on the seventeenth floor

he first saw her in the dark corridor
down from his room on the seventeenth floor,
a carriage dress of black and gray,
a hat and gloves from yesterday.
she motioned towards him, bade him come,
he took a timid step or two,
then watched as hall light she moved from
and mystery her shadow threw.

steps forward then he chanced to take,
the silence soon he chanced to break,
‘miss, pardon but i must confess,
you wear a most uncommon dress,
i don’t believe i’ve seen you here,
around this old hotel before,
perhaps you’d humor me, my dear,
and let me walk you to your doorɉ۪

at this the lady smiled and turned,
and laughter soft the man discerned,
and watched as carriage dress and hat
and gloves and lady just like that
became as one with hallway wall,
and not a trace or sign was there,
of ghostly lady in the hall,
just but a hint of perfumed air.

the man could scarce believe his eyes,
trembling, slow to realize,
the lady he was speaking to,
had vanished then and this be true -
that corridors of old hotels
sometimes hold more than meets the eye,
and this hotel, the story tells,
of a lady dressed from days gone by:

a lady in a carriage dress,
was by herself but nonetheless,
sensed company across the hall,
a man along the darkened wall,
she raised her hand to beckon him,
the lonely lady by herself,
the man dressed strange, in light so dim,
began to move towards her himself.

he asked if he could walk with her,
unto her door, the gentle sir,
she turned and smiled and walked a bit,
a laugh the lady did admit,
but turning round to face him then,
she saw instead an empty wall,
how to explain what happens when,
a body fades in darkened hall?

the lady scarce believed her eyes,
trembling, slow to realize,
the man that she was speaking to,
had vanished then and this be true -
that corridors of old hotels
sometimes hold more than meets the eye,
and this hotel, the story tells,
of two fair ghosts from days gone by.

hmm…so i was going for something kind of mysterious and Poe-like.

swing and a miss, i reckon.

back to the drawing board…

Hi rainey, I wouldn’t take it back to the drawing board; just to the cutting table. I am a strict rhyme and rhythm person. If it were my poem I would just tighten that up. For instance:

he saw her in the corridor
in dim light, on the seventeeth floor [(from his room) would also work if you didn’ need to convey the darkness]

she motioned to him, bade him come,

Once I had the first stanza established I would fight to carry the same rhyme and rhythm pattern throughout.

Interestingly enough, the rhyme and rhythm of the poem were the only aspects of it that I thought were good - I enjoyed them, and for me the poem flew well. The content however . . . I’ll leave at that, . . .