GHOSTS

Instructions:

1. write about ghosts - these vary among cultures - so read up if necessary

2. write a poem or a short story...any genre

3. you may submit UP TO 3 POEMS - MAXIMUM

4. the poems may be old or new

5. If I have forgotten to give full instructions
- please ask and I will add the instructions here.

MEMORIES OF THE DEAD

She haunts me
When the sun goes down.
And talks to me
Of the days long past.
Times of joy
Before all was lost.
Children at play
Lost in their innocence.
Her husbands kiss
Before he took a knife to her.

And I listen
To times when I was drunk.
Nights that I
Would pound her with my fist.
Children crying
Because of my angry roars.
The guts she had
To take my bottled friend away.
The night I
Ended her for loving me.

SHE


she slipped into my thoughts, when I wasn't looking
and nestled in amongst my fears
now her whispers echo, as I try to sleep
and during midnight hours she pries my mind awake
the figure in the corner, I try to ignore her
and my traitorous eyes refuse to wander
she moves malicious, grotesquely, teeth gleaming in hate
and takes an unseen step toward me
the heat of her breath, warming my cheek
and if I inhale I'll take her in
this apparition strokes my flesh, greedy, hungry for pain
and a scream rises inside me as I feel her
weight settles on my hips, putrid breath on my lips
and hard harsh fingers push and ply
my weak and trembling arms, trapped in iron grasp
and helplessly and silent I cry
she leaves my discarded shell, naked, unmoving
and empty eyes staring into nothingness

crude bruises in the morning, wrists, thighs
and still my room awaits another sleepless night

As I Endure


Sometimes I wish myself insane

so that the only danger I face is psychological

and everyone else,

my loved ones,

have nothing to fear.

But they sound so real,

Feel so real,

that I know they must be.

My only hope is that they can take what they want from me

and are satisfied.

To prevent them from turning to anyone else,

I cry in all the right places

and clutch my fear close to my breast;

unwilling to admit that they have transformed me

into something that waits for them,

eagerly.

If they knew that,

even for an instant,

I enjoyed their touch,

I would lose all interest to them.

What keeps me truly afraid

now

is that I am no longer sure if it is out of concern for others

that I endure their visitations,

or if it is that I have become something

that cannot live without them.

Hades and Nimee - thank you for starting off the competition with those wonderful poems.!!!!!!!!

THE GHOST LOVER


The real estate agent told me the house was “haunted” and therefore the price was right. Four prior owners had bought and sold the Post Road mansion in two years. However, my late Uncle had specified that I was to use the inherited money to buy the most expensive piece of real estate in Toronto.

I personally did not “believe” in ghosts. Scientists are trained to be skeptics. I had slept in the house, prior to buying it, as the real estate agent thought I should spend a night there before putting down so much money. The night went smoothly. No ghosts. Fresh air from the surrounding two acres of land. Finally the closing catch was that my uncle had set up a payment plan for the house, such that I would own it, but not have to pay anything in taxes or in upkeep.

When I moved in the neighborhood ignored me. I was a “nobody” and they had found this out via my real estate agent who was supposed to keep client confidentiality. My belongings were pitiful and I dressed in jeans bought from Sears. So nobody came by, only my girlfriends.

I decided to have a sleep in for all who were willing to bring a sleeping bag and try a different room to see if the ghost would materialize. Five of my friends slept in five huge rooms which all had their own bathroom. I set it up so that we would be in the furthest reaches of the house.

After giggling and drinking far too much, we went to our rooms and passed out. I had a wonderful dream. I dreamed of a handsome dark man who was making love to me. He was was an artful lover and I kept having orgasm upon orgasm and shouted and moaned. Surprisingly I awoke to find my sheets off and my under sheet rather sticky. Finally my nightgown was nowhere to be found. I decided to get a sample. As I walked out of my room, completely naked, Esther stopped me.

“Cally, did you sneak a boyfriend in last night?” she asked with a smirk on her face.

“No, Esther, I did not. I do not even have a boyfriend.” Then I noticed her looking at me, naked and behind me, sheets helter skelter.

She followed me down to the kitchen where I found a clean zip lock bag and a unused wooden spatula like those to mix coffee. She followed me back as I bent down to scoop the messy white goo on my bed. Then she followed me to the kitchen where I closed the bag, labeled it and put it in the refrigerator.

Soon my other four invitees came and they all screamed at me.

“What are you – a sex maniac, I could hear you near the garage”.

“Are you sure Andre did not come back to haunt you?”

“Your mother would be ashamed, prancing around nude after shrieking the whole night in pleasure”, said Esther who knew just how to make me feel guilty.

I just ran upstairs and took a shower. Then I told them I had unexpected work to do this Sunday morning. They disappeared with their sleeping bags and every girlfriend gave me a unique statement to imply that I was a man eater who had snuck a good one right under their noses.

I decided to go down to the lab to check my suspicions out. I picked up a breakfast and entered my lab at the university. I found a microscope and took a careful sample of the white gel like material. I was munching on my bagel when I suddenly realized I was looking at live sperm.

It was early in the morning, but I was shaking. I ate my bagel and drank my coffee and thought about who was a known Valium user. I looked into my laboratory assistant's drawer and was delighted to find a lonesome pill ignored among the pencils. When it started working, I decided to go back to the mansion.

From the mansion I phoned my friend Erik, the photographer and asked him to set up a video camera in my room for overnight. I needed proof. I offered to pay, but when I told him the story and he knew he would see me just maybe in a compromising position, he waived his fee.

That night, having washed the bed linens and finding my nightgown hanging from a chandelier (how had it gotten there?), I went to bed. Surprisingly I fell asleep as soon as I put the “on” switch on the video cam and lay down.

This second night proved as erotic as the first. We tried different positions and made love all night. Again I woke up naked with another sheet full of gook. Same protocol. I took the sample to work with me and left Eric the code to the house.

That evening Erik came over to show me the video. I gasped as I saw a large handsome outline of a man having sex with me. We were going through the Kama Ssutra. I then told Erik that for the second time, the emissions had real sperm. Erik gave me the tape, promised that I had the only copy. I asked him also not to tell anybody about the live sperm results.

I kept living in the house and sleeping soundly. Every morning the sheets were a mess. Then one day I started to throw up in the morning. Now this was impossible. I went to my family doctor and had myself examined. He came back beaming,”Cally, you are going to be a mother, who is the lucky guy?” “Dr. Novak, will you think I am crazy if I tell you the father is a ghost?”. At that point the doctor doubled over in laughter. “You made my day”, he said, as he gave me a consult to an obstetrician, “A ghost indeed”.....He was still laughing as I walked out.

1011 words


http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/115998-the-ghost-lover/

The White Lady


     Ten miles before reaching the city proper is a long stretch of long and winding road with marvelous cliffs overlooking the deep blue sea. Such a magnificent view for unsuspecting onlookers! But during the night, this place is haunted and avoided by many, especially the locals. This place has been a site of grim and horrifying tales of deadly car accidents at exactly the same time and date every year supposedly caused by a ghost, "The White Lady" because she is said to be dressed in white.

     This is how it all started. Ten years ago, there was a beautiful young bride in her early twenties who was on the way to church for her wedding. Along that beautiful stretch of winding road, she was abducted by one of her ardent suitors and his four friends. She was gang-raped and thrown into the ravine, left for dead on that early first Sunday morning of June. This case was left unsolved for lack of evidence and witnesses. Needless to say, justice was not served.

      A year after that horrible crime, a car accident happened near the place where the body of the beautiful young bride was found. The car driver who lived to tell his tale said, "I saw this lady all dressed in white floating in the air, as I turned around the bend. I was both surprised and terrifed, as I tried to avoid her unknowingly steering my car towards the cliff until it fell."

     This car accident and the ghost story became the talk of the city for awhile until it slowly died down. Until another accident happened on the same date and about the same time, a year after. The driver and his only passenger, one of the ardent suitors, did not survive. People in the city began speculating and thus, rumor has it that "The White Lady" is out there every year trying to find her assailants and to avenge her death. The main reason why there was no death in the first accident was because he was not guilty of the crime, and those two dead victims of the accident were guilty of the heinous crime committed against the "White Lady," as the people were already connecting the dots; thus the ghost story about the "White Lady" began spreading like a wild fire!

     Every year there are reported car accidents in the same place on the same date but no casualty. It looks like the "White Lady" will not stop hunting his killers until all of them are dead; so far, there are three more left. So just in case you happen to be sight-seeing in Holy Angels, just avoid the first Sunday of June to avoid any mishap. But if you're one of those daring souls, and non-believer in ghosts, I dare you to come...visit us.

Dear Lord/ i;m back from the grave again)
i;m Heavenly disableD/ & i think that the Angels wouldn;t let me in}
sSo lets sSee what Lights not like before it enDs)
BangaraNg with a Bang) while the Dead keep walKing/
/& try to sStay sSharp like an S-marT sShopper)
going all BoomsStick it;s an Army of DarKneSs))
with the Residents Evil Dead Hell RaiSers WanTeD/
it;s the LiFe of a Poltergiest/ when the MaTrix gets haunTeD,')

“My Close Encounter on Pine Ridge”
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/images/uploads/poemimages/123975.jpg
[b](Gifts from Spirit-Friends) [/b]

Strange things had been happening down on the rez for months,    
reports of high-pitched shrieks, weird-drumming,    
animal-visions, and ghosts dancing in circles had    
flooded the tribal police office.    
It seemed nobody knew anything,    
and when asked questions,      
even the elders were mum,      
giving no straight answers.    
But the O.S.T. wanted to quash the fear    
that seemed to be gripping the younger generations.    
   
So lo and behold, they came looking for yours truly, me.    
I was the local expert on such cultural-phenomena up at B.H.S.U.,    
had written my dissertation on the Sioux languages, was an expert in Lakota.    
If anybody could get to the bottom of these spooky stories, it would certainly be moi.    
You see, I had a reputation as being practical, always eager to help, not easily swayed    
by things considered paranormal, out of the ordinary or supernatural.    
   
I traveled light, quickly packed my bag and headed South down      
41 out of Spearfish, through Red Shirt, toward Oglala.    
Man, I cruising in style, for I had broken out      
my ’68 Bonneville Convertible,      
black as the night I was headed into.    
Miss Hula was doing her thing    
on my dash, as lightning cracked      
across the skies, distant thunder    
rolled out of the hills surrounding this lone strip of highway.    
   
I was singing along to a Springsteen tune, blasting out      
on the airwaves, Radio KILI, FM 90.1, when I first saw it.    
A huge crow sitting on my hood, it looked like an ornament,    
staring straight at me, eyes of crimson and it was cawing.    
I rubbed my eyes, thought I was dreaming, then      
it was gone, like puff of smoke, just disappeared.    
I was spooked, as those birds were no joke.      
According to tradition,      
they provided insight    
into life’s magic.    
   
Intelligent    
and fearless, you’d    
be remiss to ignore their sign.    
I realized then, I was completely alone    
traveling at sixty-miles-per-hour.    
A strange feeling gripped me,      
a power crept down my spine, there was    
tingling in my fingers, my sight grew fuzzy.    
I swear I heard an eagle-bone’s shrill whistle,    
smelled sage burning, and spied ghosts      
wearing shirts by the same name      
dancing in a circle out on the plains,      
sparks from their fire drift upward,      
mixing with the stars      
of the brilliant Milky Way, stretched      
as far as your eyes could see.    
   
It was surreal,      
me in my convertible,    
listening to The Boss,      
traveling straight into a ghostly ritual.      
I was at a loss for the meaning of all of this,      
until the crow reappeared,    
sitting upright, in the seat next to me,    
and whispered in the ancient-tongue,    
   
“Wasi’chu, Wíyuškiŋyaŋ waŋčhíŋyaŋke ló.    
Never forget Wounded Knee,      
our hearts are buried there.    
It is your destiny to remember      
the sacred oath of our brotherhood.    
Wakan Takan kici un. Doka.”    
   
Then it was gone, the talking-bird      
flew straight up out of my car    
and back into the stars that      
twinkled a bit brighter,    
they actually      
seemed to smile.    
   
The next morning,      
I filed my special report    
with the local police department-    
 
"REPORTS  OF PARANORMAL ACTIVITY UNSUBSTANTIATED. NO ACTION NECESSARY."  
   
I had some bacon and eggs at the local diner    
and rolled out of Oglala around six.    
Interestingly, a porcupine-quilled      
medicine wheel had been      
tied to my steering wheel,    
and inside my glove box,    
I found a red pipestone bowl      
and four Bald-Eagle feathers.    
I felt certain these items      
were special-gifts,    
not a trick by Fox
or even Spider,    
but given to me      
by my spirit-friends      
on Pine Ridge,    
anonymously    
in peace.

When I was a little girl,
veins lined the walls, strong
masculine...

Cabinets breathed in and out
as sleep etched on the mischief...

Long walks down the hall echoed
lonely steps...

At night fingers played footsie
to stay awake...

The invisible seemed to watch,
walk around translucent.

Illumination was my friend for years, while
the dark creepy crawled on shaggy legs.

Vampiric cold iced on Southern limbs...
Name called on the melodic atmosphere,
answered in deaf tones.

Solid, watching me slumber, a gasp
emerges on liquified transparency.

They do walk among, misplaced, voiceless,
or keepers of our soul, traversing from
dimensional episodes, some reliving lives.

Respect these inner sanctums, the columns
of souls who will one day play in peace
on stone epitaphs.

*This poem is based on some of my real experiences*

The Ghost of Me

http://nrgalloway24.files.wordpress.com/2012/08/female-ghost.jpg
(I hope you like this drawing I did especially for this poem)


I see myself,
On my bed,
with a bullet buried
inside my head.

Dry blood stains my once white sheets.
It's been about a week,
and you have no idea how bad I reak.
I can only stare,
at flies,
Flying about
pitching,
shitting,
on my eyes.

The empty shell
has become a statue on the floor,
untouched.
Oh Well,
I guess i have to wait some more,
until some one decides to come.

What a miserable existence!
No one knows I've been missing.
Even in this spirit form,
I knew this day would come.
I was just procrastinating.

My house is in foreclosure,
I didn't know it could be repossessed by the court.
My mother thinks I'm a dead beet daughter,
for not knowing that my husband was a Drug Lord.

I pulled the trigger for a reason.
He promised me he wouldn't touch my child.
Since he couldn't have me,
Either him or I would have to end my life.

I told him, I put my son into foster care,
I didn't want him growing up in this catastrophe,
But he's  actually with his grandma nice and safe,
under a different identity.

I kept my promise
and I pulled the trigger.
As my eyes closed,
I caught sight of his favorite doll, Tigger.

I'll wail and cry,
for my poor baby boy.
I'll live on in regret for abandoning him,
and not packing his favorite stuffed toy.

The Wraith
Tis a cruel and evil ancient spirit,
Committing atrocities most foul.

Darkest of the astral plane's inhabitants,
Born of misery and bred for bloodshed.

It shall send a violent shockwave through ye,
Feel its force ripping apart thou soul and mind.

Teas this spirit's malicious magick,
Indeed it be an unholy power most wicked.

Even the elder wizards recant facing it,
Even the elder witches deny such foolishness.

So it has thrived unchallenged by our world,
This specter left to cause a bump in the night.

Howling wildly into the sky as if the changling-lupis,
A phantom feasting on the blood and flesh of the damned.

Gorging itself on thou own offspring's dreams,
Creating great and horrible nightmares in its wake.

None can stop the foul wraith's mighty rampage,
And so the wraith and its magick shall become immortal.

The Picture
Its hypnotic visage ensnared me
Yes, the picture
I can hear it clawing at my mind

No, no no no
Get out of my head
You can't take this vessel

I can feel it pushing me our, winning
I see my body begin to walk away
Through a parallel mirror, I see...My picture

Dead Dog
I see a silly looking shadow wagging its tail,
Could it be one of Lucifer's pups slipped hell,
By the deadly look in its mug so stale,
Perhaps when alive it was a guardian of jail.

Bearing its huge teeth it pounced me,
Full of fear and lemonade I did pee,
I kicked my legs sending it into a tree,
Its getting back up good grief.

Dash dash dash I did,
But there was nowhere I could of hid,
It pulled my ankle till I slid,
And drag down yo hell this kid.