Best Ghost Story Poems
Sue and I had lost contact when we left school and the Dominican Convent,
Met up ten years later, admitted both of us foolish, each nodded consent,
Had coffee, agreed to meet often, lived in Cape Town, merely a suburb apart,
Both so involved with our families, loved our homes, the Cape so stylish and smart.
She invited me to her home for a braai with her family this coming Sunday,
The door was open, I went in, is that you Jenn, I’ve got to look good today,
Mother-in-law coming, do come up, but what took you so long coming upstairs,
I met an old man, we chatted a while, what a sweetie, said his name was Zairs
Who, she asked me in disbelief, Zairs, impossible, loved to play musical chairs,
He told me, is it your dad, Sue,you look alike, spoke of you and how he cares,
But you’ve gone pale as if you’ve seen a ghost, why are you so terribly upset,
Jenn, dad died years ago, seems he got lost, confused, but glad you two met.
Contest entry:One in Five 2 Poetry Contest
A Ghost story
Sponsor: Joseph May
Dated; 26th July 2022
THIS IS A TRUE STORY. I CAN NOT DISCUSS THE DETAILS AT THIS TIME. THE CASE IS STILL IN THE COURTS. THAT IS THE REAL PAINTING, BLOOD TEAR AND ALL. I CAN SAY THE PAINTING WAS CONFISCATED BY THE POLICE AS EVIDENCE. AS FAR AS I AM CONCERNED THEY CAN KEEP IT.
*****************************************************************
That's when the woman in the canvas,
well,
started to cry
but the tear was blood
and it made me wonder...
I think anyone would have.
I wondered. How?
How was that possible?
So I thought maybe I had blacked out...
that I had added the tear
...in a coma or a waking dream I,
I don't know but there was no paint anywhere
there were no brushes.
So I looked at the time
no minutes had passed.
The time was as it should be.
That's when...
...when I realized I had been shot...
...a stray bullet from outside.
...like you said that gang war thing
but I ask you officer,
I mean what are the odds?
What are the chances...
...chances that my blood,
that my blood would splatter like that...
perfect,
a tear on a painted canvas.
That's what scares me officer.
Not the gangs.
What scares me officer
what really scares me
is that painting.
23~10~2014
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Contest Name: Ghost Stories
OUTSIDE THE CITY
Outside the city where the pomegranates grow,
I take a silent breath and walk a little slow,
The cottage I live in is not too far away,
All covered with ivy and an open doorway;
Outside the city where the icy waters flow,
There's a hidden garden where I often go,
Having ruby red apples and bottle green pears,
All ready to eat but there's no one who cares;
Outside the city where the unearthly folks show,
I take a tiny step and talk a little low,
The cottage I came for is right in front of me,
But there are others inside where I ought to be;
Outside the city where I had died long ago,
You can hear my laughter and laugh with me also,
I'm munching merrily on the apples and pears,
While inside my cottage others enjoy the scares.
28 April 2016
For Angela Tune's "A Ghost Story" contest
A Ghost Story
"Goodnight my dear", Mother said
As I lied upon the old bunk bed
"Don't close the door"
I used to say, as she would turn to walk away
Once again she'd say "Good night"
And with one stroke, shut out the light
Night is what I’ve come to dread
So I'd slipped the covers, o'er my head
My brother, used to sleep with me
The upper bunk, is where he’d be
His mattress sagged, the bed would squeak
He’d toss and turn, then fall asleep
But now he’s gone, they say he died
They would not say the reason why
Still late at night, the bed will squeak
When the mattress sags, I dare not sleep
God is missing,
Come hither there’s whiskey, drugs, sex, twitter!
Those who bewail we’ll banish in a cage
God's vanished in thin air, it’s all the rage!
He's nowhere to be seen and hate has spread
Everywhere, questions left unanswered
North of here, in the Tropic of Cancer
Those who’d high hopes
Medicate with dope and pills
Try not to tie a rope ‘round my throat
What say ye kills pain whilst His return
Loss of life in hurricanes
I’m calling missing Gods and God Amber alert
God is missing,
Where’s thy bearded hermit
To see thus proof permit me that
or commit me, one of the two
Gone is the gothic holy ghost, poof!
Why thy existence needed most
What did in dinosaurs, where is
Alien intervention to end wars?
God is missing,
With good reason, we’re worlds apart
An adrenaline rush, O throbbing heart
This is my story of a ghost unseen
It’s what I came up with for this Halloween
We Must, respect eachother by listening
“In God We Trust!” although He is missing
night in haunted house
noisy presence in wardrobe
patch of damp in bed
indigo moonbeam
Mere mortal deeply asleep
Shadow surge on wall
Indistinct movement
Particle of existence
Memories recalled.
Melancholia
Sleeping face ignites sadness
Desolate heartache.
Shimmering shadow
Lover's shade imparts soft kiss
Indigo moment.
Yet again last night I dreamed I went to Manderley.
Again the rhododendrons perfumed the evening breeze.
I drifted through the terrace doors into the dining-room.
I found Mr. De Winter, sat in the gathering gloom.
Before him on the table, just within his reach,
Lay seven silver salvers, with a cover still on each.
“So hungry, Max?” I asked him. “Oh no!” came his reply.
“For these I have no appetite, yet each one I must try.”
“What are they, then? Do say, Dear! Are they not to your taste?”
“Oh yes, my dear! I loved them all … each in her time and place.”
“My dear, are you unhappy? Why do you feel so sad?
You’re home now, in the place you love. How can that be bad?”
“It is just what you see, Dear, that fills me with despair.
Those dishes on the table, and what is hidden there.
“Each one contains a human soul, of some-one that I wronged.
I must consume them all, or else they will consume my own.”
“If that is so, then eat them, for you cannot hurt them now.
They are all dead, and can’t be harmed, so save yourself somehow!”
“You’re right, my dear,” my husband sighed, “This thing I have to do.
I am so very sorry for the pain I brought to you!”
“It is not pain, it’s love I feel.” I murmured in reply,
But he had started eating, so I left him with a sigh.
And yet I hid behind the door, and watched him as he ate:
Upon his face, a secret smile each time he cleared a plate.
He worked his way from soul to soul, all seven in a line:
But when he reached the final one, I screamed …
That soul was mine!
....................................................
Very loosely based on “Rebecca” by Daphne Du Maurier.
Entry for Joe Flach's "Twisted Minds" contest
While on a holiday hike in the Aravalli hills in Rajasthan,
I stopped by a palatial house shining in the summer sun,
curious, through the half-closed door I entered silently
the dark front room where old furniture pile I could see.
In the eerie stillness before I could call out, “anybody in”,
behind me the heavy door suddenly closed sharply creakin’,
I pressed the panic button within the alarmed mind,
with all the doors closed the way out I couldn’t find.
As the feeling of being trapped flowed in cold sweat creepy,
I saw a faint figure walk in the hallway ominously misty,
he came in the sinister room as if floating in air all the way,
his scarred deformed face I saw before he turned it away.
As he came near I wailed scared, “I entered, I’m sorry”,
“I should go out, please help, open the door for me”.
Icy eyes looked at me, but a single word he didn’t say,
toward the door in a slow gliding stride I found him stray.
How he opened so softly the huge door I didn’t know,
I rushed outside in a heartbeat in the flood of sunglow,
I got my breath back and looked back to say “thank you”,
but the door was closed and the man was out of my view.
On my query in the nearby village about that man I was told,
I met a ghost living there, the house of the dead it was called,
for in the accidental fire that gutted the outhouse in a breath
some two years ago, the lone caretaker was burnt to death.
December 28, 2021
Edited : January 10, 2022
Contest : A Ghost Story
Sponsor : Angela Tune
I met a strange man walking through the cemetery
He said, “Hey, If you’ll listen, I’ll tell you a ghost story”
I replied, “Those are dull.” He said, “On the Contrary!”
Then yelled “BOO” in my face. For that, he would be sorry
What he didn’t know, was that his tale of the grave
Was one I knew all too well from my own current state
And after his not so clever prank, it was time to misbehave
Besides, nothing I did now would change my current fate
I walked right through him, levitated, made some spooky faces
Did all the things the books say, to give him quite a jolt
He didn’t run or shake in fear as he put me through my paces
Just stood there with a crooked smirk, looking like a dolt
The issue with this failed haunting, is not for lack of trying
Or that the ghost in this lack of gory story happens to be me
But the fact that not only I was guilty, of being bored of dying
I guess it takes a little more, to get a rise out of a zombie
#5. A Ghost Story
July 26, 2022
One in 5 2 poetry contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
The Curse of the Faceless Woman
Lost in time, this story is told, about a woman, dark and bold.
She walks the streets on a foggy night, with a hood on her head to hide from sight.
Her story starts one summer’s eve, beside the lake an evil deed.
A thief stole her daughter’s life, and filled her soul with pain and strife.
On a moonlit night along the shore, two young lovers walked and more.
In each other’s arms that night, they talked of love and held on tight.
In the morning they were found, their hands and feet with rope were bound.
Eyes wide open a vacant stare, their souls are gone and no one’s there.
The police did search for the one, an evil deed to be undone.
In vain, they search to no avail, their efforts weak, lost, and pale.
A mother’s heart broken and splayed, a debt to justice went unpaid.
She walked the streets at night alone, to make the sinners pay and atone.
She searched the shores by day and night, a vain attempt to make things right.
And then one early morning dawn, she was found her spirit gone.
On foggy night’s times untold, she walks the streets dark and bold.
She only walks the streets at night, within the fog to hide her flight.
All clad in black she walks alone, an evil soul she’ll make atone.
She walks among the star-less night, sometimes seen beneath the bright streetlight.
All children know to be aware, least they see her standing there.
They hurry home at the approach of night, sure that they would die at her sight.
So in the night if you should see, a woman in black, listen to me.
Look not at her face I say, or with your soul you shall pay.
By
Josehf Lloyd Murchison
Around the campfire, tired, no…worn-out
Anticipating a good night’s rest as a scout,
Our leader insisted that we listen intent
Before heading back to our awaiting tent.
We poked at the fire; we could vaguely hear
Sounds from a cemetery not so very near,
And the howl of a wolf, at least, we thought
As he spoke of a war battle near here fought.
As his story unfolded I could see in the glen
Battalions of soldiers, at least a hundred men
All dressed in white and strangely heavenly,
He said they appear each summer eternally.
According to the story, I swear it was true,
But as a brave scout, I knew not to boo-hoo.
[5 – A Ghost Story]
Written July 16, 2022
Submitted to “One in Five 2 Poetry Contest”
Sponsored by Joseph May
The Teddy Bears got up today
All washed and brushed their hair.
They sat around to eat some food
With all their thoughts elsewhere.
A special day ahead was planned
Involving Lionel’s car.
With hats and coats and picnic made
and Freddie’s new guitar.
They set off on the motorway
At a quarter past eleven.
Cruising in the middle lane
Just near the River Seven.
The weathers good the sun did shine
There were no clouds in sight.
They parked up in a farmer’s field
And set camp for the night.
Sitting near a blazing fire
With sausages on prongs.
Freddy tried to play along
While Lisa sang some songs.
At evening time the moon came up
A mist softly descended.
Ghost stories that were being told
More scary than intended.
In amongst the twisted trees
Soft breeze was gently blowing.
A light was seen by all around
Floating-moving-glowing.
They wished they hadn’t started this
The bears were getting scared.
Rupert hiding in his tent
None of them prepared.
What happened next we can’t be sure
A cold wind whistled through.
The fire went out, the tent collapsed
A Ghost came into view.
“Hello you lots let have some fun”
The apparition said.
It whooshed and swooped and dived and slid
And landed on its head
“We’ve never met a Ghost before”
Our Ted was bravely speaking.
All the others in their beds
With only Lisa peeking.
“It’s been very nice to meet you
Ted was now explaining
“Best you go back to your space”
And leave whilst night remaining.
When Ted was back within his tent
The other bears were cheering
They knew that when they went to sleep
No Ghost would use their clearing.
They got up in the early morn
And quickly cleared away.
Back in the car to take them home
New adventures everyday.
You made me your home and when you left I became a haunted house.
No one wants to live in something that has been cursed.
No one wants broken shutters
or cracked beer bottles
or just a hell of a lot of boiling blood.
No one wants to try and fix the broken ones.
Everyone seems to head the warning sings-
get out I might break down.
They make fun of me and whisper
as if I’m a ghost story,
but they are afraid that I might hear them.
They are afraid that maybe they are Wrong.
I wasn’t drunk, neither was he.
I saw a thousand murdered souls
in his hands every time he hit me.
He broke all the furniture I had,
he threw stones at my windows
and he laughed as ricketed off the roof.
I can hear my glass shatter into a thousand shining dimes on the floor. Sometimes when I tip toe around the barren rooms
I can still hear them.
I can still hear his laughter and it rings
in my basement
even when I’m covering my ears.
But no one comes in here.
I bode in my white dress because I’m trying to convince myself
that there was never any blood.
There was never me screaming out my eyes in that basement.
There was only this.
This quiet twilight dream.
My face is pale because haven’t met the sun in months.
Maybe I look a little like a broken ghost,
but that’s only because you made me one.
GHOST STORY
Hey! Over there ! I got a glimpse of him !
Yes, I see him now over there almost hidden behind those books
Naw, doesn’t look like the fella I used to know so well
Well, time changes everything you know
Ok but I always thought eternity would be a kinda blessing in disguise
You know, allowing time for reflection away from the hurley-burley
But no, I spend lotsa time still trying to figure him out
Oh oh he’s moving again, it’s hard to keep track of him!
He was seen in Seattle last month and now I hear
They often see him in Venice and even Thailand - fast mover
And appearing more and more often in unusual spots
Well like father like son you know
Yeah, we used to be close all right - go everywhere, share things
When we were both in the land of the living
Long time separated, huh?
Yeah, thirty years next fall. . .and I still miss him,
Think ‘bout him every day, kinda spooky
Cos I figured he would fade from my memory as time passed
How often do you come down to check on him?
The maximum allowable - three times a year - now that
They’ve promoted me to Angel Class One
So I’ll probably find you down next spring wherever your son is appearing?
Yeah, in March, when he’s doing a book-signing in Des Moines
Ok . . . I’ll seeya then, old timer
Yeah, seeya, gotta fly, hahaha.