Poetry | Stories | Photography
Between human and ghost, the old one sits waiting for the inevitable.
A liminal being, he is already in a place unknown to the living ones.
His cats chirp and meow as if to say, “Hurry along, Dear. You might be tasty.”
He waits for the one who will not arrive.
Petrichor dreaming
a conversation with you
Ghost on my shoulder
Between scents of wood
you come to me as a living ghost
speaking to me, yet close
to the unconsciousness
of death and all that they desire
for the quota must be met
I dream of you tonight
caught within the ghostly fireflies
lighting the fiery darkness
Beautiful Ghost
An ethereal
whisper of a welcomed ghost
haunt me in life, death
A house by the sea,
full of one ghost.
She lives with me,
my gaunt, tired ghost.
I see her during the day,
I see her during the night,
she lives with me,
for I am this very ghost.
Scratching at the front door,
the cold wind moves from a whisper to a wail.
Soft slippers sit side by side,
a desire to slip into my slippers and walk downstairs.
Sorrowfully waiting for the scratching to end,
you tempt me to return to you.
Nothing tangible
to touch tonight,
his ghost
an ethereal plume.
C & K 