The Ouija Board
In Holmewood a quiet mining village in North Derbyshire
where the terraced houses were still owned by the mine.
There lived a young ex-miner with his wife and children,
and Dennis the father hadn’t worked for sometime.
Concrete floors were laid downstairs because of subsidence,
they had no curtains, carpets, television, or hi-fi.
All their money went on rent, food, and paying bills,
Vera was unhappy, but Dennis couldn’t understand why.
She wanted to move away from the village to Derby,
where opportunities knocked on every ones door.
But Dennis was accustomed to the hardships of mining
and moving away didn’t have the same draw.
He always persuaded Vera that things would get better
and a kiss and cuddle covered his incompetence.
All his ex-miner cronies were in the same boat,
and working for a living to him made no sense.
He’d become lazy and didn’t want the hassle of a new life
unlike many ex-miners who had moved to pastures new.
Many of the young families who rented their houses
were tied to the mine and didn’t know what else to do.
At the end of the main street was the village’s nearest pit,
and on any shift any miner could die.
Throughout the years many men had lost their lives,
and their bodies in the cemetery lie.
The miners’ widows very often came to see Vera
to ask if she would make contact with their dead.
She felt for the community and turned no one away,
and their gratitude helped to pay for the bread.
One night she would organise six people to be together,
in the unlit empty room at the top of the stairs.
Carrying a lit candle, an empty glass and Ouija board,
she would arrange the table and six fold down chairs.
The home made Ouija board lay flat on the table
and in the middle was the upturned glass.
As everyone placed their index finger on the top of it,
Vera whispered for silence for what was about to pass.
They waited whist the candle flame danced and flickered,
again she whispered, “Is anyone there? ”
As the glass moved to letters on the board’s pencilled alphabet,
a confirmation brought a chill to the air.
[...] Read more
poem by Orlando Belo
Added by Poetry Lover
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