Ghost In A Haunted House
All was quiet, nary a sound.
Yet there seemed to be something around.
The halls were vacant, the rooms quite bare
but the presence of something was always there.
It moved at night and left its scent
perfuming the air wherever it went.
The house is bought. People move in.
All is silent 'til noises begin.
Creaks and steps that sound in the air
awaken the people that stop and stare.
Nothing is seen but the air turns cold.
The ghost in this house is suddenly bold.
Presents itself in shadowy form.
All around, a space that's not warm
appears as a shadow draped in white
gripping the hearts of the people in fright.
'Who's there?
Who's there? ' comes the cry.
The answer is muffled but the wail is high.
The house is haunted. We cannot stay.
The ghost that's here wants us away.
A child says, 'That's not the case.
I've seen the ghost. I've seen its face.
It smiled at me and let me know
that it's only a ghost with nowhere to go.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Related quotes
The Ghost And Me
The ghost and me
The ghost and me.
Are one and the same.
We don't exist.
We are never to be seen.
Everybody has washed their hand clean of...
A mistake that never happen.
A birth that was more like a regurgitation.
I didn't mean to do that.
Oh oh but you did.
The ghost and me
The ghost and me.
Are one and the same.
We don't exist.
We are never to be seen.
Now tell me
How hard is it to forgive
When one denies you everyday..?
Oh just disappear.
I wish you weren't here.
Those are the words I continuously hear.
The ghost and me
The ghost and me.
Are one and the same.
We don't exist.
We are never to be seen.
Voices marching to a beat.
Voices marching to an eventual defeat.
Running through a slaughter house just to fix a broken soul.
An what does it expose?
Is the blood real?
A talentless man with no cloths.
The ghost and me
The ghost and me.
Are one and the same.
We don't exist.
We are never to be seen.
I hate it.
It isn't fair.
But in this world of despair.
Tears will never heal these wounds.
For they're continuously felt each and everyday.
The pain will never go away.
It is here to stay.
The ghost and me
The ghost and me.
Are one and the same.
We don't exist.
We are never to be seen.
The ghost and me
The ghost and me.
Are one and the same.
We don't exist.
We are never to be seen.
No never again.
A march to the very end.
When I'm hanging from that rope
I want nothing from you.
It is what you gave me.
Suffering silence.
The stillness that is so quiet.
No one is here except...
The ghost and me
The ghost and me.
Are one and the same.
We don't exist.
We are never to be seen.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Love Is Haunted
when i go to the haunted house
my love is there
but instead
the door was locked
like the ghost is here
but it's not there
the house has her
but i don't know where she is
i looked as many times as i can
then i saw an ghost girl and
she chased me just like in a horror movie
and there she was my love
but she was trapped.
thy found us and we were trying to hide thy
and we escape from the house and i will say this
that love has always been haunted even in a horrorify
house.
poem by Yoam Rafael Sanfielreyes
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Ghost
Tell me
Who is not a ghost
Ghost is a ghost
To afraid ghost
Is to afraid thyself
It is good to
Go with the ghost
Ghost is for a
Short time with us
Ghost left
Our works stop.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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All Hallows Even
Some people swore that the house was haunted
Rarely seen during bright sunlight
It was a case of a ghost that flaunted
Felines and weak constitutions given fright
Creaky doors and windows black
These gave the house old ailments and distrust
Inside floors wait, interior cracks
While the hinges, nails, fixtures red-rust
Dusk does play its fancy lace up under the rafters
Dark winds blowing and shadows lurk
Offering tricks of bleak disaster
The house cat-naps restless in the murk
Some People swore that the house was haunted
A fall winter's breeze did come to haunt
A frayed lace curtain was better the fact
Nothing was ever the same after that
Ghost
I'm like a ghost
Flying in the night
Im in the darkness of light
Im a ghost or at least thats how I feel
Im like a zombie
Things have taken over.
Im like a ghost
Hovering over myself
Looking down at the mess
Labelled with my name
I see the mess below me
The mess is me
Im a ghost of my formal self
Im a ghost that floats above
Im a ghost of life
A ghost of my old self
Half the person I used to be
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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House 155
Once upon a midnight dreary
Where light was
Weak and weary
Ghost and goblins Run to
House 155 in Mary
Trick or treat
Was there story
Until their
End was gory
The thunder clapped, lightening flashed.
they heard an evil cackle
A ruby liquid filled the house of 155
House 155
Go in but
not out alive
say trick our treat
a sure way to not survive
on all hollows eve
the house Zombies revive
A diabolical plan
They will contrive
To wait for the
Ghost and goblins to connive
Parent of ghost asking
'What happens to my seeds
tell me all me more'
Will the goblins live?
Qouth the physician nevermore
On Halloween
The goblins perish
And nothing more
Goblin that real name
Is john smith
Is now gone
For evermore
A trick or treater of
House 155
Is no more
Do you dare go to
House 155 on Halloween
I hope no one nevermore!
poem by Jose Duran
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Ghost Train
Here they come to steal my soul
(Ghost train)
Wait it out until I know
(Ghost train)
Trying not to feel I give it
(Ghost train)
Moving up until I go go
(Ghost train)
She was not to hear about me leaving
(Ghost train)
Trying to be near my heart
(Ghost train)
Trying not to feel like bleeding
(Ghost train)
Moving up until I'm taught to your side
(Ghost train)
Yeah yeah yeah
(Ghost train)
yeah yeah yeah
(Ghost train)
yeah yeah yeah
(Ghost train)
Got suicide for my baby
(Ghost train)
Living up until I wanted
(Ghost train)
Seeing like I'm out of bed, yeah
(Ghost train)
Moving up and taught I'm a weapon
(Ghost train)
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
(Ghost train)
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
(Ghost train)
I see myself pretend how to get there
(Ghost train)
Dripping down, I'm poisoned on the street
(Ghost train)
Come on come on come on!
(Ghost train)
Come on come on come on!
(Ghost train)
Come on come on come on!
(Ghost train)
Come on come on come on!
(Ghost train)
Come on come on come on!
(Ghost train)
Come on come on come on!
(Ghost train)
Come on come on come on!
(Ghost train)
Come on come on come on!
(Ghost train)
Got suicide for my baby
(Ghost train)
Living up until I wanted
(Ghost train)
Seeing like I'm out of bed, yeah
(Ghost train)
Moving up and taught I'm a weapon
(Ghost train)
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
(Ghost train)
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
(Ghost train)
I see myself pretend how to get there
(Ghost train)
Dripping down, I'm poisoned on the street
(Ghost train)
Come on come on come on!
(Ghost train)
Come on come on come on!
(Ghost train)
song performed by by Gorillaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ghosts
There are ghosts in the room.
As I sit here alone, from the dark corners there
They come out of the gloom,
And they stand at my side and they lean on my chair.
There's the ghost of a Hope
That lighted my days with a fanciful glow.
In her hand is the rope
That strangled her life out. Hope was slain long ago.
But her ghost comes to-night,
With its skeleton face and expressionless eyes,
And it stands in the light,
And mocks me, and jeers me with sobs and with sighs.
There's the ghost of a Joy,
A frail, fragile thing, and I prized it too much,
And the hands that destroy
Clasped it close, and it died at the withering touch.
There's the ghost of a Love,
Born with joy, reared with hope, died in pain and unrest,
But he towers above
All the others... this ghost: yet a ghost at the best.
I am weary, and fain
Would forget all these dead: but the gibbering host
Make my struggle in vain,
In each shadowy corner there lurketh a ghost.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Old House
The candle flame flickers from a draft
on a dark and stormy night,
the floorboards creak with every step
as I move about the old house.
There is a chill in the air,
that seems to be everywhere,
and the clock’s tick sounds louder
as time passes hour to hour.
I hear the thunder rumble in the night
and see lightning illuminate the sky
and I stop and listen intently
to the yawns and groans that echo in my ears.
The old house’s settling graces
that are always heard in the quiet of the night.
My heart beats against my chest
as my imagination begins to fly.
I breath in the musty air within the room
where I am about to sleep.
Everywhere the shadows move
under the light of my flickering candle.
I know the old house is not haunted,
but my mind tells me other wise.
My imagination creates noises
where the dancing shadows fall.
I gaze about suspiciously
knowing that there is nothing there
as a branch outside taps my window
wanting to come in out of the storm.
The curtains move from a draft
as if something is sheltering behind them.
All of which make my mind
thinks of ghost stories I have been told.
In bed, I slip under the cover,
and then blow the candle out
as something gets on the bed
resting across my legs for the night.
My ears detect the slightest sound
in the blackness that surrounds me
and I am blind to everything
on this stormy moonless night.
The streaks of dawn break through the window
and the terrors of the night have fled.
I smile at my imagination
as I lay there with the cat upon the bed.
The old house is reputed to be haunted,
but take it from one who lives there
that the only ghosts are our imagination
and on dark and stormy nights it grows.
5 June 2010
poem by David Harris
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The House with Nobody in It
Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.
I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute
And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.
I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;
That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.
I know this house isn't haunted, and I wish it were, I do;
For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two.
This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass,
And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass.
It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be trimmed and tied;
But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside.
If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid
I'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade.
I'd buy that place and fix it up the way it used to be
And I'd find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free.
Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window and door,
Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store.
But there's nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and lone
For the lack of something within it that it has never known.
But a house that has done what a house should do,
a house that has sheltered life,
That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife,
A house that has echoed a baby's laugh and held up his stumbling feet,
Is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that ever your eyes could meet.
So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track
I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,
Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart,
For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.
poem by Joyce Kilmer
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Spy
The spy in the house thought he'd seen
A boy playing football in the house with me
The spy in the house thought he'd seen
A ghost scaring people out of the window with me
The spy in the garden thought he'd seen
A trampoline eating people including me
The spy in the garden thought he'd seen
Apples falling into mouths to be eaten
poem by Matthew Smi
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Shadwell Stair
I am the ghost of Shadwell Stair.
Along the wharves by the water-house,
And through the cavernous slaughter-house,
I am the shadow that walks there.
Yet I have flesh both firm and cool,
And eyes tumultuous as the gems
Of moons and lamps in the full Thames
When dusk sails wavering down the pool.
Shuddering the purple street-arc burns
Where I watch always; from the banks
Dolorously the shipping clanks
And after me a strange tide turns.
I walk till the stars of London wane
And dawn creeps up the Shadwell Stair.
But when the crowing syrens blare
I with another ghost am lain.
poem by Wilfred Owen
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I Go Back To The House For A Book
I turn around on the gravel and go back to the house for a book, something to read at the doctor's office, and while I am inside, running the finger of inquisition along a shelf, another me that did not bother to go back to the house for a book heads out on his own, rolls down the driveway, and swings left toward town, a ghost in his ghost car, another knot in the string of time, a good three minutes ahead of me — a spacing that will now continue for the rest of my life.
poem by Billy Collins
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Black & White People
One more day down
Everybody has those days
Where one soft sweet song's
Just enough to clear my head
Fall on real life
Is anybody left there sane?
If we slide on over and accept fate
Then it's bound to be a powerful thing
If it's just that you're weak
Can we talk about it
It's gettin' so damn creepy
Just nursing this ghost of chance
The fiction, the romance
And the Technicolor dreams
Of black and white people
One boy head strong
Thinks that living here's just plain
He's pushed down so hard
You can hear him start to sink
And it's one last round of petty conversation
You hold on boy 'cuz
You won't go down like this?
Just roll over
Lay down till it's more than you can take
If it's just that you're weak
Can we talk about it
It's gettin' so damn creepy
Just nursing this ghost of chance
The fiction, the romance
And the Technicolor dreams
Of black and white people
So one more day down
And everybody's changin'
One soft sweet sound
Is just enough to clear my head
If it's just that you're weak
Can we talk about it
It's gettin' so damn creepy
Just nursing this ghost of chance
The fiction, the romance
And the Technicolor dreams
Of black and white people
Yeah if you're weak
Can we talk about it
It's gettin' so damn creepy
Just nursing this ghost of chance
The fiction, the romance
And the Technicolor dreams
Of black and white people
We are black and white people
We are black and white people
We are black and white people
song performed by by Matchbox Twenty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black & White People
One more day down
Everybody has those days
Where one soft sweet song's
Just enough to clear my head
Fall on real life
Is anybody left there sane?
If we slide on over and accept fate
Then it's bound to be a powerful thing
If it's just that you're weak
Can we talk about it
It's gettin' so damn creepy
Just nursing this ghost of chance
The fiction, the romance
And the technicolor dreams
Of black and white people
One boy head strong
Thinks that living here's just plain
He's pushed down so hard
You can hear him start to sink
And it's one last round of petty conversation
You hold on boy 'cuz
You won't go down like this?
Just roll over
Lay down till it's more than you can take
If it's just that you're weak
Can we talk about it
It's gettin' so damn creepy
Just nursing this ghost of chance
The fiction, the romance
And the technicolor dreams
Of black and white people
So one more day down
And everybody's changin'
One soft sweet sound
Is just enough to clear my head
If it's just that you're weak
Can we talk about it
It's gettin' so damn creepy
Just nursing this ghost of chance
The fiction, the romance
And the technicolor dreams
Of black and white people
Yeah if you're weak
Can we talk about it
It's gettin' so damn creepy
Just nursing this ghost of chance
The fiction, the romance
And the technicolor dreams
Of black and white people
We are black and white people
We are black and white people
We are black and white people
song performed by by Matchbox 20
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sequestered Writing
Horses were turned loose in the child's sorrow. Black and roan, cantering through snow.
The way light fills the hand with light, November with graves, infancy with white.
White. Given lilacs, lilacs disappear. Then low voices rising in walls.
The way they withdrew from the child's body and spoke as if it were not there.
What ghost comes to the bedside whispering You?
-- With its no one without its I --
A dwarf ghost? A closet of empty clothes?
Ours was a ghost who stole household goods. Nothing anyone would miss.
Supper plates. Apples. Barbed wire behind the house.
At the end of the hall, it sleepwalks into a mirror wearing mother's robe.
A bedsheet lifts from the bed and hovers. Face with no face. Come here.
The bookcase knows, and also the darkness of books. Long passages into,
Endless histories toward, sleeping pages about. Why else toss gloves into a grave?
A language that once sent ravens through firs. The open world from which it came.
Words holding the scent of an asylum fifty years. It is fifty years, then.
The child hears from within: Come here and know, below
And unbeknownst to us, what these fields had been.
poem by Carolyn Forché
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ghost Town
This town is coming like a ghost town
All the clubs have been closed down
This place is coming like a ghost town
Bands wont play no more
Too much fighting on the dance floor
Do you remember the good old days before the ghost town?
We danced and sang as the music played in any boomtown
This town is coming like a ghost town
Why must the youth fight against themselves?
Government leaving the youth on the shelf
This place is coming like a ghost town
No job to be found in this country
Cant go on no more
The people getting angry
song performed by by Prodigy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black White People
One more day down
Everybody has those days
Where one soft sweet songs
Just enough to clear my head
Fall on real life
Is anybody left there sane?
If we slide on over and accept fate
Then its bound to be a powerful thing
If its just that youre weak
Can we talk about it
Its gettin so damn creepy
Just nursing this ghost of chance
The fiction, the romance
And the technicolor dreams
Of black and white people
One boy head strong
Thinks that living heres just plain
Hes pushed down so hard
You can hear him start to sink
And its one last round of petty conversation
You hold on boy cuz
You wont go down like this?
Just roll over
Lay down till its more than you can take
If its just that youre weak
Can we talk about it
Its gettin so damn creepy
Just nursing this ghost of chance
The fiction, the romance
And the technicolor dreams
Of black and white people
So one more day down
And everybodys changin
One soft sweet sound
Is just enough to clear my head
If its just that youre weak
Can we talk about it
Its gettin so damn creepy
Just nursing this ghost of chance
The fiction, the romance
And the technicolor dreams
Of black and white people
Yeah if youre weak
Can we talk about it
Its gettin so damn creepy
Just nursing this ghost of chance
The fiction, the romance
And the technicolor dreams
Of black and white people
We are black and white people
We are black and white people
We are black and white people
song performed by by Matchbox 20
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Black White People
One more day down
Everybody has those days
Where one soft sweet songs
Just enough to clear my head
Fall on real life
Is anybody left there sane?
If we slide on over and accept fate
Then its bound to be a powerful thing
If its just that youre weak
Can we talk about it
Its gettin so damn creepy
Just nursing this ghost of chance
The fiction, the romance
And the technicolor dreams
Of black and white people
One boy head strong
Thinks that living heres just plain
Hes pushed down so hard
You can hear him start to sink
And its one last round of petty conversation
You hold on boy cuz
You wont go down like this?
Just roll over
Lay down till its more than you can take
If its just that youre weak
Can we talk about it
Its gettin so damn creepy
Just nursing this ghost of chance
The fiction, the romance
And the technicolor dreams
Of black and white people
So one more day down
And everybodys changin
One soft sweet sound
Is just enough to clear my head
If its just that youre weak
Can we talk about it
Its gettin so damn creepy
Just nursing this ghost of chance
The fiction, the romance
And the technicolor dreams
Of black and white people
Yeah if youre weak
Can we talk about it
Its gettin so damn creepy
Just nursing this ghost of chance
The fiction, the romance
And the technicolor dreams
Of black and white people
We are black and white people
We are black and white people
We are black and white people
song performed by by Matchbox Twenty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A little Extra for M'lady Ernestine
I am the hostess with most.
I even boast a family ghost.
Who haunts the family estate.
Of course you must appreciate
she is quite free to come and go.
You never know if she’ll appear.
She’s been around for centuries
and she is rather hard to please.
She will not mix with commoners.
It is the gentry she prefers.
Just who she was nobody knows.
A titled lady we suppose.
A snob or course she is my dear
Her actions make that very clear.
Her history a mystery.
You have to be well bred to see
The ghost I like to brag about.
That she is real, please do not doubt.
If you should see her you can boast
that you have seen the family ghost.
Which seems to prove you are well bred
although the lady’s long since dead.
She recognises quality
the upper class like you and me
If you don’t see her though you try.
The answer is to simply lie
Just like the vast majority
of people who have claimed to see.
A non existent family ghost
A fable dreamt up by your host.
Which seems to prove as she contends
that people pose to please their friends..
They lie about the lie she told.
She lied to show that she was bold
enough to make her story seem quite true.
And you believed the more fool you.
24/06/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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