#ghostly visions

[naturallylilting]

Ghostly visions

possess purple skies,

the skeletons behind

summer’s setting sun.

Bones of the holy revisit

the place flesh has been,

one night a year

to dance away their pain.

Haunted looks

drain hollow eyes

of restless spirits eager

to escape the in-between,

a chance to walk the earth

one final time,

before their souls move on

beyond Halloween.

RhymingTherapy—October 2021 ( my video) poem inspired by @writerscreed challenge “ghostly visions”

[meh-taphor]

Heathen

[cruxymox]

there is a boardwalk over

this leviathan swamp, ever so

labyrinthian it seems.

i creak along. i walk it slow, i walk it

true. the swamp below

is a horror

of grief, of desperation,

of darkness. those that have come

out of it now stand at their piers

having mastered their origins,

appearing as ghostly visions, black

smoke, eyes, swirling storms, rain

clouds, bottles of tears, pools

of blood. those that have come

out of the swamp are greater than i,

they are giants.

they are giants.

i creak along, i hear

the whippoorwills.

i creak along over

the swamp & somehow

i have found my own pier.

_

this is a poem in response to the 'ghostly visions' writerscreed prompt, but more so how i feel being a part of the new horror anthology what one wouldn't do.

[ineloquence]

These ghostly visions haunt me,

And I know it sounds cliché,

That I see you walking down the sidewalk though I know you're miles away,

That I think I hear your laughter when there hasn't been a sound,

To feel like you've been watching me when you're nowhere to be found.

These ghostly visions torture me,

You're never really there,

Even now I know that truth,

So why then, am I scared?

[pangarina-angelin-a]

poem and photo by pangarina-angelin-a

[xo01]

[sunshineramblings]

how do I write a poem that has little to do with love when every black off-the-shoulder sweater and 7pm lavender latte are pleading for a little hand holding on a haunted hay ride and jack-o-lanterns blowing kisses?

what I mean to say is every poem is either a love poem or contains at least one run-on sentence about why it should be. what I mean to say is I still have ghostly visions of us

glowing translucent. I am afraid of the beauty we created idealizing death and disappearance, but in the autumn of adulthood we learned the names for our diseases and stopped making art from our pain.

now I write about your snores keeping me awake at night until the veil is so thin I clench close my eyes tighter than my grip on your arm when I'm begging you to join me in the romance of no longer chasing

the younger, broken versions of ourselves.

[dbaydenny]

Ghostly visions blur

the lines between here and there

wherever there is,

do they see us the same way,

sometimes the way I see me?

.

D W Eldred