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Thread: Selections from a series more or less in progress

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    Senior Member R.A. Stewart's Avatar
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    Default 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!

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    Marsilius (October 25th, 2017)

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    Senior Member R.A. Stewart's Avatar
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    Default Re: Selections from a series more or less in progress

    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?
    “We go to the garrick now and become warbs.”--James Thurber

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    Marsilius (October 25th, 2017), Paddler (October 23rd, 2017)

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    Senior Member R.A. Stewart's Avatar
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    Default Re: Selections from a series more or less in progress

    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!
    “We go to the garrick now and become warbs.”--James Thurber

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    Marsilius (October 25th, 2017)

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    Senior Member R.A. Stewart's Avatar
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    Default Re: Selections from a series more or less in progress

    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?
    “We go to the garrick now and become warbs.”--James Thurber

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    Senior Member Marsilius's Avatar
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    Default Re: Selections from a series more or less in progress

    Quote Originally Posted by R.A. Stewart View Post
    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.
    Fortibus es in ero

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    R.A. Stewart (October 25th, 2017)

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    Senior Member R.A. Stewart's Avatar
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    Default Re: Selections from a series more or less in progress

    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?
    “We go to the garrick now and become warbs.”--James Thurber

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    Senior Member R.A. Stewart's Avatar
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    Default Re: Selections from a series more or less in progress

    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.
    “We go to the garrick now and become warbs.”--James Thurber

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