Guest Poem by Alison Chisholm

Alison Chisholm is an award-winning poet, tutor, speaker and adjudicator. She is a poetry columnist for Writing Magazine and wrote the distance learning course in poetry for The Writers Bureau. She has led courses at major writing conferences and events throughout the UK and overseas. Seven of her collections have been published by commercial publishers, but she prefers the artistic freedom of self-publication, and has published five collections independently. This poem is from Acumen 107.

Intrusion

The house is drifting into moon’s dim light.
The television’s off and no lamps glow.
I’m listening to sounds that stir the night.

The carriage clock ticks quietly, there’s a slight
persistent shush where rustling breezes blow.
The house is drifting into moon’s dim light.

A creak from cooling radiators might
drown out the scurry of a mouse – but no,
I’m listening to sounds that stir the night,

and there’s some movement, footsteps on a flight
of stairs that should be empty – stealthy, slow.
The house is drifting into moon’s dim light,

but I am wide awake. With doors shut tight
and windows locked, I should be safe, I know.
I’m listening to sounds that stir the night,

and in the blackness someone’s there. The fright
chokes down my scream as fear and panic grow.
The house is drifting into moon’s dim light.
I’m terrified by sounds that stir the night.