Selections from a series more or less in progress

Another Floating World: Little Ghost Poems


Grass stirring in wind--
or is it the wind, or my
loved dead come to chat?


When I was alive,
how I loved this moonlit path--
now I am moonlight--


I saw--saw your face--
you have been dead seven years--
Tell me if I dreamed!

Another Floating World: Little Ghost Poems



At the dark window
sharp rain patters--or maybe
skittering fingers?


So long hanging there
I hardly recognize it--
my poor old body


That music I heard--
was it you, so far away
singing our old song?

Another Floating World: Little Ghost Poems



"Step light," she whispered;
"this busy crowd--yes--and then,
always, the others."


Tum-
bling
from
the
sky
I could have sworn, like snowflakes:
Whose little bones? Whose?


Lonely man, like me,
walking the dark quiet streets;
then he smiled--those teeth--


The subway's so packed,
I'm afraid I just pushed right
through you--so sorry!

Another Floating World: Little Ghost Poems



Tree frog stops; listens;
from cypress-darkened shadows
someone answered him


Why do you stare, crows,
is there someone you can see
walking beside me?


Moon-dappled lagoon,
heron pacing the shore, friend
of him who died there.


And if I open
the door of this little house,
who then will greet me?

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by R.A. Stewart

Another Floating World: Little Ghost Poems



Tree frog stops; listens;
from cypress-darkened shadows
someone answered him


Why do you stare, crows,
is there someone you can see
walking beside me?


Moon-dappled lagoon,
heron pacing the shore, friend
of him who died there.


And if I open
the door of this little house,
who then will greet me?

---

This sounds like my old neck of the woods. I grew up in South Carolina. Tree frogs and cypress are in my blood. Herons, crows, (and cicadas), too.

Another Floating World: Little Ghost Poems



A world of shadows--
that's what they say ghost world is.
What do the ghosts say?


Deep in the forest
you can hear a song--that's all--
ah, but whose voice? Whose?


Once, people lived here.
Now the warped floors, mildewed rooms,
Empty--but are they?

Another Floating World: Little Ghost Poems



Little crying dog,
do you think your master hears,
where he's sleeping now?

Would you swim to him?
That river is wide and deep,
and you won't return.


Ever since she died,
He sits in one lighted room,
alone? not alone?

(This is about a house in our neighborhood and what has happened there recently ... no supernatural overtones in the real-life story, though. As far as I know.)


You're not forgotten:
I smell your honeysuckle ...
though it's winter now


Such a little ghost,
lost in the big world's shadows
till mama finds you.