Long Ghostly Poems
Long Ghostly Poems. Below are the most popular long Ghostly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ghostly poems by poem length and keyword.
Life, are you a blessing or a punishment?
I'm trying to understand how I'm
a slave to the sculpted version of me.
A prisoner without chains,
upon a path forged with my own hands,
feeling lifeless, drained from
premeditated premonitions.
I'm burning like a caliginous candle,
melting in waxing weepings -
fatigued from flames of rage and regret.
In this sable epoch,
I'm unable to master my mind,
as bitter temperatures trigger tenebrous tones,
I tremble, feeling tremors from corrosive cysts.
Birds remain mute on somber mornings.
When did I become their nemesis?
I've stopped searching for sunshine from absent friends,
or explaining to impatient selfish souls,
too consumed in their internal thoughts.
Maybe the problem is my restless existence,
not in their lack of empathy.
I've always been sober to sorrow,
but I hunger to drink myself to death.
Irritated by smiling, I'm slowly suffocating,
losing all desire for me to breathe -
unable to escape the angst of air.
My eyes are like tender lanterns,
guiding with damp cautious flickers,
craving crepuscule hues,
but all I see is a solemn moon,
wrapped in a blank black hoodie.
My cathartic conscience feels unconscious,
defeated from colourless pastels.
Feeling dejected and dreary,
drenched from misty icy rain,
I walk towards a ghostly passage of muted feet,
searching for shelter in my clandestine cave.
I awoke hoping for a gold and copper dawn,
but only lethargic gloom greeted my spirit.
As I tumble like leaves blowing in the breeze,
I return to nothingness, haunted by wraiths at dusk.
Danielle my love, my sweet
What’s happening to me?
This slow knife your pushing into my chest
Wearing your shades in the pool
Hair down, post-full submersion
You make me wanna cry and scream…
You are 22 and I am 28
You speak with a Long Island accent
And I speak snarkily, blandly, minimally
You don’t even know I write these poems
Or how I feel about you
And I know nothing at all now
The torment erases everything…
You are my soul’s howling storm
Your simple, bulky walk
Like a slightly boastful child
And the easy laughing manner
An early spring eternal
Let me jump into your garden!
And your 8 million soft and subtle expressions of joy
Are enough to map over my entire desirous being from my
3rd grade first crush to my future’s final kiss,
That ghostly woman-to-be, in the soft sweet grays beyond,
Far forward, within the hour of my death…
All this, my Wonder, my New Purpose,
In attempt to write you out of my mind
And move on, though I fear I’m merely watering love plants
And watering on, I set out to jog
I will pound along the pavement,
My fists glistening in the dying sun
My mind reaching for yours
Rushing! Rushing for your spirit
Somewhere the sprawling summer city.
Here comes the fool: running, rushing in.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dIoleidZAiQ
Miles away from home where the sun is on fire with yesterdays dreams
an Indian sari gown of silk and bead arrives bending the wind to its will
warm rain and saffron tinted skies caress gold eyelids and irises of old
Miles away from home the strings of my guitar recall Indian streams
and warm walks on the beach. A faint song clings to her ghostly figure
like a lyrical refrain, while a fading light begins to lose its shine ....
August smiles still simmer on my mind , I was a young man in love
with a Princess who cradled my heart to the rocking motion of the moon;
She took me to Saffron Hill, then flowered me with poetry, oh what a thrill
to be so close to the sun and not to burn from the throws of her quill ...
Miles away from home I felt the power of her light and then she was gone,
like the monsoon rains of India, she disappeared in September leaving me
to strum my sitar in a Cincinnati bar, watching neon lights light up,
I told it to old Fred , but he just smiled at me and handed me
a saving thread , "Son, you'll always have your memories"
and then, he handed me another Sangria, the color of her swiveling dress
August 3, 2020
In the shadows, there’s a certain clarity,
A taste of downcast darkness,
A truthful distillation.
In the shadows, there’s a granularity,
A note of deep resignation,
A smokey reverie.
In the shadows, there’s a drowsy gauze,
A placid, pensive surrender,
A tranquil, hushed balm.
There’s a solitude in the shadows
On the edges of our survival.
In the shadows, there’s a roving phantasm,
A secret summoning presence,
A holy reckoning.
In the shadows, there’s a biting wind,
A polar pivot between life and death,
A dark reaper beckoning.
In the shadows, there’s a waiting epiphany,
A shred of universal mind,
A being and becoming.
There’s a solitude in the shadows
On the edges of our survival.
In the shadows, there’s a quantum inkling,
A blink of teleportation,
A ghostly comprehension.
In the shadows, there’s a whisper bodhi,
A glint of mindful rapture,
A quiet, private lumen.
In the shadows, there’s a bead holding all,
A speck of every thought,
A trace of every entanglement,
A solitude in the shadows.
Accepted for Publication: The Opiate, Spring. 2024
Sometimes I wake, at least believing I have,
but find that I'm wandering about,
perhaps dreaming while walking in a mist,
through empty halls where moonlight
doesn't stream through windows on walls.
I'm alone in lush jungles of canopied forests,
and bathing in pools behind waterfalls.
It's a strange realm of a juxtaposing existence
where my words and thoughts mingle,
trying to blend like slow-running river currents,
flowing into roiling tides of ocean waves.
It's the place where lost love lingers
and grief echoes its mourning call
trying in vain to heal in silence
and sobs are stifled throes of sorrow
as their cries are only heard by me
as they ricochet through my mind's tunnels.
In my poetry these corridors exist—
these hollow spaces and empty places
I create in journeys between sadness and joy,
hope and heartbreak,
life and death
and where with each breath I take
holds gasping ghosts of lost loves
as they hover, unheard but felt in the ruins
of what once was a lamplit rendezvous lieu,
now withered and cold, a cavern of darkness.
There's stark sadness some would label madness
found in dreams that leave my body and soul
aching and craving to come awake.
Whether I wander in a blossoming garden
in these reveries, remembering candlelight nights
of passionate kisses within love's arms—
they're only a worn tapestry of broken threads
from the many textured fabrics of my life.
Some became tangled and some unraveled,
others frayed and were pulled apart
that had to be stitched in the wounded places
with a patchwork of bloodied cloths to cover
the scars that form crossroads across my heart.
More often the dreams that find me in slumber
now take me to happier places where smiling faces
surround me and ease the pains I've borne.
Though time in those spaces flows too quickly,
like grains of hourglass sands sifting and shifting
like dunes formed by errant Zepher winds.
Now, as I walk in the warmth of sunlight's rays,
erased are the hovering ghostly shadows.
From those ruins where life was lived, I'm drifting
past the perished caverns from my yesteryears.
In the shadow's caress, where light fears to tread,
Echoes of silence, in the void widespread.
A tapestry woven with threads of the night,
Where dreams fracture under the weight of fright.
The moon, a ghostly sentinel in the sky,
Casts a pallid glow where the forgotten lie.
A land of whispers, where memories seep,
Into the soil, where secrets keep.
Here, in the dominion of the somber king,
The air is thick with the raven's wing.
A waltz with the shadows, a courtship with gloom,
In the ballroom where the dead roses bloom.
So venture not where the darkness is rife,
Lest the night's embrace becomes your life.
A realm unseen, yet deeply felt,
Where the darkest stories are indelibly spelt.
I feel death as he flies by
Hear his souless cry
Riding along on his wingless horse
In his eyes there is no remorse
Lightning flashing from his eyes
flies
Across the skies
Crushing those below
Gathering in it's flow
All the souls moaning as he flies by
Can almost hear their wailing cry
Storms collide as he passes
A ghostly sight As the Lightning flashes
So many souls has already cought
Didn't matter the havoc wrought
His price , your soul
All must pay , his toll
On his endless flight
The world cry out in fright
No chance to fight
No chance to run
No one has ever won
Who does he fly for now
It is their turn to take the bow
To him all must knell
no matter how strong your will
Hear them in the wind
Never to end
I hear death as he goes by
Hear all the people cry
No place to hide
His reach wide
How many life's will end
Become part of the wind
A river of souls never to run dry
Can hear their cry
As Death rides by
ME UNDER NIGHT SKY
Twilight welcoming dusk on charcoal mask
Evening merging night
Cerulean dream and ebony darkness to fight
Periwinkle stars twinkling in delight.
Sapphire polka dots pasted on void cosmos.
Luminous fluorescent glow glitters glistens
Murmur of zephyr: Sky listens.
Crowd of cumulus cloud carrying misty dusty silhouette
diluting bright light of ghostly gibbous maroon Moon
soon to be hidden momentarily in platoon of floating clouds
passing by leaving starry dome.
In pitchblende darkness sparkling stars gleam and glaze
My drowsy mesmerized eyes to skip blink
but to gaze spending sleepless night
sinking in reminiscences blending in sublime silence.
Quiescent dreams of forgotten past to scream.
Yearning for bygone days to rewind!
Ardent ardor to roam on past where I had left you.
Stardust sprinkling
on my emotive urge to pulsate and resonate.
09/ 19/19
NA
'Invitation to Play' Contest by Sheri Fresonke Harper
Third Place
NA The Dy Away Contest by Lu Loo
It whispers low on midnight’s breath,
A shadow wreathed in mist and death.
Not born of grace, but spectral might,
It haunts the veil 'tween dark and light.
It stirs the winds, it bends the flame,
A nameless force none dare to name.
Through hollow halls, its echoes creep,
Disturbing souls that once could sleep.
A ghostly hymn, a mournful wail,
It rattles chains that time made frail.
A shrouded guide, a cursed friend,
To those who stray where sorrows end.
Its eyes, unseen—yet ever near,
It feeds upon the breath of fear.
With spectral touch, it marks the air,
A lingering chill of pure despair.
Yet some would call upon its hand,
To guard their steps through haunted land.
A force unknown, its wisdom deep,
Though bound within the night’s cold keep.
So heed the whispers in the night,
When lanterns flicker, dim with fright.
The Haunted Spirit waits below,
In mist and moonlight’s spectral glow.
Cat and mouse
Within a garden somewhere out there,
butterflies were dancing free from care.
Thousands of flowers loving the dance,
love the lovers and loving romance.
A lot of butterflies full of lust,
drinking and dancing in love they trust.
Daffodil pitchers filled with the wine,
drinking that wine was wholly, divine.
Roses and jasmines fully bloomed,
enchanted aromas sweetly perfumed.
From its hiding a devious mouse,
saw the butterflies right from his house.
He ran to the garden, chased the fly,
grabbed him tightly, bit him to die.
Ate him like candy tenderly sweet,
the smell of jasmines made it complete.
Loving his food and loving its taste,
the mouse was happy nothing got waste.
Until he saw a ghostly shape,
scary giant, he couldn’t escape.
There was a cat with a smiley face,
growled and meowed and started the chase.
Running like wind, he didn’t gave in,
hunting for food is never a sin.
He grabbed the mouse in a playful way,
ate him so fast then rested all day.
The mouse tasted like jasmine and rose,
the flavor of butterfly joined with those.
The cat was happy and licked his paws,
adored his power sharpened his claws.
Until the next day there was a dog,
with big shaggy tail, fat like a hog.
Ugly and old he ran after cat,
hunted the cat and ate him like rat.
The dog was old and his fate foretold,
he died in winter when air was cold.
He died and buried and turned to dust
nothing can escape from time and rust.
The months have passed and years gone by,
what else can we do except comply?
Living and dying is a part of life.
Life and death are in constant strife.
The flesh of the dog made the jasmines grew,
butterflies came with their lives renew.
Roses and lilies grew one more time,
butterflies dancing, dancing in rhyme.
Another mouse and another cat,
the playful cat, that ate up the rat.
Another dog and another feast,
after a while the death chose the beast.
Life is a circle, circle like a chain.
Everything goes and comes back again.
There will be death for me and you,
like roses and jasmines lives renew.
3/12/16 Haloo