They slide through the city quietly,
No badge, no spotlight, just that
Hush - pressure vibe that makes your
Skin read the room before your eyes do.
Unseen movers
Unseen scribes
Writing your name in places
You ain't never walked.
They draft futures in
Side-pockets,
Tuck provision in the corners of
Conversations, drop signatures in
Hush Hush.
Like chalk marks only the street can decode.
You feel 'em in the shift- that micro pause-
That air-tight moment
Where the world alters itself
And pretends it didn't.
State Actors,
No stage
No curtains,
Just corridors that rearrange when you blink
Too slow,
Scripts of the unseen, inked in obscurity,
Performed in systems
That don't need an audience to keep the
Plot running.
But You?
You walk through it rowdy
Refusing to let hidden hands
Truth and bright
Ghostwrite your fate.
A broken gate in the cemetery holds many memories. By Poet
Walk through my gate at night,
only with a full moon very bright.
The hanging "Gossamer" from the trees is an eerie sight,
I do not know if I like this invite.
This "Ghostly" night may bring some fright,
but in the end we will be alright.
Look over there at the the pale light,
it is over the "Grave" of the knight.
The queen was "Grief-stricken" not showing her delight,
only she knew the cruel husband with her insight.
This "Godforsaken" place is a great place to ghostwrite,
if the "Groaning" does not make one take flight.
It is time to go as we close the gate tight,
it could use a fresh coat of paint in white.
Bj Kelly wrote ten poems a night
She certainly set her husband aright
His challenge she met
A prize she will get ~
A pen to her rescue that can ghostwrite
Don’t be if you can possibly avoid it,
an old man or a middle aged woman,
arrested development leads to poetry
and all the fame that comes
with being stuck in the ground
like a winter tree.
Each morning, take up
a double edged metaphor,
sever all entangled anchors,
leave your driftwood behind
then river lightly on.
Soon what happened or did not happen
will become a dead persons dream.
Begin to work on the words
let them think of you
not at all,
and if a word appears
still dragging you behind it
then ghostwrite a sad ending
- everyone loves a tragedy.
No one will guess you have
escaped from your own prison,
but you will know,
and if the clock reads five minutes to midnight,
you will have at least arrived
clean-faced and newly clothed,
ready to be whatever comes next.
On Saint John’s night
Full moon shines on with its eerie light
The ancient nymphs dance with delight
The flower of fern small and unassuming will sprite
Yet something is in the flower above which nymphs take flight
Some kind of mysterious deep light
Something that if in one’s hand it is one can’t help to gaze up at stars into the night
The flower caries second sight
The senses it will excite
But one can’t sleep until dawns light
That is the only way divination to macrocosm will bring the inner sight
The all Seeing Eye macrocosmic future ghostwrite
The destiny is pushed further and so is birthright
Switching with macrocosm all levels are beyond infinite in their fight
All nonlinearly beyond expanse at the base as imbued macrocosm shines bright
The beyond destiny will always be beyond as in imbued macrocosm future will dendrite
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