Long Ghostly Poems
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living with a ghost is easy
sometimes scary
a bit hard on the nerves
at times but lovely too
I have been doing it for years now years I tell you
ever since grandma went or should I say didn't
you see I inherited all her things sadly some got sold
but I kept many including
her old favorite chair
an antique china cabinet
with her tea cups and collectibles
oh how she loved her collectibles now be gentle dear
I recall her saying to the little girl that was me
all
those
years
ago
after grandma's funeral ( I read the eulogy too)
I felt a presence in my nest my home I really did
but brushed it off . . .
then one day a friend who thought herself a physic
visited
she stood in the center of my living room eyes closed
for the longest time.... I wanted to say are you okay?
turned to me suddenly and said you have a ghost
I gulped I DO! . . . NO, she said you have TWO
she walked right over to the grandma's chair
she is right here watching you and she has a cat
A CAT? ... I said yes, a calico cat
I did not know what to say
you see... my cat patches who recently died was calico
well, I was not that shocked as me and grandma
had a special bond always
now often I will hear the china cabinet open (at night)
and in the morning the tea cups and collectibles have moved
sometimes the chair will creak and was that a ghostly meow
but I love my ghosts both of them I really do
and would have it no other way . . .
sometimes, I bring the chair a cup of tea
I even talk to it (never sit in it)
I know that sounds silly
but I swear, she is listening
NOT THE CHAIR grandma-
_____________________________________
June 5, 2016
Poetry/Narrative/Living With A Ghost
Copyright Protected, ID 16-797-557-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, Any HM Ever
Sponsor, Laura Loo
Second Place
____________________
For the contest,
I Ain't Afraid Of No Ghost
Honorable Mention
Now the public library in our town contains the knowledge for mankind,
and there’s not much happening ‘round the world, that I cannot find.
I can think of any subject that I like and tell Jenny what I’m after,
and she can find a stack of books that darn near touch the rafter.
The library’s helped me countless times from days when I’m at school,
and I’ve become a handy man with books my back up tool,
but aside from books on lifestyle needs, on fiction some are geared,
and some authors write for little kids, and some write on the weird.
I’ve hired books about our history and read about some shocking wars.
Our garden is designed from books, and I’m obsessed with reading ‘Jaws’.
But crime became my new desire with cases filed from years gone by,
where Capital Punishment was handed down and why some had to die.
Description of the victims sent a chill right through my bones,
right to the guilty on death row with all their over-tones.
I read about their last few weeks, with how and why and where,
before they took their final walk to the electric chair.
One story written by a Warder based in a Southern US gaol,
is penned about a chilling case that for you I will unveil …
Leroy murdered seven folk; the warder wrote down in this book.
For twenty years appeals were held then Leroy’s goose was cooked.
When you’re with someone for twenty years, no matter what they’ve done,
you can form a slight attachment even if a fragile one.
So one week before that final stroll Leroy was asked by Warder Black,
if there’s something special that he’d like, and Leroy answered back.
“There is something I do desire - but it must involve me faithful wife.
“My wish is” Leroy grinned. “Is to eat her meatloaf now for life”.
Well Leroy’s wish was granted and for three meals every day,
he ate the meatloaf that he begged for while the hours ticked away.
On the eve of Leroy’s execution there was tension being shown.
The corridors were creepy now with a ghostly eerie tone.
Forgotten were the seven victims - in the morning there’s one more.
Leroy must face ‘old sparky’ waiting down that corridor.
His final meal of meatloaf was brought before him on a plate.
Said Warder Black with teary eyes “You don’t look worried mate!”
Leroy laughed “I’m not my friend, that chair won’t kill me man.
If this meatloaf couldn’t do me in - I know that nothing can!”
PART I
The Joy of a birth, his own shine penetrating his eyes,
The new out born fruit of a long spend love,
Her hands rubbing against her red shiny chin,
Her legs crossed, the beauty that sings till the last breath.
Her thumb in her mouth, blowing, saliva flowing all over,
Her tiny grassy hairs and a sensational smile!
His mind throbbing with a pleasant paternal pain,
Oh, the enduring love!
He curls her onto his lips, the roses of affection,
Fell on her bright cheeks and a spurt of emotions,
Through his blood, that glowed the heavens between
And his two round globes filled by a sea of passion.
“Come to me, my baby, my love, my little daughter….
My sweet little doll,
I will love you till my death…
And I will carve a heavenly doll,
For you to sleep with….My angel…”
The man thus became a father and a true paternal love
Flew through his heart, into the unknown worlds.
PART II
The enthusiasm of the youth, and desire for the taste of love,
Her tiny grassy hairs grown long,
The soft fabulous filaments of keratin hanging by her curves,
The dream of a girl, for a handsome prince haunting her nights,
And eventually flourishing into a full blossom shiny daffodil,
Her lips wet, her legs crossed, her red cheeks burning
And the sweats flowing through the blankets.
Oh, the youthful pleasure!
The ghostly love takes her into the world of souls
From there the memories of her father,
Pulling her back, into the past world.
The affection fought heavily with the gods, but, only in vain.
And the gods decided to keep in their beds, the beauty of hers.
Unknown of these realities, he opens the door
And finds his love fallen prey to the love of an unknown.
All his dreams to carve her a heavenly doll to sleep,
Perished only in the mightiest darks of the underworlds.
The life in his soul had gone and the bird shall sing no more…
“Not yet, my love, not yet ….
I haven’t died …my love ….I haven’t”
He fells on his knees and takes her into his arms,
Her head hanging down by his flexed elbow,
Her breast pressing hardly into his heart,
His face bends, lips on her forehead,
And his teethes hurting her pale feathery skin,
Tears of unfinished love dribbling from his spheres, her face wet,
He cries loud with no breath in-between.
THE END©Anees Rahman
Glowing days that were once red-cheeked and ripe with promise,
Are narrowing like tall candles in a church window,
Tapering from the golden stand and the sturdy base,
To the glorious flame and the ever fading light.
The final birth of dreams that was once distant and cold,
Is now close, closer, ever closer.
The imminent darkened clouds of doubt, that haunt the wise,
Are now gathering close to form a ghostly shadow,
That will create a vast tempest, in a quiet place,
And a mighty torrent that will quench the firelight.
Unyielding waves of fear that are rising in the old,
Are now near, nearer, ever nearer.
To have once coveted the blue from the autumn sky,
Embraced the fallen leaves of a giant maple tree,
To have jumped into water without wondering why,
Leaped joyfully in the warm sand near the emerald sea.
Having playfully chased off the petulant sea gulls,
Broken twigs to build a fire against night’s attack,
Held tight in your strong hands the soft feathers of eagles,
And kissed a beautiful girl on the nape of the neck.
To have laughed at the tetchy clock ticking in the hall,
And smoked each distressing regret like a cigarette,
Knowing it would certainly give cancer of the soul,
The narrowing compels the pining heart to forget.
When forced to consent to the lessening of a day,
And to accept the waning of a moonlit heaven,
To wonder if the path taken was the only way,
Is to live in mortal fear inside a peaceful den.
To be ordered to find gratitude in the calming,
And to find a moments peace in the resignation,
Is not the purpose of the dancing and singing,
This game is but a trial of the imagination,
God has left the beautiful forest unattended,
There is no lesson, design or celestial rule,
To search for meaning is to invite eternal dread,
It takes a saddened, embittered mind to be that cruel.
An elegance can be found in the narrowing,
As memories line together like a pearl necklace,
And clouded moments vanish and amount to nothing,
And all are gently buried with red velvet and lace.
Love the narrowing, set in a purposeless blue sky,
Not because winter nights have become less frightening,
Or the smoldering summer days have now lost their sting,
But as there is no truth in the trumpet or the drum,
It is just a walk among the flowers of freedom.
And a laughing stroll through the narrowing of wisdom.
GHOST MIRRORS
Ghostly images captured within the prism of reflected light,
Ethereal waves rippling against reality’s framed surface
Of the translucent, as phantom hands press, slamming at
The fragile glass of dualities deadened zone of existence!
A sudden shimmering, in the beguiling mirror of illusions,
As in the icy eerie chill of this frozen man made pool of
Optical delusions, something within shifted and moved!
Disembodiment's outcasts to incisions resistance, cut at
The bitter edge of the graves stone marker, are these
Silhouette shadow beings, trapped within clarities maze
Of solid crystal!
Black sheets haunted, hidden behind the spiritual mirrors
Of religion, encasement's prison of soulless mists, a vaporous
Cage without iron bars, nor steels reinforcement, these are
The lost or damnation's cursed unto the light of salvation!
What skeletal keys can unlock these dimensional doorway,
And just where is the keyhole to fit, this illusionary anomaly?
At the shutters sudden flash, in ethereal creature slides
Across the screen of realities review mirror, a dark
Hauntings presence that alluding the neck eyes detection!
A dead man’s situation lies exposed, by the elemental
Reflection of lights retraction, hidden beneath the graveyards
Bones of the unsolved murder!
Within the winds of the whistling breeze, hear the unruffled
Cries of fates lost children, crying out for justices guiding
Light to save them, from the disembodied hands of their
Tormentors!
Running children of the ethereal night, whom rage in
Vengeance, against the glass prism of shattered light,
Weeping in devastation's despair, for their loss of life eternal!
At the flashing neon point of no return, the devils forsaken
Sake at the tempered glass of realism, clamoring to be
Recognized for once existing!
Within the four squared frame of reality, dwells the
Infinite pool of the ethereal realm, and in its rippling
Waves, phantom faces are shone in the tormented poises
Of the after life’s jail cell, without the possibility of
Paroles final tender mercy!
Ghostly images captured within the prism of reflected light,
Ethereal waves rippling against reality’s framed surface
Of the translucent, as phantom hands press, slamming at
The fragile glass of dualities deadened zone of existence!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
BEWARE THE MONTH OF HALLOWEEN IS COMING
Contrary to popular myth, Einstein did NOT reject the existence of Time, but he did reject the differences of its elements, stating that "the distinction between past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion" ...
TIME ...
Is a phantom with many faces
It drifts, a blotchy mist from our early years
The cognizance of self-awareness like a patchwork quilt
Most memorable moments shining like warm sunlight
Mundane and everyday, a foggy swirl, as we slowly become ... ourselves
Memories splicing together like a movie in our mind ...
We learn and experience, as the images from memory clarify
All flowing like a rill to who and what and where we are
It is an invisible, ghostly yardstick
Chopped up into segments that we build actuality around
An ethereal inchworm, crawling at the pace we allow it
We watch it, breathless, wondering what branch it will take
What it will make or show of the now or then or later
It is beastly wraith that controls and objectifies all we do
We are powerless before it, yet we worship it with our every heartbeat
It is a monster in the dark
A horrid creature under the bed, waiting to grab our ankles
And pull us into the bleak, oily black of oblivion
It dances in the dark of night
Wearing the skin of our hopes, and the mask of our dreams
Laughing at promise like a mad moon laughs at the tides
It is a demon, immutable and brazen
The unchangeable mirror of our mistakes and pains and decisions
Thumbing its nose at our cold conscience
And yet, it is an angel, too
That carries on its wings the brightest of thoughts
The joys and loves and friendships that sustain us
Bright sparkles on the wave tops of what was, treasured and golden
And though we strain with all our might and marrow
We can never touch those many faces
For no sooner have we gazed on its visage than it has turned away
No sooner do we see it approach - smiling, waving, affirming
Than it has flashed by us in a swirl
It is our god and our devil
Our hope and our despair
Our villain and our lover
The keeper of our consciousness, moments and prospects
Our precise measure of what can NEVER be measured
And the universal spirit of existence
That will never, ever ... exist.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Writing Challenge 3, July 2019 - List" Poetry Contest, Dear Heart, Judge & Sponsor.
Life on the edge would certainly become a novel,
if I included all the chapters of my life’s journey
from that of an old soul, from pure consciousness
to egg and sperm colliding, to embryo, to fetus,
to that of a baby, a child, youth, a teenager,
a young adult, a middle aged man, this old man
who has walked the walk of the living and the dead
with ghostly shadows floating in night time forests
blanketed by sheets of blackness, permeated with flakes,
specks of light from distant planets, long lost stars,
forgotten lives, as the reflective moon, on high,
tries to shed light upon the nightly shadows,
brighten the edges of all the black clouds
that fill all the empty spaces above the tree tops.
Life on the edge – I have been tripping – have gotten up,
have fallen from grace, yet stands up to face adversity,
have been trapped, yet set myself free, been lost
yet have found my way back to myself.
Life on the edge – time reveals all, all the efforts,
all the accomplishments, all the failures, the defeats,
and all the losses become weightless in the light,
of an old man who sits alone, on his own locked up
in the cage of his own design, his own making
as nightmares continue to haunt - to the end of his journey.
Life on the edge – has been sharp, dull, keen without tears,
in spite of all that life, fate, karma, choice have lain upon
the experiences this old soul has suffered, endured, enjoyed
and yet the dreams of this child – before and after he became –
still linger on in the fading embers of his life’s journey
even if they are but ashes blown by cold cruel winds
putting out the raging fires that once lit up the skies
and wormed the heaven and the hearts of a few mortal women.
Life on the edge – of this plane, this dimension, this universe –
can it really be as we see it ?, is it karma ?, is it fate ?, is it design ?
Does history repeat itself ?, does it come back to haunt us ?,
in another time, in another place, in a different space.
Life on the edge – next time around – will be a prayer
to never, ever have to live on the edge again,
to know no more emotional pain, no poverty of heart, soul,
the stupidity and thoughtlessness of those in control,
those in the know, of the nature of this old man
who has shown – specks, flakes of light, light that has
burned so bright, has flickered, has long since taken flight.
B. J. “A” 2
March 10th 2004
Sophie, a fragile gentle soul,
In Freedom saw the greatest virtue,
The spring of love, the dawn of all
Destined to be the end of torture.
For her it was not quite the same,
It was the person's inner power.
That till the end would pave their way
And fill with sense each minute an hour.
...Sophie was only seventeen,
But life had left her all alone.
She'd disallowed all her kin,
She had no one to call her own.
She had just one but faithful friend -
Her own reflection in the mirror.
All people failed to understand
Her open mind, so pure and clear.
She used to gain the strength inside
From melancholy, never-ending.
Her sorrow she could not hide,
She was so helpless at pretending.
She didn't want to be the one
Of monochrome and deadly crowd;
Her solitude just let her run
From those she knew nothing about.
It was the Freedom of her choice -
Sophie had nothing more to treasure...
Each time she heard a ghostly voice
It brought her pain that couldn't be measured.
Her memories aroused tears,
She knew the good would've never happened.
She knew her Only One was near...
But only in her heart, so shattered.
She'd promised Him she'd live through that
When seeing Him die. She couldn't follow.
She wished she'd been with Him, but dead.
Her life seemed then so dim and hollow.
She wanted so much to die,
But couldn't break the promise, faithful,
For death would've meant just having lied.
Her consciousness she had to face. It
Hurt Sophie so much to breathe,
The time did pass - her grief did grow.
And every day was like the last
In all her life, for she did know
That life, destined to bring just pain,
Was no sign of Freedom, inner.
She, listening to the falling rain,
Made up her mind... to be a sinner,
With no regrets to leave the world -
No one would cry a single tear.
"Forgive me, Love, - were her last words, -
Again we'll be together, dear."
She longed to be forever free,
Forever young, forever charming.
It was her own choice to be
For always loved, for always loving.
...Her body, lifeless and supine
Was found in the lake next morning.
No one felt sympathy or cried,
Still no one showed a sign of mourning.
Sophie, forever young, and He
From shards and ashes built a kingdom.
The life was going on, still dim,
But she had chosen endless Freedom.
Beware young lad, tis the dawning of thy demise,
For the water witches screams, are carried on the
Winds breath, of the tidal waves hurricane.
Be-she, the banshie of the fathom’s abyss, treacherous
Mistress, beguiling temptress, enslavement's captive,
Whom belongs to the sailors devil himself,
Thus she announces her masters arrival,
Known is he, as Davy Jones.
Aquatic demon, the soul feast-er, appearing perched
Upon the four masted sailing vessel, a seething fiend,
With ivory white fangs, red piercing eyes flash against
The storms rage.
The predator to prey ratio, delights this beast, from hell's
Deepest pit, it's relishing laughter, does chill the mariner,
To their very bones within.
Atop his ghoulish head, arises bullish horns, to drive
The undead, beneath the seas watery realm.
Fly swiftly, all seafaring men aboard, for the dark wrack's
Shadow, mars thy voyage, for death's imitate sacrifice.
Crimson gloves, do hold a set of golden keys, to chains
Shackled locks, behold phantom wave stalkers.
Lost souls of the forgotten, servitude’s salves of the
Murky bottoms depths.
Treasures locker keeper, within the heart of the sea,
Does lie, a cold guardian stands watch, over it's
Precious contents, bound forever as persecution's
Divine punishment, from Poseidon, the great
Lord of the seven seas.
Answering their captain's hailing, the soulless crew,
Climbs aboard his ghostly craft, heading ever upwards,
To the unknown beyond.
Accursed windjammers, cutting against the rough surf,
Emerging as a seaweed covered derelict, it charges forth,
Riding upon the edge of the ultimate storm.
At fates spinning wheel, Davy Jones hands are set steadfast,
Awaiting the newly undead, to join his brackish crew.
The living pray for mercy grace, salvation's angels
Save us, pleading on knees bent low, Oh Lord Almighty,
Hear the sailors voices, crying out in sheer terror.
But the devil dues must be paid, for other
Mariner’s safe passage.
To night behold the tolls collection plate is passed,
And is served by evils blackest hand, nay it's filled
Not in gold, but instead ti's flesh to the living bone.
Served on a silver platter, to none other then
Davy Jones himself, listen to his echoing laughter,
Filling the chilled air's darkness,
Than plunging beneath the briny depth's below.
Nothing remains but a legend's myth or so
It is said.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
the waning moonlight thinly enveloped
the dusky canvas obscurely sprawling
across the way from the window I looked,
I knew a park was there with slides and swing
but for the moment dark revealed nothing,
for the moment I didn’t care, either
because in darkness I felt even darker;
I was lying in bed embraced by regret
of decisions of love and time wasted,
spooning the layered sheets of doubt and fret
all thawed out from my heart into my head;
The memories of hurtful comments said
by and to me were chastising voices
of ghostly choices purposed to depress;
As dusk became the night I became lost
in whimsically strewn wishes and pleas
to gods and stars and genies alike, crossed
as eyes crying for mother drowned in seas,
I spoke to nobody but begged for keys
to unlock another time, another place
to start all over again with new space,
To unseen gods I had long since quit on
I prayed, bargained even, another chance
and I’d do everything right this season
- A jobless man needing a pay advance,
But for thirty three years nary a glance
had alpha or omega set on me
and this night I expected no divine decree;
several hours elapsed as I collapsed
in smoldering thoughts of suicide fanned,
- I had outlasted night’s concealing grasp,
and as the morning sun began its planned
ascent, I gave into Hades’ command
through my tenth floor window whispered to me
of hellish suggestions to jump and flee;
on ledge I stood and looked across the way
for one last glimpse of earth and pastel sky,
- a small souvenir of my final day,
My eyes settled on last night’s park from high
above, and that’s when I saw God’s reply,
- an unspoken answer for eyes turned blind,
His deafening promise to all mankind;
by his heavenly brushes came colors
where none had been, transforming lonely space
into one of vibrance and life renewed,
- and it was a different space,
I watched as birds celebrated morning
with songs of praise and thankfulness,
- and I felt a quick waning emptiness,
I heard the children below lining up
for the school bus all on time and ready
to live and learn in this new day granted,
- and I felt like I knew nothing at all;
but then I knew everything all at once,
and I stepped off the ledge ready to live,
ready to embrace
ready to seize life found…
in another time.