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Posts Tagged ‘ghost poem’

Sometimes when I wrench open the creative valve, the weirdest things get washed out.

 

On Ghosthunters

A figure faintly seen at night,

there in the empty place.

If you could gain a closer view,

would you gaze on it’s face?

 

It walks there every night alone,

even when it’s not seen.

Would you it’s solitude invade,

are you in truth that keen?

 

Perhaps its solitude it craves,

just wants its well earned peace.

Not closure for its life on earth,

not waiting on release.

 

Perhaps that place it haunts is home,

where hangs its phantom hat.

And you are mere trespassers there,

Have you considered that?

 

So take your tools and pack  your bags,

go back where you came from.

This haunt is ours and here it stays,

it’s you who’s not welcome.

 

Cheers, Winston

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Went to visit my wife’s family for Easter. We had a great time, but it did put me a bit behind poetry-wise.  So tonight is a ghost story that has been fermenting in the back of my brain for a while.

Enjoy!

Alone No More?

The hour is late the lights are dim,
I walk alone and wait.
Each room is dark no one awake,
I hate this anxious state.

Excitement, fear and hope all vie,
Within my breast of mist.
Perhaps tonight will be the night,
So long since I’ve been kissed.

So many years since I had died,
So many years alone.
Have watched the loves and lives lived here,
Had no love of my own.

But now at last she senses me,
She feels I am near.
Yet unlike those who’ve gone before,
I sense in her no fear .

At last I draw near to her room,
She writes, she cannot sleep,
She feels a chill and shivers as,
Into her room I creep.

It tears my heart to see her thus,
With one foot on each side.
She wants to die but wants to live,
Which way will she decide?

I do not want to see her die,
To throw her life away.
Yet if she dies she’s here with me,
Together from from this day.

And so I sit and wait and watch,
As I watch every night.
I hope she’ll win where I did not,
I pray her choice is right.

Cheers, Winston

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So I was talking to friend of mine who mentioned that they really liked the macabre stuff that I did for NaPoWriMo last year. This one’s for you Mike.

Nightwalker

The cold wind blows the dead leaves through,
My ankles in the dark.
The moon between the clouds may shed,
It’s light upon the park.

The moaning wind and rustling leaves,
Drown nearly every sound.
Like the tread of pursuing feet,
‘Cross moonlight silvered ground.

If anyone should chance to look,
From their home safe and tight.
They’d see naught but some shadows pass,
Dark shapes in dark, dark night.

You can’t see us for we’re not here,
Weren’t here the night before.
For all this happened long ago,
One hundred years or more.

Those who pursued at last did catch, And worked their evil will.
Now my bones lie within the marsh,
Beneath this very hill.

If you don’t want me roaming here,
Would like to sleep at night.
Then find my bones and see that I,
At last am buried right.

Cheers, Winston

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NaPoWriMo Day 16 and it’s time for a ghost poem. This one is for all the busy little “psychic investigators” out there on reality TV.

Put away your parabolic microphones and digital thermometers you ghost bothering busy – bodies. If they want your help, they’ll call your agent.

Enjoy!

The Haunter

It walks alone no matter who
Is there when it goes by.
For years or maybe centuries
Enough to make you cry.

No one can say why it’s still there
It’s story long forgot.
The only one who knows is it
And it is saying nought.

It walks about quite late at night
Goes thumping down the hall.
It will not stop and talk to you
No matter how you call.

You see it here you see it there
But never where you plan.
It shows up when it feels like
Maybe just when it can.

It wandered here before we came
Will wander when we’re gone.
Will wander here ’til it is time
At last, it to move on.

Cheers, Winston

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It’s National Poetry Month. To celebrate the occasion, Word press is hosting “National Poetry Writing Month”. The idea is to post one poem each day in April. Below is day ones entry.

Enjoy.

The Haunted House

The house stands there beside the hill
Where blooms nod in the breeze.
The sky so bright, the scattered clouds
Make shadows on the trees.

It’s windows blank and staring now
Like eye holes in a skull.
Its empty look belies the truth
Of mem’ries it is full.

They walk about and slam the doors
When all about do sleep.
Now standing here beneath the sun
Their silences they keep.

But do not think they are not there
Because the sun shines bright.
And do not tempt those who there dwell
On dark and moonless night.

Cheers, Winston

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