOK.
THEN THE LIGHTNING BROKE OUT,
THE DOOR SUDDENLY CREAKED OPEN .
THE OWL SWOOSHED OUT OF THE PINE TREES,
THEN THE CROW SQUAWKED OUT OF THE BROKEN TURRET.
THEN THERE WAS NOTHING THERE WAS NO OWLS CROWS BATS OR,
HOUSE NOT EVEN THE TRAVELLER OR,
HIS HORSE NO FOREST OR,
MOON NO STARS NO DARKNESS OR CREATURES.
I 've brought it he shouted rattling
on the old ragged door.
And he heard the squeaking of the bat
flittering above his head.
And the echo of the owl flying above
He heard the gate creaking as he walked
on the gravely path.
And he saw the stretching shadows
of the trees waving above his head.
He saw the shinning moonbeam
scattered on the moonlit door.
And he heard the the bang of the door when
slowly turning his head.
He saw the shadows of the bats going
round and round his head.
Tell them I came and I brought the money
that I kept my word he whispered.
'I have returned,' said the traveller,
Banging on the wooden door.
And he scuttled up the moonlight floor,
Where and owl glided over the shadowy trees.
And ivy grows up the stoney wall,
Where the window creaks open
And a shadow peaks through.
When the Traveller knocked once again,
when there is no answer and no call.
He's there confused and sleepy,
Where the phantom listeners dwell in the lone house.
when the howl of the wolfs echoes,
where the moonbeams shined on the wolfs grey eyes.
Where the horse is cropping the ferny grass.
'Tell him returned' and no one replied,
'That i kept my secret', he said.
Is there any one home cried the traveller
Kicking the old inn door,
And the wolves howl
Echo’s in the distance.
His footsteps where rustling
Among the dead leaves,
And mice where shuffling
Around the forests ferny floor.
All you could hear
Was the horse champing champing champing,
And walking up the path
Shuffling to the old inn door.
The shadow of the gravestone
Stretched in the moonlights beam.
I came banging on the door
Ill be back he shouted.
THE WEIRD NIGHT
Open this door or I will get my horse screamed the traveller,
Knocking on the barred window.
And the owl flew high and hooted loud,
As the wolfs howl rose though the whistling wind.
And the scudderling bat flew screeching though the sky.
And the statue fell and cracked as the owls landed on it.
Meet me hear tomorrow and bring your pistol too.
“It’s me” muttered the traveller
Walking up the mouldy path.
And the rain tapping quietly
As the red paints peeling off.
The traveller got to the door
And heavy rain is starting to pour.
The sunflowers are dying
And weeds are shooting through.
Mossy statues eyes are chasing him up the mouldy path.
And mice are scampering around.
The door knockers falling off
And murmuring in the distance is getting closer.
“Tell them I came and you chickened out”
laughed the traveller.
As he left the worn out garden.