"Ghostlets..."

I was invited to speak on a Halloween Show ...about Ghosts

I was invited to give a Ghost Story on World Poetry Open Mic for their Halloween broadcast sooooooooooo...

 

Trick or treat - the “gobble-ins” are out and about.  Chuckling here.   I hand out the goods each year …hoping to see the ghosts wave, turn, and walk away… sigh, maybe one day …one day…

 

“Ghostlets…”

 

There was this bar in Kin -

too young to buy in California

but …we’d earned our rite of passage

then …just as now. Mama-san knew us well,

hard woman but she hugged me once

…but that’s another moment.

 

“Was late fall, back in ’69 - ’70.

Strange how you remember whens -

isn’t it?

Clear as the mud you wore,

the dirt you hugged and ran through your fingers.”

 

“A real Indian summer’s day.

Bloodwarm, clear - moon-bright transparent …ink

of a night…

’til midnight neared.”

 

“‘Tween then and 2,

clouds grew …high aloft -

gathering, darkening, closing in,

roiling - moving.

The shadows - long and flowing,

uneven patterns as the moon broke through

and through,

and through - paused, crazy glow and glistens

…then…

…the dark - tightened…”

 

“As we listened…  somehow breathing,

gazing back …and forth

back and forth…”

 

“The air had this rhythm of life -

come and gone

touch, feel, whisper…

come …and gone …then

not a breath, of breeze or ours -

everything HELD

as the sounds …paused… and slowly returned,

back and forth,

began to grow, build, flow,

back …and forth,

now louder and louder still.”

 

“Cicadas stuttering, as each pause …grew.

Came to life.

Bitterns and crakes - gulls too.

Echoing… echoing…

the sounds of feathered wings,

…leathered wings…

dripping, sawgrass rustling,

mud being moved.

Heavy-padded feet brushing,

ALL moving - round and around - flowing

lost in the dark.

Waiting …in the dark… waiting…

In the dark.”

 

“Gawd - sweat is cooold at 2 a.m.

and the mind numb from racing and startles

and thoughts seeping in-and-out,

in-and-out …for hours on end.

Eyes burn.

Hands have this shake you come to know

and the smoke ya can’t have will NEVER taste this good.”

 

“The afterimage is some kinda orange-white-yellows-black …swirls

and speckles white and black, bright grays -

dots and see-me-stars

pulsing, moving through your vision

edge-to-edge - eyes open

…or not.  And you can’t hear.

Lips move but it’s all so far away…

So very, very far …away.”

 

“Ya can’t measure time by forevers …you just live em.

Finally you breathe again

and again… the heart slows,

shivers begin… you’re alive.

Damn, you’re alive.”

 

Sigh…

 

“This rounds on me…

…Missing friends…” he said.

 

Chris

Author's Note

Happy Halloween. Feel free.

Reviews

[A Soap Mess Stories]

A nice little kreepy ghost story.

[Chris]

Real does that..

[Mary]

Chris, I get the sense that this is much more than a Halloween ghost story for children. In my reading, I was taken to a muddy swamp in war country, Vietnam? Where ghosts are real and well armed, and are dangerous indeed. I had chills! another addition to my favorites. Also asking permission to email to a friend of mine (not Facebook)

[Chris]

Feel free to "share" with your friends. Each of us lives with our ghosts ...and choices.

[Bram]

The imagery in this is breathtaking. I felt like I was walking through this poem. As you suggested to another commenter, I read this out loud and it gave me goosebumps. Absolutely captivating.

[Chris]

I hope you stop by again, take care.

[jesserose99]

'heavy padded feet brushing'...I can hear it so clearly. What a intriguing poet. So very refreshing, all your poetry seems brand new because the style is so your own.

[Chris]

Please, please read mine aloud and ...listen... to the tones of what you hear and how you hear it... if you don't mind. For me poetry is aural...

[Jimmy Yetts]

Was worth reading merely to experience the gorgeous, out-of-this-world imagery; a case of journey being every bit the equal of destination.
Amazing account!

[jacob erin-cilberto]

you reminded me not only of friends i miss very much...

you reminded me of many close calls i have had in my life....and how lucky to still be here.

but also you entertain us so much, even as we read into the fun, some serious message...

i love ghost stories...and have had a couple of my own...real ones...definite believer here.

j.

[.]

-- this was a very rewarding read for me... -- i didn't know it was possible to create a really eerie atmosphere with just a few words... and make the reader wonder interminably about the shape and form of ghosts... and even how they breathe...

[Chris]

how we breathe matters...

[.]

-- absolutely...

[maricoona91]

After reading your other poem "Somewhen its morning" I noticed in this a similar theme or image of time freezing and living in a second. (everything HELD)
The imagery of the night like ink, the air having life, mud moving, the nature of the night comes alive through your imagery! You breathed life into this poem.
I'm so grateful to have found you on this site! =)

[Chris]

Sometimes thoughts seem to flow one-to-another - though days or weeks or more has passed. Sometimes I guess I'll have to give more thought to what is posted prior to a new post ...afterall wouldn't want to get "stale" - and that IS said with a chuckle and no offense. Hi and welcome to WC.

[...]

Story....hmmmm...has to be some truth in this very vivid imagery. Feels like wartime flashbacks to me.
You sure do know how to tell the truth, Chris. As always...I love your style

[J. J. Nightingale]

Dead Cold Blood Flowing Losing Lost Nights

I was never THERE .. but I loved a Man that was...

Hallow Thoughts ..

Jazz