Ghost

Technological medium,

Millennial scourge,

It is a novelty to be cursed

By those

That lurk mute

And bend us over boards,

Jangle keys,

That lock us to screens

Lure us to watch

The infinitesimal dots

Of a pending conversation,

Tantalising communication

Equivalent to naught

But cyberspace

Apparitions, they live,

Albeit light in the micro byte

Still catwalk the trend;

Advocate that audible

Spectres are not sexy,

So by digital decree

Stop banshee wails,

Stop unearthly shrieks,

Of ringtones abhorrent

Are mobiles into useless vessels

Are despondent mouth-pieces

For those that don’t

Speak speak speak,

Not in text, or in verse,

Not in English, nor in dalliance

Nor in Roman or Greek

Instead, I read the greats

Classic antiquities,

Of ancient history’s elite

Seeking verbatim reply

From the Oracle of Delphi dumb

Silence to

Become swans

Who become

Nymphs becoming trees,

Dropping leaves,

Satyrs, deities

In rampant pursuit,

Fleet in their heat

Far too flexible at the knees

Perhaps Mount Olympus

Would have better reception,

Zeus lightning-fast on the line,

Or at least Hermes,

Flash on winged feet,

Bacchus loose-lipped

After too much wine,

Artemis on the prowl,

Profile sublime

Under her lion-pelt scowl

That could stare you down,

Sultry and obsolete

But it’s story-book myth,

Pure speculation,

The wish, the expectation

Different from

Reality’s circumnavigation,

Global spooks

Poles apart,

North and south in the freeze

I shudder,

Chilled to the core

As nithered as

Cupid in the nude

By haunting discord;

There are no safewords

That will draw the ghosts forth,

No use for phones,

No materialising calls

I respond

By disappearing too,

Another gone social media

Ghoul far from reach

Absence a double-edge sword

Of Damocles;

If you desire further speech

I beseech a mode uncommon

Please grab a Ouija board

And spell each letter,

A summon

 Skeletal sweetheart scant language

For your chosen phantom,

For her spirit-thin

Limbo on the ground,

I can be your

 Otherworldly elusive woman

In séance to

Perpetually hound

 

The Laundry Ghost

Tonight, your ghost is palpable;

It is hanging with the clean

Laundry amputeed

On the guillotined  

Edge of a clothes horse

Slouching in the corner

Of this sudden torture chamber

 

The bump and sway of spectral

Hips teasing

The scent of wash powder,

Heavy in its haunting,

Perpetual incense

Drowning the room

With a papal buzz;

An accidental mass

Where I am the only

Devout devotee

Of unholy longing

With fervour enough

To make a spirit blush

 

Yet the sheets

Droop lifeless,

Remain untouched

Amidst the phantom

Rush rush rush

Present in the half shadows;

I take a basket

And gather blank souls

In twisted heaps

 

I open the window and begin

A pale nocturnal feed,

A thin moon reaping

With its yellow rind

A death wreath

Set to make

All I offer writhe

And live albeit brief

In the stirring breeze

Set to carry woven wraiths

Far from sight;

 

It is only you I want,

Beloved pestilent apparition

Of the night

Immortal

I like to think, I won’t be gone

When my breathing has dwindled;

To post-life’s low hum

Orchestrated in

Note amassed story

Of days flitted past,

Their arrogant immortality looped

On cinematic reel

Re-enacted for an audience

Picked over again until they know

Where I stood,

Knew who I was,

And how I spoke your name,

And what I would

Do if I could walk the boards

Another hour

Across a global stage

I’d be the shadow

Behind the scenic door,

With a lover’s caress

To rival a moth’s wing,

And I’ll turn slow

To a song no one else can hear

The final waltz

Envied in its quiet close

The ghost of a crescendo

Whispered thickly

Through inaudible assonance,

Enunciating the Bard’s words

Performed generations before

I’ll compose, in theatrical form,

Cryptic lines

To an obsolete script,

To amount to a playwright;

My epitaph the title

Of an infinite play,

My last actions

Curtained directions exuent;

My last words

Up in lights

Above an occupant robbed grave

Photograph

Image

At my previous house, many unexplained things happened. Figures were seen in rooms, the temperature would drop, my dog would refuse to enter the house, and the lights and the TV turned themselves on and off at whim. One day I decided to take some photographs and when I enhanced one of the photos (adjusted the contrast) something strange showed up in the kitchen. I’ll leave it up to you, the reader, to decide what you see.

Burnt Sepia, clean square

Of a day when something more

Walked

 Its outlines across the wall

Clear, dark

In enhanced tones

We saw in the snapshot

A child three feet tall

And felt the thrill

Of its outward gaze

Which enthralled

Our minds,

Posed the ‘how’s’?

And the ‘why’s?’

On the edge of natural law

Our thoughts were full of dread

And awe

If what was framed

Was really there

Existed unseen before