Posts Tagged ‘Ghost’

Green Touseled Mountainsides

Posted: October 4, 1993 in Poetry
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and when I sit and think,
sometimes,
I write pure gibberish
about green touseled mountainsides
like dead Japanese poets
bearded and silent,
bending their great ghostly heads
to squint through the clouds
that form their thrones:
they watch my pen move,
my mind clicks across its railroad tracks
past the wooded mountains,
and rising to them momentarily
on the steam of a whistle.

2 Stories

Posted: June 16, 1993 in Poetry
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I had a beer with an Indian.
he said he was an Indian
so I bought him a beer
and he told me about a ghost horse
who could run faster than the wind
who he was sure he had seen
in the long grass behind his trailer.
he bought me a beer and
I smiled and told him
that I loved him and
we drank our beers.
we left and I walked home
slower than the wind
to a bed of empty dreams.

Untitled Poem #157

Posted: April 3, 1993 in Poetry
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a car travelling with my soul
in the passenger’s seat: this is time
and I watch fields of wheat breathe,
amber waves of grain…

an organ plays melancholy from a building
and people pass, they do not hear,
too busy looking down when I have stopped
to listen for the sound of the wind:
echoes and ghostlike spirits of memories.

I cannot explain the music I hear,
be it cacophony or pure, ringing clear,
perhaps the different drum I march to.

An Imaginary Forest

Posted: November 27, 1992 in Poetry
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in the yard of my childhood
stand trees that are no longer there,
they made way for a deck and some stairs.
these trees are ghosts of the wood
that supported the planks
high up in the air,
where Mom would be scared
for me, as well she should
have been. I imagined tanks
and other dangerous things:
Sauron after my candy ring,
and my happiness was my thanks
for being the young king
of a forest of trees bent with caring.

Oh No, Nothing

Posted: December 16, 1990 in Poetry
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silently shrunken
I drive sunken
watching the vapor
of the new fallen rainwater
dance in the straitjacket of my headlights,
eaten by the grinning grille of my car.
smiling madly from my eye sockets,
I motor evilly with my high beams flickering,
churning my way through the growling fog,
ghost tendrils sucking at my car,
corroding away behind the wheel,
slouched in my chair, spoilt by power steering.
hunting, like the demons riding heat lightning
about my sanity.

f.p. Nini

Posted: October 22, 1990 in Poetry
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the Flower Phantom is dead
ever since Nini left.
What use have ghosts
when they’ve no-one to haunt?

alone in a big room (echoes and ghosts)

Posted: September 25, 1990 in Poetry
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9/25/90

small. lonely.
alone in a big room.
echoes and ghosts,
stairs and flowers,
the noise of old laughter
is caught wistfully in some corners
where the experienced ear
can still hear it whisper.
bedrooms and bears,
visions and dreams.
alone in a big room.
small. lonely.