MY GHOST

The very first of the "Fran Series". Before we were even an item, I had perceived within this attractive, gregarious woman a frightened immobilized child, crying in frustration, seeking relief...

MY GHOST

There's a Booger in the woods--
How do I know he's there?
When I walk too close to Him,
His talons snag my hair

He frightens me, he makes me cry
More so than Robbers, or Hoods--
I stay away from Meadows now,
'cause there's a Booger in the woods!

I've a Ghost who shadows me
Down every Path I tread;
I've tried every means I know
To convince Him that He's dead

I plead with him to let me be,
Yet does my Ghost my footsteps fill.
His viscid croaking reminding me
That I alone can His voice still!

Is't not enough just to deplore Him?
Can it be I must ignore Him?
Does my acknowledgement restore Him?
Give Him Power? Make Him Whole?

If true, I must command Him gone!
Starting now! This very Dawn!
Clammy hands no longer on
My Back, my Neck, nor on my Soul!

There WAS a Booger in those Trees,
But Spring is here, and leaves are on!
And dead things cannot my heart freeze,
Nor long live, where's Life, and Sun!

I thought I heard Him yesterday,
But I laughed, and said, "It's but the Breeze!
"It's months now since He's called my name
"For there is NO Booger in those Trees!"



A word of Explanation: "Booger" is a catch-all term used in the South, to
refer to any spooky but insubstantial thing. Earlier forms include "bogey"
and "boggart" As this is a poem about facing and eventually conquering
one's fears, it seemed an apt choice, despite its other more-common meaning.

Reviews

[emmajoy]

Wow .. this is part scary and part funny .. and I hide my eyes from your words, laughing and trembling!

Great write, Mark - so enjoyed it.

It's strange how phantoms and their goings-on leave such an indelible impression on minds. Children seem to laugh at them yet, fear them and enjoy that fearing. Maybe it's because they don't analyse like adults do.

As to the breeze in the trees .. what about that din in the win-dy wind ..

[cest la vie]

Ah, the Bogey-Man..How my brothers used to torment me with that phrase as a child.. This is an exceptionally well written piece. We think we carry that Boogey man around with us, then one day we notice, he's not behind us anymore. Loved this, so many things I can get from this. Nicely done, Mark!!

[Jola]

Marku masz piękna duszę Twoje słowa są pełne ekspresji ...pięknie piszesz ...jestes dobrym pisarzem i przyjacielem ...:)
Pozdrawiam Ciebie i Twoja żone /Jolka

[Marie Anzalone]

Funny thing about those damn ghosts, Mark... they have a way of sneaking up on you when your back is turned, and you thought they were gone for good. I see mine as a big black dog with glowing red eyes... walks so softly you can't hear him approaching, and the little hairs on the back of my neck feel him first.

Interesting thing- your note about the source of this poem, sounds very much like what shamans call a soul retrieval, where a piece of the childhood spirit gets "lost" and must be found again and returned to the person it left. It's considered one explanation for what happens during childhood fears/ trauma, and also with PTSD.

I enjoyed this very much... and it was lighthearted enough to not be scary, even for a subject that probably frightened a child pretty badly. I'm glad you found your mate. I'll be checking out more of your work soon... as soon as I get the car unpacked, the animals fed, the house caught up a bit, etc. Thanks for the read request, please feel free to send more my way!

[David Lewis Paget]

An interesting departure for you... and one that evokes childhood memories in the reader. Children are so much closer to the spirit world than adults, and perhaps more aware of undercurrents behind the scenes of everyday life. I recall that when my sister and I were very young, and living in a two-storey house in the midlands of England, we had one of those clanky old cysterns over the upstairs toilet. When we pulled the chain the noise scared the heebies out of us, and we had to rush out and downstairs before the sound stopped, or the 'bogey man' would get us! I can remember the feeling as I plunged at breakneck speed down those stairs - pure terror! Your poem certainly evokes a belated shiver.

[Rick Puetter]

Hi Mark,

That's the spirit! Talk yourself into it. He's gone now! You know it! Right? Is he gone? Of course he's gone! At least I think so. ...What was that sound? Did you see the leaves shake there?...

Best regards,

Rick

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

The imagination can play tricks on us especially when we are dealing with past demons... they can become your ghost... very nicely written... it certainly flowed well and told a fun story.

[R J Askew]

I enjoyed this. I am disposed to things insubstantial. An encounter with a ghost wld be welcome as a distraction from this dull, dreary reality. I wld beg the ghost to stay, to haunt me for as long as it chose. I wld quiz it. I wld co-operate with it and advance it's cause. Also when I read the poem I wondered if it was your own ghost you were contemplating, projecting fwd to some future moment. We should not be afraid of our disembodied spirits. To befriend our insubstance seems sensible to me. And I wonder what it must feel like to be dissmbodied, to have absolutely no feelings. I rather like the idea. I also like the word's history. In the limestone hills of Lancashire and Yorkshire there are many Boggart Holes on the map. I think they are pot holes which probably make strange noises when the water pours into them. Perhaps I have a little of the Boggart in me as the notion of haunting someone has a strange appeal.

[An owl on the moon]

This was such a wonderfully vivid write. It was both haunting and playful, moving me along through memories of my childhood fears when winds would blow and trees branches would scrape my window... Excellent piece!

[Ellen Hammond]

A hauntingly charming poem. LOL I love how you came came full circle from "There is" to "There was." Written with your usual finesse and wisdom. It is a really enjoyable read.