Best Ghost Town Poems
It was
a dalliance
this bucolic lost town,
just ephemeral my visit,
petrichor scents of fresh rain, just fallen,
birds songs a harbinger of me,
oh serendipity,
efflorescence
caress.
I feel
the erstwhile past
in the vacant buildings,
the sadness an epiphany,
beyond nature calls my propinquity
but I stay and stroll empty streets,
redolent with flowers,
this demesne lost
in time.
____________________________
March 18, 2016
Poetry/Rictameter/Ghost Town
Copyright Protected ID, 03-769-605-18
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
For the Standard contest, A Day In A Town,
sponsor, Nayda Evette Negron, Judged 03/2016
First Place
Submitted into the Standard contest, Give me a Ricktameter!
sponsor, M.L. Kiser, Judged 02/16/2022
First Place
The clanking sound of spurs, the sun’s glare
off the shiny doppelganger derringers.
Her hat tipped onto her sweating brow.
“Contests! We don’t need no stinking contests!”
Her cowhide boots kick up the prairie dust.
She’s not your quintessential grandmother.
Her torrential windpipe words ready for a fight.
“I will be number one! Like it or not!”
She spits tobacco into the air, daring a challenge,
and it drops at the feet of the biggest contest.
“Chew on that one...for a while!”
A patch over one green eye, the jealous one. She wears it
as a badge of honor. No one messes with Lady Cogburn.
Like showing off pictures of her family, she lets a scroll roll loose.
Her adjectives and verbs, nouns and sounds.
“I dare anyone to steal my verse! Who's brave enough
to roll out one of their own!”
She spits and stares them down, as one courageous chick
steps forward and just as quick she lays her low.
“Contests! We don’t need no stinking contests! Now the rest of you scram!”
Dodge City, the ghost town, has one occupant. She lights her Virginia Slims, lets her poetic smoke circle the air — like vultures.
7/20/2018
Contests! We don’t need no stinking contests! Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Lawless
As memories scatter in echoes of laughter. I recall childhood dreams now lost among old trees. Hope once ran free and wild, but now I just feel tired. A playground of conflicts, which no longer exists. Sharp slides, see-saws and swings, where we fought with bare fists. They built posh apartments, dull, ugly and heartless. We weren't high achievers, as we had bad teachers. Now our school's a care home, where many die alone. But the graveyard is full, whilst the church seems obscure. The shop where we bought sweets - a homeless man now sleeps. Some say it's the owner, who became a loner. Closure meant he lost trade, became bankrupt, but stayed. Streets look so untidy, faces that seem shady. Homes are in disrepair, life seems a bit unfair. Time is abrupt with change, but reflections remain. Even when we move on, we think of life foregone. Your past is what your breathe, no matter where you reach.
As memories scatter
in echoes of laughter.
I recall childhood dreams
now lost among old trees.
Hope once ran free and wild,
but now I just feel tired.
A playground of conflicts,
which no longer exists.
Sharp slides, see-saws and swings,
where we fought with bare fists.
They built posh apartments,
dull, ugly and heartless.
We weren't high achievers,
as we had bad teachers.
Now our school's a care home,
where many die alone.
But the graveyard is full,
whilst the church seems obscure.
The shop where we bought sweets -
a homeless man now sleeps.
Some say it's the owner,
who became a loner.
Closure meant he lost trade,
became bankrupt, but stayed.
Streets look so untidy,
faces that seem shady.
Homes are in disrepair,
life seems a bit unfair.
Time is abrupt with change,
but reflections remain.
Even when we move on,
we think of life foregone.
Your past is what your breathe,
no matter where you reach.
Beside the last pew,
a chipped white collection plate.
A ghostly blessing
if you toss a modern coin
through time and the barred front door.
While wand'ring ghost town scenes of memories
Loose mind like shutters bang in channeled thoughts
Old haunting spirits restless and distraught
Now roam deserted streets like tumbleweeds
Dirt devils funnel, scattering dead seeds
As rattling chains of broken bonds stretch taut
Dark tortured faceless shadows, though not sought
Appear in screenless windows taunting me
Behind saloons in alleys where we played
Lie trash cans spilled of hope and broken dreams
Discarded remnants of relationships
Have all but disappeared from time's decay
Those youthful days spent by the sun dried stream
Are now recalled in silent somberness
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
Way up there in the Colorado mountains at around 9000 feet,
There once was a thrivin' village that served as the county seat.
It was a boom and bust town that now lies in desolate shambles,
Its one-time stately buildin's now overgrown with creepin' brambles.
'Tis said that a vein of gold was discovered when a feller dug deep,
To bury a friend who was gored to death by an irate mountain sheep!
His discovery was known as Dead Man's claim and the rush was on,
And to the place hordes of miners, gamblers and rabble was drawn.
There were three or four rowdy saloons on each and every block,
Servin' booze and featurin' high-kickin' women around the clock.
A Methodist church and a school brought a tad of culture to the place.
Folks of finer tastes thought 'soiled doves' paradin' about a disgrace!
An untended graveyard gives witness to the wickedness of the town,
As headstone etchin's reveal the doom of many who were gunned down!
Yet is heard the phantom sounds from saloons from rabble goin' bananers,
Fightin', gamblin' and dancin' to the tinklin' of out-of-tune peeaners!
Northerly winds prod tumble weeds up and down dusty thoroughfares,
Streets once teemin' with humanity goin' about their nefarious affairs.
Now is only heard the ghostly creakin' of rusty hinges on saggin' doors,
When frigid winter winds bear down upon those dreary windswept moors!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
The night was so cold the wait was too long
Winds pierced my dead body with a blues song,
now echoing thoughts up and down my spine,
of our time when your touch was all just mine.
My eyes were sore and closed from lonely life
Pain memories of a goodbye ran rife
Shadows drew edged pictures of me in pain,
filling empty rooms, leaving a black stain.
Then one sunrise light came back to her home
Her smile lit my fire I was not alone
The light brought colour and her warm embrace
I realized it was never a race
This sunrise brought the hope that she will stay,
bringing sunshine, for more than just one day
Inside
the dead schoolhouse
an old pump-organ plays itself
at dusk.
The little town sits by the road to nowhere
Now a muted grey, the empty shells forgotten
A sagging door, an empty window, a broken stair
Sad reminders of those who used to lived there
In the dust a single footprint left by some passerby
Did he stop like me, to remember what used to be
To listen to the desert wind giving a mournful sigh
And bid the town, and her past, a last goodbye
If I could paint a picture
to show you how I feel,
deep inside my shattered heart
so you'd know it was real.
It would look just like a ghost town
with sad song stories to tell,
of all of the haunting reasons
our love went straight to hell
You spent all of our money,
that closed up the bank.
Then the love inside your eyes
just suddenly went blank.
The doc said we were crazy,
far beyond what he could do,
so he packed up his practice,
said this place was like a zoo.
You never liked my cookin'
That made for one more chore.
So I learned to avoid it,
and the market closed their door.
We used to have so many friends
but you the big buffoon,
got us kicked out of the bars
which 86'd saloons.
The sheriff said we're trouble,
but only to each other.
He locked up the jailhouse
and moved back home with his mother.
That just left the two of us
on empty streets to roam,
knowin' it was far too late
to make this town our home.
With all our friends and family
we pledged a solemn vow,
to live our lives together,
we would work it out somehow.
Then I felt your hand leave mine
and distance there would grow,
you started spending nights away
in places I don't know.
I find myself still standing here
desperately alone,
on desolated dusty streets
of memories I'm shown.
In this quiet lonely ghost town
made of all the lies you'd tell,
our heavenly love story turned
into a slice of hell.
-Jeannie Minor
Going back to Ghost Town
Searching high and low for
My haunted love,
Why can't I let you go?
Retracing my steps
Looking for the house of ghouls
Where we buried the souls of
our loved ones,
Thinking that maybe that would be enough
To keep them alive
I'm going out of my mind
Because I keep looking for a piece of you,
In these bodies sleeping next to me
Maybe we really were meant to be
Or maybe my mind just craves insanity
July, 2015.
M.K.
Love’s Ghost Town Remembers
Isolated yesterdays
Feeding off arid dust,
While ancient choruses of tumbleweed
Keep passion’s past perpetually moving.
Wind blown footprints weave gracefully through
Structures of emotion’s main street,
Where milestones once fresh of adorned colors
Appear mirage-like,
Even as its essence remains alive.
Questioned of age,
Experience remains confident of purpose,
Defying rejection,
Lifting its rolling history
Above and over obstacles,
Willing to chance its foreverness at any cost.
Such are one’s dreams tempting wakefulness,
Cautiously holding steady
Behind shuttered windows of slumber,
Awaiting the sun’s rise each morning,
Eyes opening with anticipation,
Lifting one, then two eyelids of daring,
Inviting rays of light to sift through yesterday’s shadowed confinement,
Encouraging a rigid mind to embrace smiles once again,
Invite love’s enigma,
Permit it to fortify
The chance of rediscovery.
For…
Even as another day rushes forward to fade,
One’s ghost town of love
Wants only to raise yesterday’s shadows toward the light,
Desiring to be haloed in the dust,
To coalesce with love’s sunset
And make ready the gamble…
Once again.
This hollow space in my heart
Is more than just within my heart
You scarred my soul, you chained me down to the hell you brewed for me
I fell for you, yet you stepped back, as an illusion traveling through space. time.
I walked these passages before ...
A time long ago, I felt this horror and hatred, this pain and suffering...
But now I see a immence light, shining from miles away
As I near this light I find myself making out the figure of a Girl ...
Her cheaks soaked in salt, her body trembling from the cold ...
I saw her, and I saw myself.
There’s only ghosts in this town
I’m so close to a break down
I don’t even want you around
When you’re here i’m always feeling down
Just let me drown
I don’t wanna be found
I didn’t know that I was hell bound
Guess we’ll learn when we’re buried in the ground
Don’t try to get with me, I’m not a rebound
I don’t blend in with a crowd
They say I’m weird, well I’m proud
I don’t wanna be like you I’m not what ur about
You’re always faking, well I’ve had my doubts
Sitting alone in my house
In my head the demons they shout
Got my love in a drought
No one cares about me without a doubt
A world where being different isn’t allowed
Gotta find a difference and make it known loud
There’s only ghosts in this town
I’m so close to a break down
I don’t even want you around
When you’re here I’m always feeling down
Just let me drown
I don’t wanna be found
I didn’t know that I was hell bound
You took my heart like an impound
Listened to the hate that surrounds
Like all the fake friends
They popular by trends
Soon you’ll all meet your end
While I ascend
To a higher plane
Always living in pain
But I’m numbed up like nova-cane
I’m always anything but sane
All these drugs in my brain
Will I be okay?
Will I be okay?
Will I be okay?
The Ghost Town
My limps were in town
But my head was in a coffin
Like a terror i float in the dark
Feasting with flesh
Charing bones
Stiring and steaming fears
We are of the dark
We own the dark world
Always scared of the sunlight
Never shall mankind take our place
In the bath-tub of blood is our haven
We are scared of the crucifix
We are scared of the sons of God
But we shall hold sway as long as they
feast in ignorance
They walk and tumble in ignorance
Their ignorance is our gains
The town belongs to us
Pending when Shiloh comes....
Awoh Kingsley...