Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Zywa Jan 4
He is dead, and she

writes me from his mobile phone:


You don't have to cry.
Story "App-arition" in the collection "Night side of the river" (2023, Jeanette Winterson)

Collection "Stall"
She remembers
when the light
was filled
with silent ghosts.  
They would flicker in and out
in the cigarette smoke  
of the theater,  
each frame
an ashy wisp,
a burnt offering.
The story spooling out
in the air
was a familiar one.
The  sentiment
caught in her heart
and  made her cry.  
  
Years later,  
she went back,
after the smoke
was banned
and only the light
was permitted to filter.
The ghosts  
talked to her, now-
but it was no longer
a sacred thing.
There were profane words
and the noise hurt her ears.
In this night  light  
there were no  
familiar family faces.
Everything was clear,  
startling new and strange
and all the colors
too bright  for her eyes
to bear.
And it was then
she knew
she would die
in this nightmare dream.
Cold winter afternoon,
Heading to my friend’s,
Down to the woods,
Ghost hunting again.

Deep into the ravine,
Feeling strange,
Like being watched,
From away.

“Split up,”
“Farther that way?”
Alone I see it,
A beautiful woman in the creek.

I called out,
She looked at me,
Then faded.
A ghost,
I swear I saw.
Still freaks me out. Happy Monday!
TreeGoth Dec 2024
As  Lisa falls asleep
She feels her soul leave her body
As it shoots to the moon
Alas she is alive
She is now on the moon
This happened 200 year ago
Long before the thought of astral projection
And to this day you see her
Face blend in the craters of the moon
The Ghost Writer

As I pick up my pen to begin to write these images
In my imagination I wrote this as if it was spoken
I’m hoping to learn something
let the words say something
That I can share for you to listen
Is it paranoia or premonition?
My instincts or intuition?
Now I’m leaving it all on paper
With rhythmic melodies and elegant Eliquis
I’m doing it all for the passion
Everything written in second hand
whether it's on purpose or happenstance
The words of my Ghost and its writer is all that stands
In a faraway place and faraway time
stood square a cabin rotted pine and bramble flue.
Once haven for old crones craven - their skins thin-skinned slivers of brine;
now nary a soot line marked a witches' brew.

In the dark, swirling silver stark and creatures would quiver
held over ***-stew thither, along hymns of damning chanted.
Waggled tongues with an evil glaze would slither,
cursing in eye, toe, and liver the bubbling broth decanted.

Oh a malkin giggled and a paddock piggled;
sniggled in a mirth-marked cauldron's rubble double bubble.
With a whoosh and a swish a bony finger had wiggled,
as papery skin withered the drubble swuddle brubble.

On those blackest of nights, when wolves would fear the moon,
howls held loomed, choked on down the throat of dusk.
Hatred uttered its sleepy breath, pitch-entombed
and justice marooned under a tar most brusque.

Shadows danced incantation
for an occultish creation, oh the devil's bidding be done!
Flamed carnation, neither here nor there god-fearing,
cackling a primrose coronation; the stirring spoon spun!

Death-catcher chimes hung close upon the entry;
a dust since turn of century marred bone;
witches’ wart-encrusted noses crinkled at gentry;
chenille voices sung with celerity a hellish praise: Divinum Occultum.

A little duende ran down the cauldron,
gloom chanting a chant come out with a hurl.
Burnt feet chasing away all ghosts ‘n goblins,
unfurling like whisper from the concoction:

Doom upon all the world.
Some notes on terms and usage:

Flue: Another word for chimney.

Malkin & Paddock: There are quite a few meanings associated with malkin and paddock; however, I use them conjunctively as a slight nod to Shakespeare’s Macbeth, where a malkin and a paddock (cat and toad) were the witches’ animals.

Piggled: Nonsense word I use to mean squirmed.

Sniggled: Eel fishing. The poor toad was dunked into the cauldron.

Rubble double bubble … drubble swuddle brubble: Onomatopoeia for a boiling cauldron, starting out steady and then boiling over.

Brusque: Abrupt or rough. Used alongside tar to create a sense of wrongness as tar is slow and sticky.

Gentry: people of high social class.

Celerity: Swiftness.

Divinum Occultum: Latin for “The Divine Secret”. A perverse take on Divinum Officium, “The Divine Duty”, or the official set of prayers used in Catholicism.

Duende (Do-en-day): Spanish/Latin American version of a gnome- or dwarf-like spirit. Depending on the type, a duende may or may not be mischievous; however, used in the context of the poem, you can be sure there’s mischief afoot.

The underlying structure of the poem mostly follows a simple A, AB, A, AB rhyming format in each stanza.
Bekah Nov 2024
Lilac skies and dreamy meadows
A world that knows no blue
Hazy, milky clouds of smoke
Breeze lazily past the moon

A starry sky reflecting
All my hopes and dreams
I’m pounding at the walls
But no one hears my screams

I search for the meaning
In the world I left behind
Through the fog I wander
In a realm that knows no time

The echoes of my cries
Fade into the mist
An illusory existence
In a world that can’t be kissed
Next page