Best Apparitions Poems
Clinging to his pillow
Wondering
Would he ever lie beside me again
Praying
Miraculous recoveries can come to pass
Hoping
Finally sleeping, albeit brief
Succumbing
Bright light filled the room
Glowing
In the mid of night she sat before me
Comforting
Clad in the pink dress I’d bought for her burial
Speaking
“Mother, I miss you and now my husband
Dying…”
“Dear daughter, I’m watching over you
You coped when I died; you’ll survive this too
You’re not alone, I’ll make sure you get through
Just remember I’m always here for you”
Just five a.m., but the phone
Ringing
Alone, the vision gone,
Hearing
“We’re sorry, but John passed in the night”
Weeping
But feeling mom’s presence still
Encouraging
Made a move to another state
Struggling
Years passed, more obstacles, a fiancé drowned
Yearning
Tossing, turning and finally
Seeing
In the mid of night John sat before me
Comforting
“My darling, I’m watching over you
You coped when I died; you’ll survive this too
You’re not alone, I’ll make sure you get through
Just remember I’m always here for you”
Were these dreams or spiritual apparitions?
When trying to survive under adverse conditions
I feel no desire to seek “rational” explanations
*For PD's "Dreams" contest
Angels have been written about since ancient times,
No more so than in the Holy Bible.
Guardians of the gateway to
Eden, they’re perceived as spiritual beings that carry out the
Lord's will in both heaven and on Earth.
Angels tend to appear to
Prophets that get chosen for a
Purpose, which is revealed through
A sign accredited as a miracle.
Religious people believe God
Is speaking to them through Angels, but
The more modern interpretation,
Is, that other possibilities now
Offer a more scientific, yet
None-the-less miraculous
Suggestion, that Angels are aliens.
A stone bridge in the middle of a wood, static in eternity, grand in height and darkened by the growing night.
Upon it sits a man, his legs and mind yearning for the ground below. He is a good man.
His mind overthrown by rage, his cause forgotten by the rest of them, his paltry family and buried friends.
A stranger approaches from the dark to cross the stone structure, he is old and unafraid, for the hour was late.
"It is dangerous to be seated up there, do you plan to fall?"
Yes.
"What have you done?"
Done?
"Yes, what have done that is so wrong that you must fall?"
Nothing, I have done nothing.
"Then why?"
The hour is late, my mind destructive, I am alone and have succumbed to hatred.
"Hate. Is it not close to love?"
I do not know.
"Then allow me to tell you."
I will not, for you do not know me.
"Have you said your farewells?"
Farewells are not needed, why must you talk? I wish to be alone.
"I talk to you because you are here. It would be strange for me not to play the enquirer. Have you loved? Have you lived? Have you felt all emotion?"
Questions are not needed. Be on your way.
"As you wish."
The old man walks into the freshly grown darkness, until he is gone from sight, his footsteps sound no more. His questions now ever present.
A stone bridge in the middle of a wood, static in eternity, grand in height and illuminated by the growing morning.
White cars stationary on their roofs blocking rural arteries whilst severing others
Unexpected loss of vertical hold and bodily functions frozen in the failing headlights
Beautiful greenery ablaze, beside the twisted wreckage of man.
A movement shakes away broken glass and the tarmac writhes free of the terrible pictures
Running on the wide screen’s of my mind. Dripping petrol explosions and decapitation,
Gruesome pictures I dreamt up while reality passed the windscreen and
I, I sat there screaming inside.
Luminous blue and an echoing voice rouse me from that dangerous moment,
The phone weighs in once again in my hand. I’m rambling, or worse, but I get the message out
And the comfort of my task ends with the depressed red button as
The door clicks open
A familiar face brings mind of the other and I’m out into the cold darkness
Stepping slowly toward a nightmare vision that grew up in the dusk
I find her and for a second we’re back laughing and smiling. Over her shoulder I see
The groupings of people that sprung up from hedgerows, their halogen shadows
Merged with the darkness of the incident. The car is much too white.
Too strange an angle, yet there they sit
Tingling on the verge of the roaring tributary
And casually stemming the tide
When Dad
crawled through the window
a precariously hung fire escape,
creaked an alarm
allowing him to steal
the only moment
of you,
swaddled in
a murder of crows
black feather, like your mother.
You liberated a cacophony of caws
when he bared
his pinky finger;
your fist a blur of plump brownish pink.
Eyes that clutch, instead,
blood falsehoods
the glazed reflection
of his face, and
years later, are still
blue and imperfect
a white man's eyes
chipped from ice
punctuated with speckles
of silver
the lining of clouds
not the veins of mud
swamps, bark, or her
mother’s hair.
It was 1969,
my father was eighteen
when he left it all behind him,
California,
a tropical quagmire,
his proposal,
his daughter,
her grandfather's stare
more thunderous then a tribal drum,
not-my- dau-ghter-, not-my-dau-ghter - white boy, not- my- dau-ghter-ever.
his thin sinuous tendons straining
as he danced to detain
the dirty beige dodge
that was heading to Denver.
Apparitions of a Dark Mind
Some say to see an apparition inside of one's darkened and lost mind
From deep within the darkest crevices and corners may have a poetic void of mind?
I've come to realize if one could look right into their darkened eyes
That in my life, it is all so conscientious so lively and bright
As in every night, there is a finish line as like the beginning of a new race
In magnanimous moments, one's perception shall have a firm ingredient of a
well filtered life,
Most people should be earning, learning, yearning and not burning
Regardless of one's life shall there be no ugly disgrace within their mindset
I firmly have to embrace the semblance of my mind is set ideally like,
Such a soldier so I can keep moving on and never indulge a rest like
A firm and strong shoulder therefore I am going to keep holding on.
Written: 3/3/14
Theresa Marie W-C
Ghosts aren't real... to this truth I adhere
But sometimes I pee myself when apparitions appear
They're usually friendly
They tickle my belly
They also go “BOO!!!” makes me cover my rear
The rain blesses us, cleanses,
And sends water to the soil.
The plants answer on a sunny day,
Thriving and growing.
Ah to have a garden,
Where potatoes and cauliflower,
Corn and lettuce,
Tomatoes and brussel sprouts,
Florish and grow,
To reap each year.
Delicious meals at the dinner table,
Prepared carefully.
To bake fresh bread and rolls,
Pies and cakes,
A Thanksgiving blessing.
Relatives and friends gathered at the dinner table,
Together blessed and well cared for.
Brings sunshine and happiness,
On a rainy day to us all.
Author: Gwen Meyer-Erlach Schutz
WE BELONG TO HIM-nOUS LUI APPARTENONS--French Verse
Nous avons
Tellement de
Haine
Méfiance
Comment pouvons-nous
va et viens
vivant
Nous devons prier ensemble
Pour nous permettre d'aller mieux
Nous devons louer ensemble
Être une communauté que Dieu voit s'améliorer
L'adorer
Nous lui appartenons
Nous appartenons à HIm
Maintenant, maintenant
Nous devons louer ensemble
Être une communauté que Dieu voit s'améliorer
L'adorer
Nous lui appartenons
Nous appartenons à HIm
Maintenant, maintenant
tellement de
La tourmente
Pas plus
Amour durable
Rien que le péché
La gauche
Souille notre âme
Arrêtez-vous, commencez à croire
Croire, soyons dedans
Sur accord
Arrêtez-vous et adorez le Savoir
maintenant, maintenant
L'adorer
Nous lui appartenons
Nous appartenons à HIm
Nous lui appartenons
Nous lui appartenons
Nous lui appartenons, à droite
Maintenant
1/24/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2019
For generations raps, taps and table turnings were
the signs of a spirit calling; the ghoul of you trying to
deliver a message - to finish unfinished business and
sleep an everlasting slumber in the clouds above.
The presence of a loved one floated in white light,
apparitions waving at the end of a tunnel bright. Icy mists
hovered around graveyards, phantoms clawing and cawing at
sanctified earth. Spectres clinked chains with warnings dire.
Clocks stopped. Widows wore black. Families, trapped in the
amber of grief, took portraits with their beloved deceased.
A memento of the living.
Now, you just ghost me on Tinder.
night visions
when i dream of you
appear in technicolor
AP: 3rd place 2022, Honorable Mention 2022
Posted on September 21, 2022
candles
weave
a hologram
create
an apparition
in
an
empty
dark
dark
empty
room
the night
going
gone
gone
like a
ghost
random
glimpses of memory
constructs
of another
reality
floating
together
light on landscape
with distortions
of the
chaotic
bewitchment
infuatuation
becoming
a
unity of one
in
the enigmatic
floating
apparitions
morning stillness
I sit at my table
and look out the window
after rain
the sun pokes through clouds
waking dreams
We are fleeting apparitions, stepping between the threads of reality and the shadow,
Children of a twilight that never ceases, neither white nor black, but both.
Phantoms with hearts haunted by a song both dead and alive,
We are the echoes of a world that only awakens within us, oscillating ceaselessly between to be or not to be.
We, inconstant spirits, struggle in this distorted illumination,
Neither fullness nor void, but a play set upon two stages.
We parade the pestilence of doubt, sowing it like a weed,
Suffocating both daylight and darkness with our spectral fantasies.
Within each of us, a war wages in the secret conversations of cells,
A blend of angels and demons, two halves of a being in contention,
A dream too vivid to be just an illusion, too faint to be seen in broad daylight,
A guilt with two faces, an indulgent spectacle of showcasing and hiding.
Born from a syncopation, haunted by a thousand voices from past and future,
Turmoil of a sea churning between shores that refuse to receive us.
Spewed from the mouths of the void, we imprint the stamp of madness everywhere,
Filling the voids and cracks of the world with our unseen, evanescent monstruosities.
Thus, we carry our toxic charm, a filthy dance both in sunlight and in shadow,
Crushing beauty under the weight of thoughts that haunt the dark corners of the cosmos.
In every branch of our existence slithers a venomous paradox,
We are our own specters – an entire world, contaminated by the fear of being truly ourselves.