Over‑Shoulder Weather
I have walked the length of my sentence
long after the gates unlatched,
counting the gravel underfoot
as if each stone might still accuse.
The years have grown moss over my name,
but transgression carved into memory’s vestibule
means there is always one chair turned away,
its back carved with the shape of my absence.
I have mended the fence,
stitched the torn sleeve,
poured water into the roots I once scorched—
but the wind still carries
a syllable I cannot unhear.
So I move,
but not without the weight of glancing—
a pilgrim with a mirror in his pack,
catching the ghost of my own retreat.
And forward is a road
that keeps folding back on itself,
a loop of weathered timber and rain‑dark stone,
where even the horizon
wears my shadow like a borrowed coat,
and the door I step through
is always the same vestibule.
.
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Comments7
Solemn, heavy with a darkness. There is a feeling of melancholy and sadness tinged with feelings of remorse. So poetically written it paints a scene covered with the ageing and darkening lacquer of an old painting. Reflections hold a wistful sadness of leaving a place one can not leave but have always been absent from. This piece is truly existential at its core. Very nicely done my friend and a fave
A truly appreciated review and heart-response, dear Soren 🕊️🙏🏻
Always my pleasure my friend
“Over-Shoulder Weather” explores themes of memory, guilt, and the inescapable nature of one’s past. The speaker reflects on their transgressions and the lasting effects of their actions, acknowledging that while they have attempted to move forward, the weight of their past continues to influence their present.
Thanks Friendship 🕊️🙏🏻
Arqios, this lingers like a ghost at your shoulder…the pilgrim with a mirror, the horizon wearing your shadow, the door that always leads back to the same vestibule. It’s haunting, relentless, and beautifully wrought. A fave, my dear friend! 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Some things haunt us relentlessly, yes. Thanks T🕊️🙏🏻
For sure! You are most welcome!
'Always one Chair turned away '. Some Wonderful lines. A fine write.
Many thanks, Kevin. Much appreciated 🕊️🙏🏻
This poem is beautifully meditative, layered with imagery of remorse, memory, and inescapable self-reflection. Nicely written.✨
Than you so much Fina🕊️🙏🏻
We must always keep walking that road Rik as the glory of life could be around the next corner or behind the next door.
Andy
Yay! Isn’t that the way, Andy! Thanks heaps🙏🏻🕊️
[There was a police officer by the name of Jack, a scruffy man whose life just seems down; He
and others have been sent to an abandoned apartment]
Top officer: Grabs walkie talkie, proceeds to speak, "four levels up apartment 4-41".
Jack: bursting into the room guns blazing "Hands on the ground!" He looks around the room
seeing many men in long robes with hands locked in a circle. In between them, there are two
children tied up, stuck in chairs.
The other officers: They all come bursting in shooting their guns. "ON THE GROUND!" Due to
confusion and many misfires, a bullet ends piercing Jack near his spine.
The next day
Pope Puis XI: Eyes open up fast and wide, gets up, and walks around the Vatican. Feeling
strange about his current situation he kneels and prays on all fours. He gets visions and has the
compulsion to travel by plane to a hospital in Britain.
Jack: Standing in a seemingly light gray void, tad bit misty, smells sad, like rainwater and decay,
he decides to walk around and finds a graveyard of relative size. Near the heart of the cemetery,
Jack spots a skeletal figure and shout "Hey! Who are you? What is this place?" The -ey- part is
was stretched out. There is no echo, he was expecting an echo. The figure seems to stands and
then vanish, turning into smoke in meer seconds. The next thing Jack knew he had a skeletal
body hanging over his back holding him to it with its hand over its mouth, head to his ear, and
back to chest.
Figure: "This tree is my domain, what brings you here?" its voice seems deteriorated, yet
feminine. "It's been so long since a soul was sent here. Some deity by the name of YHWH or
something like that declared himself the supreme ruler millennium ago and- oh it doesn't matter,
he's a hypocrite anyway." There is a pause, "You must have a rare soul... those burn up fast.
You must have skipped that conductor guy and everything... Hmm." This unnamed deity while in
contemplation does to her bemusement fails to realize the absence of its specimen.
Jack: With his heart pounding Jack wakes up seeing a mildly overweight man wearing mostly
lightweight garb made of white, possibly yellow silk and a red cape. He had a yarmulke upon his
head with short, thin hair, thin brows, and a wonky, wide nose and sunken, flabby cheekbones.
To the side of this fat man stands a skinny short woman with black hair. Jack jumps up out of his
bed "The Pope?" and cocks his head.
Women: "Yes, this is Pope Pius the XIth, he wants to pray over you" she speaks in Italian to tell
the pope that Jack is ready. "He believes you are possessed by a demon, a relatively week one
mind you, but a dangerous enough one to get the Pope involved."
Jack: Not aware of the fact he may as well be nude, only wearing an apron, decides he should
turn around said apron, then ties the ends of it to his feet, runs, then jumps out the window
using his apron as a hang glider-esk bodysuit and glides to his house. It's Beautiful to him up
there. Things start to fade again.
The figure: "Oh, you're back! I've been thinking. I believe you can be of use to me. That, and I
believe you'd rather not die. How about we find ourselves a middle ground. I want you to work
for me; to be a grim.'' The figure offer's Jack a handful of utensils. The first is a double-barrel
gas tank with flexible tubings coming out their sides, a robe, a gas mask, and a black wooden
pole with a deep rosy, almost purple crystal on top. The crystal was about the size of a balled-up
fist and cut to look like a gem you may see on a wedding ring.
Jack: Looking down at the equipment laid before him Jack first examines the gas tanks. On one
barrel (the left) reads BCU and the other (the right) reads SCU. The robe just seemed to be a
black robe. The cane had white, pale trim starting from the bottom looking like vines, or flower
stems; as you look further up the black cane the trim seems to spiral.
Figure: "These will help you, use them as tools, nothing deeper. When using the tanks make
sure you use the mask. Now grab the staff and tap twice this on the ground with it."
Jack: Jack does as instructed and wakes at the foot of his doorstep. His mind feels hazy and
feels a repeated compact slobbering on his cheek. His head perks up fast, "Sparky? Nice to see
you too." Sparky is a brown, average looking german shepherd with one black ear, one white
ear. "Let's go inside dogie. OH! Would you look at that, I need clothing." As Jack and his pet
open the door and walk into his house, the two are bombarded by the Pope and his translater
women.
Pope Puis Xi: Puis speaks to Jack in Italian, Clever ploy short-haired, male brunet, but you can't
escape God, for I am him on Earth. Puis's blank stare turns into a coy smile and maniacally
laugh.
Translator Women: Susan sighs, " He says you cleaver, but he's not one to be deterred from."
she looks down with her hand over her face. She thought when she went to work for the Vatican
she would be positively helping the world, not translating the word of some oversized man-child.
Jack: His eyes dart around his living room trying to gather what he has in his head, "Sick them
Sparky." Sarky jumps onto the Pope, biting him, with his teeth sinking into the Pope’s clavicle.
The sound of the Pope screaming in horror made Jack smirk. Jack drew his cane, he felt as if
he was losing control of his person; Jack no more, only the beast that lay inside. "Hello Pope,
The name's Jack. Jack Matter." Who we saw as Jack meer moments ago is now a
personification of something eldritch in nature. The canes crystal began to glow a deep purple,
within the crystal a white light glistened. Gas mask grue from his face. First, the filter of the
mask sticking from out of his mouth, his skin seeming to melt into the leather of the mask. Then
his eyes, oh his eyes; they seemed to fill with black tare, lids morphing into mettle, and blades of
glass spiraled from the edges, covering the center wear his eyes would previously have been.
Finally, a black nozzle extended from the nose piece and attached itself to the tanks on his
back, through a hole on the back of his cloak near his neck. He was floating there, in the middle
of the living room. All life seemed to fade from it, smoke and dust filling the room coming from
the bottom of the deep collared cloak. 'Something wrong mister Pope?' Pope was vocalized with
much punctuation 'You seemed so cooky before, now you just whimper. Let's not waste this
blood, shall we?' Jack fly's towards the man lying before him. Grasping upon tubing from the left
tank from which it sprouts from and it morphs around the thighs of Pius. Needles sink into his
bone as the Pope screams in pain for help, in Italian of course. The tube sucks out blood and
bone marrow, the needles move about the body like tapeworm, not letting a single drop be left
to waste. The left tank is full. Jack, with his right hand, taps his cane on the floor twice and
faints; All of his supernatural equipment disappears as he false unto the ground face first.
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