Ghosts Poems

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.
...

One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.
...

Abortions will not let you forget.
You remember the children you got that you did not get,
The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,
The singers and workers that never handled the air.
...

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.
...

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
...

Prepare, prepare the iron helm of war,
Bring forth the lots, cast in the spacious orb;
Th' Angel of Fate turns them with mighty hands,
And casts them out upon the darken'd earth!
...

I

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
...

The brooding ghosts of Australian night have gone from the bush and town;
My spirit revives in the morning breeze,
though it died when the sun went down;
...

A process in the weather of the heart
Turns damp to dry; the golden shot
Storms in the freezing tomb.
A weather in the quarter of the veins
...

I

1 Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knife us ...
2 Wearied we keep awake because the night is silent ...
...

Out on the high "bird islands," Ciboux and Hertford,
the razorbill auks and the silly-looking puffins all stand
with their backs to the mainland
in solemn, uneven lines along the cliff's brown grass-frayed edge,
...

At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim,
Exhales from out her golden rim,
...

Knows he who tills this lonely field
To reap its scanty corn,
What mystic fruit his acres yield
At midnight and at morn?
...

Shadows on the wall
Noises down the hall
Life doesn't frighten me at all
...

Go from me, summer friends, and tarry not:
I am no summer friend, but wintry cold,
A silly sheep benighted from the fold,
A sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot.
...

Light breaks where no sun shines;
Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart
Push in their tides;
And, broken ghosts with glowworms in their heads,
...

Your hair is lost in the forest,
your feet touching mine.
Asleep you are bigger than the night,
but your dream fits within this room.
...

what does this mean.
to see walking men
wrapped in the color of death,
to hear from their tongue
...

The red globe of light, the liquor green,
the pulsing arrows and the running fire
spilt on the stones, go deeper than a stream;
You find this ugly, I find it lovely
...

.
the ghosts are walking again
walking and talking in the night again
sorrow is eating my bones again
...

Chapter 1: Echoes of the Past

In a quaint little town, where the sun always shone, lived a man named Timothy, who was never alone. A writer by trade, with a heart full of dreams, he wandered the streets, in search of new schemes. But deep in his soul, there lay a dark fear, of memories forgotten, he wished to draw near. For his mind, there lingered a ghost, of times long gone, of memories he lost. One day as he strolled, down memory lane, a vision appeared, like a torrential rain. It was a face he remembered, from long ago, a friend he once loved, but had let go. The memories flooded back, like a raging river, of laughter and tears, of joy and of shiver. Timothy felt lost, in the sea of his past, wondering why these memories would forever last. He sat down to write, with a heavy heart, pouring his soul, into every part. Words flowed like a river, ad memories unfurled, each line a masterpiece, in his own little world. As he wrote, tears fell like rain, each word a balm, to heal his pain. For in these memories, he found a release, a way to make peace, with his past's cease. And as the sun set, on that fateful day, Timothy felt lighter, in every way. For he knew now that memories live on, in the hearts of the living, long after they're gone.
...

The sun sets and divides.
It leads to death or to eternity.
Ghosts call to the trenches.
With a trace, each step muddies us.
...

Two ghosts
A night
The streets of Victoria
...

The House Of Ghosts

The house of ghosts
I looked inside this house
...

Hanging in the forest there are ghosts.
They wander aimless in the fade.
While their bodies lay in decay, engrossed.
...

In Palestine
Doves cry on the breeze.

Of ghosts and ghosts of
...

She twentyfour then leaving the clubhouse dim as she walked out she an artist that no one knew only one does that is her childhood friends came wondering if something had happened but yet she realized she remembers once she stepped out of the clubhouse since she volunteers at the Al khor international school brtish stream she was then 25 she can only speak English does it makes her an English She speaks Spanish does it means she a Spanish she grown up a heartbeat of roses a golden vocal been searching by her childhood brothers a dute need a comeback it's so quite ever since she gone memories live on through the childhood memories she since how all her childhood brothers approach the landmark in the city heartbeat of Doha Qatar people mistake her as indian but true she has blood of a royal of jordanian and indonesian but resmbol of her late grandmother who live through her a last wise from a late ghosts that has gone in past prayer is in her mute sadness of her eyes and heartbeat can read by the brothers that she knew her life fill colour and kindness rose her life to others a duet need a comeback it's so quiet ever since she gone memories live on through the childhood memories since she about to leave all her childhood brothers approach the landmark in the city heartbeat of Doha Qatar people mistake her as Indian caused her beauty resmbol so many nationality but true is she has blood of a royal Jordanian and Indonesian but a resmbol of her late grandmother who live through her last wise from late ghosts that have gone in a past prayer is in her mute sadness of her eyes and a heartbeat can read by the brothers that she knew her life fill a colour, and a kindness rose her life to others.
...

She struggles to get loose.
She looks for a way to get out but realises there none.

Let me go!
...

She believes in ghosts,
Cold, cold, cold spectre,
And I'm having trouble seeing-
So she showed me something better
...

We Are All Ghosts
Pravat Kumar Mandal

Now, no need for darkness to see the ghosts
...