The Lighthouse Keeper

by Cordy Walker
Lighthouse at Stora Bält

Anton Melbye, “Lighthouse at Stora Bält” (1846)

The Lighthouse Keeper

“Creak” go the floorboards
Under harsh, dirty feet,
In weathered old boots,
Far from clean and from neat.

A scruffy white beard,
Untamed and unkempt,
Crusted with salt,
And from years of neglect.

The tides crash violent
On the rocks down below,
Where the dark foamy waters
In a salty mist blow.

A beacon of light,
From the tower does shine,
A warning to sailors,
To keep them from brine.

In this tall, sturdy house
Lay an old, wrinkled sleeper;
A lonely old man,
Whom we call the lighthouse keeper.

I know of no name,
But that he there was bound,
Till the night he was freed,
And the night there I drowned.


Elizabeth in the Bushes

“Mommy what’s in the bushes,”
Little Anne Bersinger said.
There they found Elizabeth Short,
Frightfully pale and dead.

A Wednesday afternoon,
Was when her body was found;
Ghostly white as a mannequin,
Not a drop of blood on the ground.

A permanent, grotesque smile,
Scarred across her face;
At South Norton Avenue,
That there was the place.

Poor Elizabeth Short,
Her body was split in two;
A beautiful black dahlia,
Whose death was early due.


The Deaths Of Cielo Drive

Red painted Ramblers out on the drive,
Slumping cold and quiet.
Bloody lawns and finger-print buttons,
Silence before the riot.
Barking dogs and hysterical maids,
A crimson house well kept.
Early stopped hearts wrapped in a bow,
Strewn about a pampered crypt.
Quite a scene found by police,
A body count of five.
The outcome of a dreadful night,
The deaths of Cielo Drive.

About the author

Cordy Walker (he/they) is a queer, disabled student and poet from California who plans to study film. He has been immersed in the arts all his life, being involved in theatre, writing, and creating since early childhood. His favorite show is The Twilight Zone and his favorite poet is Richard Siken. Cordy’s blog on Medium is @cordywalker17.

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