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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Related quotes
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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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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“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 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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My Life in the bush of Ghosts (reprise)
Down the bush path
I came running down my hut
I have a pot of food
But what do I do with food
When I have no appetite
And why does life seem
To leave me so soon
.
After a few decades in life
I find my soul roaming
Aimlessly in the bush
Of ghosts, when I wasn't
Really dead.
I never believed in ghosts
Until I saw a ghost
And now, I am to be host
To a host of ghosts
In the bush of ghosts
Which I, myself have not
Come to understand
.
Things do change with time
,
I have worked very hard
To be among those who feel life
But yet, life seem to be
Very far away from me
I have said to myself
When I see life, I will grab life
With both hands
But I will not steal another
Mans life to have life
I will not bring sadness
To another to have life
I will not deceive another man
To have life
I will not seek life through the back door
For what do I gain if I
Bring sorrow to others
To gain life for my self
And what do i do with life
If life I seek to find
Will not stay with me.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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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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Ghosts of the Deep
Ghosts of the deep,
How awkward you swim,
When attacks are made to fishes,
And they are finished by sea-men
Who sit on the sea, where the fish swim.
Ghosts of the deep,
Why does sinning happen
In the sea of tranquillity?
Where there is war and sharking,
War and death, for all of the sea.
Ghosts of the deep,
When does the ship see
The murder and the theft?
It is you - the massive ghost of the deep ocean
In the war of Pacific Ocean.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Ghosts
The ghosts of not repentant souls
Wander in the quiet woods night.
Only chilling cries of the owls
Cause the lightest fright.
Flying Dutchman frightens seamen,
Its sight is a portent of doom.
It was told by John Leyden
Sinful souls went to gloom.
Ghosts dwell in the hills.
Climbers know a ghost can kill.
To some they help to cross the river,
But seeing them you would shiver.
Haunting cities, haunting countries…
Are they humans eye illusion?
Are they really verities?
It looks they come to make pollution.
Ghosts are here, ghosts are there!
It seems they are everywhere.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
The 8th of August,2011
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Father's Soul
father's soul comes again
i am cold
to his hug, this sickness
of ghosts
embracing us, the living,
questions and images
mixing on a night
of horror,
always, the question is:
what for, dad? what for?
leave us, we know how to
live our lives,
stay in the land of the dead
and be rested,
for now is our time to confront
our own ghosts,
equipped by your quotes
we think we know the routes.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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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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When Ghosts Come
I know where I stand
And I have seen His Power
Though some fail to understand
I've seen proof in His Word there.
There are things in this earth
That provide some mystery
So for all that it's worth
At this time, listen to me.
My stories on ghosts are all true
Related by witnesses I don't doubt
But more important is what I tell you
It is God you cannot live without.
These wandering spirits or ghosts
May be evil or a plain confused soul
Some may cause harm, in eternity lost
Some died in sin and so never was whole.
And the only way to get rid of them so
Is to come to the LORD God of all
He alone is the Power you must know
For ghosts to flee, to God you call.
AMEN!
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Ghostly Plateau
Ghosts make across the plateau due to their skill at being wanderers of great precision. Their ghoulishness makes a point for those on the plateau, so snowy now that we have ghosts. Ghost after ghost made journeys too long ago, too far away are their destinations, forming pity and concern. These graves remove the ghosts’ laughter, for the death of a young person is like theirs.
poem by Naveed Akram
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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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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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The Shadow Of Dawn
The shadow of Dawn;
Stillness and stars and over-mastering dreams
Of Life and Death and Sleep;
Heard over gleaming flats, the old, unchanging sound
Of the old, unchanging Sea.
My soul and yours -
O, hand in hand let us fare forth, two ghosts,
Into the ghostliness,
The infinite and abounding solitudes,
Beyond--O, beyond!--beyond . . .
Here in the porch
Upon the multitudinous silences
Of the kingdoms of the grave,
We twain are you and I--two ghosts Omnipotence
Can touch no more . . . no more!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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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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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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