Perceptions
Ghosts don’t haunt; fears of ghosts would.
God does not assure; faith in Him would.
Sins don’t punish; guilt of sin would.
Virtues don’t reward; pride of virtue would.
15.04.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Sins and pleasure
Pleasure of sins lures me to sin.
Sins of pleasure follow me in.
I sow sins to harvest pleasure
And sow pleasure to harvest sins.
Virtues might promise me pleasure
But it is sins that assure of it.
Sins are the food meant for senses.
Virtues are the food made of ego.
I do sins to derive pleasure
And then repent to cleanse my soul.
Virtues I stay with; sins I flirt with.
29.03.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Glee -- The Ghosts
In life three ghostly friars were we,
And now three friarly ghosts we be.
Around our shadowy table placed,
The spectral bowl before us floats:
With wine that none but ghosts can taste,
We wash our unsubstantial throats.
Three merry ghosts--three merry ghosts--
three merry ghosts are we:
Let the ocean be Port, and we'll think it good sport
To be laid in that Red Sea.
With songs that jovial spectres chaunt,
Our old refectory still we haunt.
The traveller hears our midnight mirth:
"O list!" he cries, "the haunted choir!
"The merriest ghost that walks the earth, "
"Is sure the ghost of a ghostly friar."
Three merry ghosts--three merry ghosts--
three merry ghosts are we:
Let the ocean be Port, and we'll think it good sport
To be laid in that Red Sea.
poem by Thomas Love Peacock
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Ghosts
Some ghosts are women,
neither abstract nor pale,
their breasts as limp as killed fish.
Not witches, but ghosts
who come, moving their useless arms
like forsaken servants.
Not all ghosts are women,
I have seen others;
fat, white-bellied men,
wearing their genitals like old rags.
Not devils, but ghosts.
This one thumps barefoot, lurching
above my bed.
But that isn't all.
Some ghosts are children.
Not angels, but ghosts;
curling like pink tea cups
on any pillow, or kicking,
showing their innocent bottoms, wailing
for Lucifer.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Class Distinction
A quiet house where quiet ghosts
haunt quiet rooms but silently
The Ghosts respect their living hosts
and treat them most respectfully.
They can’t go back they won’t go on.
Confused by their predicament,
they wait until the daylights gone
before they show they are present.
They do not wish to cause alarm.
as common ghosts are wont to do.
All part of their well bred charm.
Though they are dead they hold the view
that no aristocratic ghost
should stoop to frightening their host.
26-Mar-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The War of the Ghosts
Three Ghosts that haunt me have I,
Three Ghosts in my soul that fight,
Three grandsire Ghosts in my soul,
That haunt me by day and by night.
The first was a dark mountaineer,
Who hunted with arrow and knife,
To whom the turf was a bed,
And the wind of the moorland was life.
And the next was a mariner rude,
Whose home and whose grave was the sea,
For whom the land was a prison
And only the ocean was free.
And the last was a shrunken recluse,
Who lived with the dust and the gloom
And wrote of the Saints and of Him
Who went for us to His doom.
And all through the days and years
These ancient Ghosts contend,
And my soul is a battle-field
Of passions that pierce and rend.
And whenever a sunbeam alights
All gleaming and fresh on my page,
I am wild for the hills and the bush,
I am torn with the hunter's rage.
I am sick of the smell of a book,
I am off with the dogs or a gun,
Or I gallop my fifty miles
Before the set of the sun.
And yet from some loftier peak
When I look on the sea from afar,
I feel like one in a grave;
And I long for a ship full-sailed
And an ocean wide on the lee
I choke on the solid land
For the lift of the undulant sea.
Yet ever the battle goes on,
And ever there rises a day
When the Ghosts of the wave and the wood
To the Ghost of the cell give way.
Then the land is a wilderness drear,
And dismal and vast is the sea,
But cloistered in peace with my books
My soul is uplifted and free.
Three Ghosts that haunt me have I,
Three Ghosts in my soul that fight,
Three grandsire Ghosts in my soul,
That haunt me by day and by night.
Yet ofttimes there joins in the fray
One gross and sluggish of limb,
No spectre is he but a man,
Whose strokes are heavy and grim.
For a man is not nothing, I swear,
Nor a braggart am I when I boast
That though he be slothful or sleep,
A man is more than a ghost.
And my soul is my own, I aver,
The master and lord of it I,
And whenever I will to bestir,
All ghostly usurpers shall fly.
Then I what is mine will assume,
Nor diverge from the path of my will.
Though the Ghosts I have routed still call
From the desk and the sea and the hill.
poem by William Gay
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Yesterdays Ghosts
Everywhere I go;
there are the ghosts of yesterday.
They inhabit everything we see.
Their presence is felt
within every step we take.
The ghosts of yesterday
watch over us.
We may not be able to see them,
but we at times we know they are there.
Who are these ghosts of yesterday,
friends, relations, acquaintances
we met along the way.
I do not know the answer
and it is not for me to say.
All I know is they are there,
the ghosts of yesterday
19-20 October 2008
poem by David Harris
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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
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Unicorns
Are you uneasy about the many ghosts in the palace of fright?
The feathers in my head and body,
When the ghosts commence, and the air
Is sweeter and sweeter,
The real manners are hidden, the men are held to the end,
Only the spirit world;
He is understood as a spirit, and a genie is too much of beauty
To wish from.
I can not make my desire:
Ghosts are not read in the book world,
Hold on to the reins of the unicorns that were those ghosts.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Cathedral Close for Friend Ben Gieske
When night falls on Cathedral Close.
The square is thronged by quiet ghosts
Who line the square on every side
their graves left empty yawning wide.
What is it that they hope to find?
Some salve to give them peace of mind
Why do they stand in silent ranks?
and seek to clear their memory banks.
The sins which will not let them sleep
the guilty secrets which they keep,
weigh on the conscience heavily.
and won’t be rid of easily.
When twilight falls the dead arise.
Each from the grave he occupies
and gather in Cathedral Close.
They seek forgiveness I suppose.
When morning breaks they flee in fright
they fear the coming of the light.
Cathedral close lit by the sun
is quite empty the ghosts have gone.
Back to their graves where they must wait
and in the darkness meditate.
Upon the sins they won’t confess
In agonising sleeplessness.
If only they would realise
within themselves forgiveness lies.
They do not need to stand in rows
When night falls on Cathedral Close.
Triumphantly they could take flight
and wing their way towards the light.
They should have done so long ago
. But guilt refused to let them go.
Why do they stay when they are free
to me it is a mystery
Why do they haunt Cathedral close?
They know no better I suppose.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Ghosts Of Our Past
Ghosts Of Our Past
We are haunted all the time
by ghosts of our past
for things we did long ago.
They remind us often
of the mistakes we made
and cannot amend.
These ghosts can come to us
at almost anytime
and we always refer to them
as our memories.
3 May 2008
poem by David Harris
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“Ghosts are for the telling”
Ghosts are for the telling,
We call them experts and impressive,
As more of them appear from the woods.
Ghosts have understood us for the rules,
So that mastering is a problem and real;
Our mothers want us to comply and so they result.
Each ghost is great in beauty,
Full of foolish whims and ideas,
Their wish is to comprehend us, even to master us.
A little ghost is no liar, but one of them,
And that degree is hidden,
For we strive to alienate it as much as we can.
The baby is asleep, the ghosts do weep,
And I am fast away in slumber;
Much are ghosts to do the enormous chatter before they die.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Ghosts Of Yesterday
When the ghosts of yesterday call.
Some of them we embrace
and some of them we reject,
refusing to let them in.
They call just the same
to taunt us with our guilt’s
from morning until nightfall.
No matter how we try to avoid them
the ghosts of yesterday still call
when we least expect them.
10 December 2008
poem by David Harris
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Ghosts
Oh, these Ghosts that haunt me, nightly, tearing at my soul,
These screaming, wailing, moaning ghouls, my senses do appall.
My sleep is wrecked, and torn apart, my silence is undone,
And all I see are shadows, where the nightmares have begun.
Then come, oh come, and do your worst, I will not share your pain,
If I can't rest, then nor should you, bound up within your chain.
You shall not load your guilt on me; your terror is your own,
Though heavy weigh my sorrows, they weigh on me alone.
What dreadful crimes have you committed, to be treated thus?
And who gave you the freedom, now, to visit them on us?
Or are you just reflections of the way we all must end?
A mirror of the harvest reaped, is that what you portend?
So, in my sweat soaked sheets I lay, my Ghosts for company,
The Black Crow on my windowsill, waits patiently for me.
I do not seek redemption, or an Angel's sweetened breath,
I've courted Sin throughout my life, and take it to my Death.
Yet who has claims yo innocence, in thought, or word, or deed?
And who among us sin soaked wrecks, have souls that shall not bleed?
So when I go I'll join these Ghosts, on their eternal quest,
To burden others with their chain, and find eternal rest.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
poem by Owain Glyn
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The Ghost Of The New World
'_There are no ghosts in America._'
There are no ghosts, you say,
To haunt her blaze of light;
No shadows in her day,
No phantoms in her night.
Columbus' tattered sail
Has passed beyond our hail.
What? On that magic coast,
Where Raleigh fought with fate,
Or where that Devon ghost
Unbarred the Golden Gate,
No dark, strange, ear-ringed men
Beat in from sea again?
No ghosts in Salem town
With silver buckled shoon?
No lovely witch to drown
Or burn beneath the moon?
Not even a whiff of tea,
On Boston's glimmering quay.
O, ghostly Spanish walls,
Where brown Franciscans glide,
Is there no voice that calls
Across the Great Divide,
To pilgrims on their way
Along the Santa Fe?
Then let your Pullman cars
Go roaring to the West,
Till, watched by lonelier stars,
The cactus lifts its crest.
There, on that painted plain,
One ghost will rise again.
Majestic and forlorn,
Wreck of a dying race,
The Red Man, half in scorn,
Shall raise his haughty face,
Inscrutable as the sky,
To watch our ghosts go by.
What? Is earth dreaming still?
Shall not the night disgorge
The ghosts of Bunker Hill
The ghosts of Valley Forge,
Or, England's mightiest son,
The ghost of Washington?
No ghosts where Lincoln fell?
No ghosts for seeing eyes?
I know an old cracked bell
Shall make ten million rise
When one immortal ghost
Calls to the slumbering host.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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Some Days
If you see dark skies in my green eyes
Its just that I cant find no cover
These ghosts that haunt me
They get me when they want me
And some days are better than others
I didnt sleep last night, I guess thats the price
You pay for a soul thats troubled
And curse or blessing Im here confessing
Some days are better than others
I have these moments of weakness
But Ive had a lifetime of strength
And I know I will defeat this
But thats not what my heart wants to think
And even tomorrow is tinged with sorrow
When one fool longs for another
This cant last forever, just like the weather
Some days are better than others
If you see dark skies in my sad eyes
It just means that I cant find no cover
These ghosts that haunt me
They take me when they want me
And some days are better than others
Some days are better than others
song performed by by Trisha Yearwood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Haunted
THE house is haunted; when the little feet
Go pattering about it in their play,
I tremble lest the little one should meet
The ghosts that haunt the happy night and day.
And yet I think they only come to me;
They come through night of ease and pleasant day
To whisper of the torment that must be
If I some day should be, alas! as they.
And when the child is lying warm asleep,
The ghosts draw back the curtain of my bed,
And past them through the dreadful dark I creep,
Clasp close the child, and so am comforted.
Cling close, cling close, my darling, my delight,
Sad voices on the wind come thin and wild,
Ghosts of poor mothers crying in the night--
'Father, have pity--once I had a child!'
poem by Edith Nesbit
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After Pulling Down And Rebuilding A House
OLD Ghosts, ye all are dispossess'd,
Your former house is levell'd now;
Another house at my behest
Has lifted over yours, its brow.
But flit, old Ghosts, and live with me;
As yet we are but living hosts;
But watch the new house patiently,
You soon shall have companion Ghosts.
poem by Carolyn Clive
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Ghost Souls
Pale ghosts against dark walls,
figures thirsting for freedom
Loveless styles force quick arrival,
one way doors heavy their souls.
Ghosts possess souls,
though dark walls do conceal.
Freedom is there
souls all cannot hear
Dimensioned freedom
exists for ghosts who thirst.
Have not these ghosts discovered
contrasting love within infinite darkness?
poem by Elizabeth Wiles
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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
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Los Reyes Catolicos
When time is like a needle
And night is the longest day
A home is a cathedral
A place where a king can pray
Ghosts all gone
Ghosts all gone
To another plane
Los Reyes Catolicos
Los Reyes Catolicos
Los Reyes Catolicos
Los Reyes Catolicos
Ghosts all gone
Ghosts all gone
To another plane
Los Reyes Catolicos
Los Reyes Catolicos
A home is like a castle
A place where a king can reign
Los Reyes Catolicos
Raoul and The Kings of Spain
Ghosts all gone
Ghosts all gone
Ghosts all gone
To another plane
song performed by by Tears For Fears from Raoul & The Kings Of Spain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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