My uncle was born at the end of the Edo era and was a great authority on the various bizarre and gruesome legends that were so popular in those days: tales of haunted houses with rooms no one dared enter; tales of the souls of scorned women, still living, tormenting an unfaithful lover; tales of ghosts unable to relinquish an attachment to their former lives... Yet he took great pains to deny there was any truth to these legends, repeating the lesson of his samurai education that "a true warrior does not believe in ghosts."
Kido Okamoto in The Ghost of Ofumi (1930), translated by Ian MacDonald
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Related quotes
Born As Ghosts
The hills find peace
Locked armed guard posts
Safe from the screams
Of the children born as ghosts
Gates guns and alarms
Shape the calm of the dawn
Peering down into the basin
Where death lives on
Where young run foaming at the mouth with hate
Where burning batons beat the freezing who shake
Under the toxic sunsets they dine and toast
Their walls deny the terror faced by the children
Born as ghosts
Born as ghosts
One book and forty ghosts
Stuffed in a room
The school as a tomb
Where home is a wasteland
Taste the razor wire
And thought is locked in the womb
The tales that shocks the lives off the screen
Born as ghosts
song performed by by Rage Against The Machine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Racial Memories: Perhaps Storypoem
83846A thick fog lies along the shore.
Much denser than I've seen before.
It seems somehow unnatural.
Far different from the usual.
Fog banks which we see frequently.
It seemed to spring up suddenly.
Too suddenly for it to be
Conforming with normality.
I watch it apprehensively
I feel some how it threatens me.
I can remember all too well.
The tale the local legends tell.
Of the great fog which stole away
Whole villages or so they say.
Though local legends tend to be
Less accurate than history.
Folk memories are based on truth.
Although there is no written proof
That does not mean they can't be true.
That's why they persist as they do
That I'm afraid I can't deny
Although I am not certain why.
I half believe the tales are true
And wonder if the fog can do
What legends say it's done before.
Perhaps it has returned for more.
I think it's time for me to go.
I do not really want to know.
What will happen if should stay
My instinct is to run away.
To climb into my car and drive
My only aim is to survive.
I realise I have been dreaming.
I can see the street lights gleaming.
And that things are as they ought to be.
My mind's been playing tricks on me.
I'm safe and warm in my armchair.
Although my mind has been elsewhere.
Concocting fear filled fantasies
From half remembered memories.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Racial Memories: Perhaps
A thick fog lies along the shore.
Much denser than I've seen before.
It seems somehow unnatural.
Far different from the usual.
Fog banks which we see frequently.
It seemed to spring up suddenly.
Too suddenly for it to be
Conforming with normality.
I watch it apprehensively
I feel some how it threatens me.
I can remember all too well.
The tale the local legends tell.
Of the great fog which stole away
Whole villages or so they say.
Though local legends tend to be
Less accurate than history.
Folk memories are based on truth.
Although there is no written proof
That does not mean they can't be true.
That's why they persist as they do
That I'm afraid I can't deny
Although I am not certain why.
I half believe the tales are true
And wonder if the fog can do
What legends say it's done before.
Perhaps it has returned for more.
I think it's time for me to go.
I do not really want to know.
What will happen if should stay
My instinct is to run away.
To climb into my car and drive
My only aim is to survive.
I realise I have been dreaming.
I can see the street lights gleaming.
And that things are as they ought to be.
My mind's been playing tricks on me.
I'm safe and warm in my armchair.
Although my mind has been elsewhere.
Concocting fear filled fantasies
From half remembered memories.
Thursday,13 September 2012.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Other Side for M Lady Tara
Two little ghosts out walking at night
When one little Ghost cried out in fright
Oh Dear I think I see a man.
He’s over there I’m sure I can
The other ghost says you cannot do
there are no men they are not true
Just old Ghosts tales to frighten you
and if they were what could they do
There are no men there never was
I know that’s true because.
My old professor told me so
and he was clever he should know.
The whole idea amuses me
A living man you’ll never see
(Apr 04)
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Will You? for friend Thad
The singing spring, a sacred well.
Is heard to sing so legends tell.
At midnight when the moon is full.
They say the singing’s wonderful.
So beautiful you are entranced
until the sunrise sets you free.
You basic nature is enhanced.
So you are changed; permanently.
The good become even better.
The wicked ones grow much worse.
These rules are followed to the letter.
Bring changes which you can’t reverse.
I was advised to stay indoors
on evenings when the moon was full
I disregarded this of course.
When you are young you play the fool
I did not believe the tales were true
So I resolved to check it out
a very foolish thing to do
But Now I know I have no doubt.
I was a young and headstrong fool
Although that does not change a thing.
I went there when the moon was full
And heard the singing of the spring.
That’s why I sit here on death row.
I grew to enjoy violence.
I killed a man with just one blow.
Although I pleaded self defence.
The jury found I was guilty.
I know I didn’t mean to kill.
The evidence convicted me.
It seemed to be an act of will.
It seems I can’t escape the fate
The sacred well foresaw for me
I know now when it is too late
I must fulfil the prophecy.
I can’t complain I made the choice
I should listened carefully
But no I had to hear the voice
I went there unbelievingly.
I should have known but I did not
Old legends are based on some truth.
That’s why the legends aren’t forgot.
Except by disbelieving youth.
I must accept the penalty
There is nothing I can do.
One morning they will come for me.
Not pleasant to look forward to.
So heed my words and heed them well.
Do not ignore the legends that you hear
The strange tales that the old wives tell.
Although their meanings are not clear.
It won’t harm you stay indoors
on evenings when the moon is full.
It is by far the wisest course.
It never hurts to be careful.
Although you are a modernist
and can’t believe the tales are true
The ancient legends still persist.
The question is my friend Will you?
10/08/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For Me You Are…………
Building the wall of confidence, all around my ribs
Inspiring, when am alone, even in noise
Showing me, the fairy way, when I get confused
Hauling me from, those atrocious affairs, that matters
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
Pursuing illusion, enlightening my life
Reaching, as a shadow at the time of tide
Intimacy, in the dream that comes into my mind
Yielding smile at my labor, creating zeal at my failure
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
At every insult and every admire
Youth mind, mine even if retires
Occupying for me, the seat of mentor
Uprooting all solitary despairs
Aspiring not to be worry, else to fear
Reinforcing skeleton by self-esteem of yours
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
Enriching my each moment, being even so bare
Animating my life, that anyone can't imagine
Nursing me, to special from alone
Grasping me in the midst of up and down
Enlivening those deadly postures of dreams
Lightening by a heavy power as thunderstorm
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
Forgiving me for each-every mistakes done
Organizing such beautiful ceremonies
Rearranging me, trying to make me genuine
My life you are, I can't remain alone
Eagerly, have awaited for you, oh my feminine!
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
poem by Nibedit Nahak
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Fairy stories?
Are fairy tales just fantasy
or things we know subconsciously.
Warnings we heed instinctively,
although presented pleasantly
Why do we tell our children tales?
in which it seems that evil fails
and in the end virtue prevails.
When we know that life entails.
Some hard decisions we must make
about the road that we should take.
Perhaps the fairy tales awake
abilities to spot the fake
that’s masquerading as the truth.
A lesson learned in early youth.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spin Doctors for friend alex
In days of yore long, long before
the spoken word took written form.
The Bards, the guardians of the lore.
In Great Men’s halls they would perform.
Their epic tales from history
to entertain the listening host.
With tales of war and mystery
and heroes which their race could boast.
Each teller added something to,
adjusted what they had been told.
By teachers who had altered too
the ancient tales they had retold.
Each myth and legend seems to be
a twisted version of some tale.
Which was quite true originally
Our search for truth is doomed to fail.
There’s little evidence to find.
Although we can extrapolate
from different versions left behind.
These fragments we appreciate.
Contain some truth enwrapt in lies,
Driven by curiosity
embark upon an enterprise,
The ultimate futility.
Though we can guess, we cannot know.
Our theories could be correct
Events which happened long ago
change with each telling I suspect.
03/06/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dead Men Tell No Tales
They say that dead men tell no tales!
Except of barges with red sails
And sailors mad for nightingales;
Except of jongleurs stretched at ease
Beside old highways through the trees;
Except of dying moons that break
The hearts of lads who lie awake;
Except of fortresses in shade,
And heroes crumbled and betrayed.
But dead men tell no tales, they say!
Except old tales that burn away
The stifling tapestries of day:
Old tales of life, of love and hate,
Of time and space, and will, and fate.
poem by Haniel Long
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Obtained By Ghosts
Ghosts obtain justice from us,
As we are near extinction.
Ghosts monitored our moves
Like houses of parliament.
Their revelry is unjustified
As far as lieutenancy.
I marry those ghosts meaningfully
To images of past poltergeists.
I have conquered burgers and chips
With a few of them.
They sedate me, cast a crate of food
On the floor in malpractice -
Professional or educational?
Both of these men are ghosts
And I am teased, when I am haunted.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poems in the Tackroom
Poems in the tackroom
Getting dusty
And old.
Books, tales, stories,
And legends.
Some have never been told.
Legends of warriors long ago,
Tales of pirates bold.
Stories of love and mystery.
Maps and books of history,
And poems of the arctic cold.
Pamphlets, scrolls, papers,
And things
Nestled on the saddle.
Pictures of galley slaves,
Whipped and forced to paddle.
Writings of knights
And
Courtiers,
Inscriptions of secret heirs
Burned into a bridal.
Paintings scarred, ripped,
And tore.
Carvings of peace
And war,
Ancient manuscripts
Containing information,
Of many a long-dead
Civilization.
Countless scrolls
Of
Hocus-Pocus,
Let it not
be
Your focus.
Many things yet
To
Be discovered.
Many Riddles,
Not yet
Uncovered.
Treasure upon treasures,
Sunlight hovered.
Wax seals, ties,
And locks
To be undone,
Who will be,
The
Chosen One?
poem by Macy Dvirnak
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ghostly House
You need language of ghosts
To communicate with spirits that impose on us.
You crave for the very food our ghosts need.
Come with the religion of yours to distract them.
For it pray and they will go away, for all eternity!
Your House is Haunted. Be so wary!
Even call the police, and they will never enter your home.
Your House is Haunted. It needs some policy to rid it of evil and despair.
You House needs some care. It requires the life to adjust. You must.
If ghosts are about then leave the house and complain.
Nobody listens except the Priest, and he is not around.
Go to the doctor, and feel doom in abundance. The ghosts do not win.
Good Luck!
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ghosts Of Cape Horn
All around old cape horn
Ships of the line, ships of the morn
Some who wish theyd never been born
They are the ghosts of cape horn
Fal deral da riddle de rum
With a rim dim diddy
And a rum dum dum
Sailing away at the break of morn
They are the ghosts of cape horn
See them all in sad repair
Demons dance everywhere
Southern gales, tattered sails
And none to tell the tales
Come all of you rustic old sea dogs
Who follow the great southern cross
You were rounding the horn
In the eye of a storm
When ya lost er one day
And you read all yer letters
From oceans away
Then you took them to the bottom of the sea
All around old cape horn
Ships of the line, ships of the morn
Those who wish theyd never been born
They are the ghosts of cape horn
Fal deral da riddle de rum
With a rim dim diddy
And a rum dum dum
Sailing away at the break of morn
They are the ghosts of cape horn
Come all you old sea dogs from devon
Southampton, penzance, and kinsale
You were caught by the chance
Of a sailors last dance
It was not meant to be
And ya read all yer letters
Cried anchor aweigh
Then ya took them to the bottom of the sea
All around old cape horn
Ships of the line, ships of the morn
Those who wish theyd never been born
They are the ghosts of cape horn
Fal deral da riddle de rum
With a rim dim diddy
And a rum dum dum
Sailing away at the break of morn
They are the ghosts of cape horn
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I loved fairy tales when I was a kid. Grimm. The grimmer the better. I loved gruesome gothic tales and, in that respect, I liked Bible stories, because to me they were very gothic.
FairyTales
I once believed
in fairy tales.
That love was true
and never failed.
But wisdom comes
with such a price.
Love was stolen
by a treacherous sprite.
I wish I could still believe
in fairy tales.
About Little Boy Blue
and all the tales
But at some time
before you die...
Reality sets in
and you wonder why...
You ever believed...
poem by Bridgid Patrick
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Be Not The Characters
Be not the characters,
Of fictitious and romantic tales,
And alluring folk legends;
How can we elope,
To the shadowy sheltering world,
Far away from the indifferent community,
All fatally against the lovers,
How can we escape from the net,
Woven around with the lacerating thread,
Of customs;
Romantic characters only suit,
To the dreamy books, films and fictions,
Or they are the substance of folk tales;
But in the world of reality,
Those who follow the counsel,
Of the unbridled hearts are lashed,
Flogged, whipped and thrashed,
And have to suffer nothing but pangs.
poem by Shahida Latif
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A Love Poem to My Cat Cleopatra
My little bundle of sensual delight
Sleeps on my bed through the vampire night
Giving the ghosts and the demons a fright
With her glittering eyes that shine so bright!
My little cat who knows me so well
And has rescued me from my loneliest hell,
A wizard of taste and sight and smell,
What tales do you expect a poor poet to tell?
I've got no tales of your feline power
When my world turned cold and its joys were sour,
You've been my companion in the darkest hour
As precious and beautiful as the loveliest flower!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tricked and mistreated.
Tricked and mistreated.
I’ve been evicted dispossessed
I was fool did not believe
I really thought that knew best
and had no fear of all souls eve.
To me a jolly holiday
to trick or treat with all my friends.
But sadly I became the prey
of evil spirits who intend.
To seize the opportunity
Usurp a body take its place
assume again humanity
and thus rejoin the human race.
By accident I was alone
with no one near to offer aid
when I was cast out overthrown.
It was the one mistake I made.
To disbelieve was foolishness.
The legends made it very plain.
So now I am left bodiless
although I can still feel the pain.
I’m not the me I used to be
I am not sure just where I am.
Though all around me I can see
foul spirits who don’t give a damn.
For me and my predicament
They are too busy trying to
realise their only intent
of occupying a body too.
I’ve been evicted dispossessed
I know too well the tales are true.
I’ll disappear with all the rest
When the sun comes smiling through.
I’ll have to suffer 'til next year
Between the worlds in limbo lost.
Until all souls eve draws near.
For disbelief I pay the cost.
Then I’ll be hunting with pack
Seeking an opportunity
to try and seize my body back.
To be again who I should be.
I would advise you to believe.
The warning that I offer you
and stay indoors on all souls eve
because the old wives tales are true.
13/10/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I have very happy memories of fairy tales. My mother used to take me to the library in Toronto to check out the fairy tales. And she was an actress, so she used to act out for me the different characters in all these fairy tales.
quote by Mike Myers
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Bequeathing a Heart
Bequeath my heart unto a fable
That I may love and be loved
That the tales of my youth
May still ring true to some degree
I ask that I grow not old, alone
Embittered by each passing year
In the solitary gloom, forlorn
By the anguish of the unrequited heart
Yet to know the union of another
That I may become the tragedy of the unwriten
Unable to gift my heart in such a way
That I no longer able to love
That I am unable to be loved
Let those tales, those words once written
Prove not to be of a false hope
It is to all such fables I now ask of you
To love as it has been written
Bequeath my heart unto them
poem by Matthew Holloway
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