Phantom Poems - Poems about Phantom

I've never, ever seen my dog, 'Cause he does not exist. I try to explain this fact to him, But the truth he does resist. He says to me, "I have no bowl." I say, "You do not eat." He says, "We never go for walks." I say, "You have no feet." But he insists, "I bark all day." I say,...

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The scent of rain on hot asphalt, unearths a ghost of childhood summers, barefoot and reckless. A melody drifts from a passing car, a forgotten soundtrack to teenage dreams, suddenly vivid, almost touchable. The chipped porcelain of a teacup, held in my grandmother's frail hands, now warms my own, a phantom heat. These fragments, shards of a shattered mirror, reflecting moments that no longer are, yet pulse...

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Written: April 09, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Daniel Henry Rodgers Quote: "Do not look back, no one knows how the world ever began. Do not fear the future, nothing lasts forever. If you dwell on the past or future, you will miss the moment." By Rumi ...

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the town of Jingbut had a ding that chimed and chimed did ring and ring and a mystery was this loudly thing for over air and garden came straight through house each room the same for where you were it did not wane an all around an everywhere incessant ringing to the ear an omnipresent far and near it was a witch as told by some whose voice aloud when she was hung a curse to all she...

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It starts gently—like a setting sun, a tingling drift uncoiling in my abdomen, tracing meticulous pathways through my frame. It slithers into my mind, a weight both foreign and familiar, a harbinger of past collapses, whispering peril in the language of ghosts. A whisper becomes a tremor, becomes a howl. The cold vacuum yawns wide, swallowing every lucid thought. The world outside disintegrates...

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Words are phantom neckties in and out of style they go From parsimony to paisley ignominious to indigo From wide to narrow ...

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Surely there is a phantom here As I jerk my head in sudden fear Praying for those I hold so dear Sensing movement that is very near If it happened just the one time I'd dismiss it as nickel-and-dime But more than once - has to be sublime And this happens in the daytime Birds on the feeder are not shaken And my senses...

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The phantom of the opera, once bitter and marose, living in torture chambers, almost comatose, has got a new publicist. Don't write his epitaph. Now, he's bright and cheerful, signing autographs....

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The phantom of the opera was sincere, but, with him, I wouldn't want to share a beer. Not only that, but furthermore, in any case, have you ever happened to see his face? A spectral figure, clothed in red, he had no face upon his head. High o'er Paris on an opera house roof, she described that phantom...

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A doll, as plain and pale as frost, Once deemed my spirit would be lost— As swift and boundless as the breeze, As what in them I'd come to seize! For life, I held, was barren ground Where some were born for glory crowned; Those left must wither to the bone, But these were whispers, mine alone. They taught me how to breathe...

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Stars sparkle in the black velvet sky Lit with orange and red Meteor appears as a shooting star A bright streak of light Across the heavens The moon, a lovely crescent A midnight gust blows overhead The darkest ink lays before dawn Arrives the bewitching hour When the veil between life and death Is at its weakest Phantom limbs intertwine...

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As night falls, a dark melody fills the air with a feeling so deep it is the song of a dark rose tweeting near a corner fence. Dahlia, a withered pale woman lies on a granite slab, still and serene The song transforms the air, calm infuse her chill cells, pungent. Cells overhaul false refluxes taint her veins with lethal hues rose rummages the window like...

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Awake, floods of razors flow to my heart Beep. My mind speeds in circles I'm a zombie lying...

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I was a child of solitude, a phantom among games and echoes, And my heart beat in rhythm with the hidden signs of the infinite. I remain now an old alien fortress, atop a forgotten hill, Holder of truths that defy the emptiness which the crowds do not perceive. I weave my cloak from the silk of silence, laden...

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at night, when the blue moon calls out to all wild things, its azure a calming wave in the bottomless screaming night I walk in time and with each furthering step, sweeping strides which pay more mind to any journey than its subsequent destination, I wonder what translucent fish hook has ensnared me, finding myself dragged from bed each...

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