Guest Poet 19 - Uncle's Ghost by Ananya S Guha.

Even though the story is finished for this year, i am still getting submitting in which are simply too good quality not to use.

First up is returning friend Ananya S Guha who offers this excellent poem 'Uncle's Ghost'.

He sat Buddha like
shaven, ashen
he sat otiose, no looks
moribund, but sitting.

Me thirteen
me in myths and shrouds
me who knew ghosts
but hadn't met
me me me.
My eyes became a traffic snarl
I hid under the blanket
unmoved he stared, meditative
smiling, almost laughing
after all Buddha like
my first incursion to prayer,
sleep and oblivious meditation.

Buddha like. Ghost? Buddha was
dead centuries ago.
But now this Buddha, terrible, smiling
sitting at my supine feet. Incantation.

My anthropological uncle in
one of his excavations- digging!

Part XXX Part A and B and guest poet 18 - Jeffarama!

(Last two pieces today. It's been a long
and eventful journey but has become apparent
to myself over the past few days that this story
is not over and hopefully health permitting,
there will indeed be a Ghost Story Part III
next month. 

As a special afterthought which may lead into
Part III, my special buddy Jeffarama! (http://www.writeoutloud.net/profiles/jeffarama!)
has done a alternative ending 

In the meantime, thanks for reading)

XXX (A)

Creating a breaking sound

Your words of agreement

Was almost overturned

Then unpacked

Into the boot of a car

Blowing on panes of glass

Resurrecting itself

In a verbal affirmation

Of the truth

Translated into a slight tear

‘It’s only going

to get worse

He was just the first’

Vanishing down the staircase

With me in tow. 

XXX (B)

Vanishing across railway dust

Tranmissing effects

Into hand held mysteries

Shooting down hopes

Freckled into spots

Migrating into different towns

Kicking through other doors

She said it was only going

To get worse

Before we even got

Down the staircase

And a few dozen deaths

Was nothing to what was going

To happen next

Shifting answers

Into another adventures

Before surfacing again

At the beginning of

Another story. 

 

Don't think that's the end of the matter...

Ironic really
the headline said it all
'Innocent commuters massacred'

Ironic as it was on the paper stall
outside the station
the atrocities happened

Not  even a natural disaster
no, that may have been acceptable
but as usual, a complete waste,
a senseless loss of innocent life

What gives you the right?
to take my life
to cut me down in my prime
to dictate the day that I die...

I hope you get
everything you deserve
although it's nothing compared
to what I have in mind

Remember to watch your back
for the rest of your life
if you think you're being watched
those eyes are mine

My soul won't rest
Until I track you both down.

Jeff Dawson April 2015

Part XVIX A and B

(As said yesterday, in a attempt to keep this down to just April
I am now writing two poems a day.

The poems today follow straight on from Part 28.

Can you wait until the conclusion tomorrow? (with a special
epilogue wrote by our last guest poet too)

XXVIX (A)

Shut close

Those words followed me

Cresting over the balcony

Into a muffled deadness

Shelved into blurred lights

With his face staring

Into my eyes

All the way down

Thirsting for blood

Leaving footprint

After footprint

In my memory

Cutting through my relief

With an axe

Slipping away

In a broken lullaby.

XXVIX (B)

Ripping up the tension

You would have kissed me

If you could and told me

I’d be okay

Threading away my pain

And the blood

All over my ripped jeans

And trainers

Thickened in

A sharp transfer

Seeping through

Drenched in passion

As much as

A lingering sense of guilt.

Part XXVIII Part A and B and Guest Poet 17 Stormy Gail Dormire - Approaching Station 12

(The people who know me better may remember

it's my birthday today but still no stopping me

on Napwrimo. As previously hinted, there will

be extra pieces to help me finish off the story

and I can now confirm from today for the last three

days, there will two poems per day. Talk about 

making life harder for myself - lol. Today's poem

is Andy with the killer finally meeting)

(Also included is our latest guest poem from Stormy Gail Dormire
who offers Approaching Station 12 directly set in this world)

XVIII (A)

Broken into pieces

He pumped shell after shell

Into the spaces

Round the doorarch

Above me

Spraying it so much

It looked like

He was redecorating

Rather than trying to kill me

Screaming ‘Die, Die, Die’

With such force

It sounded like

He was trying to will me

To death

When the bullets didn’t

Losing the thrill

When he kept pumping

Them out

And none of them hit me

Before proclaiming

Eventually

‘How?’

‘I’m not sure

I know myself’

I said walking

Slowly towards him.

XVIII (B)

Slim as a flute

Accompanied by flames

And muffled cries

I wish I could say

I grabbed the rifle

And threw the bullets

Off the balcony

Headlong into

The doorway

Sculpting hope

From the worst of misery

Packed within sandwiches

Experimenting in voices

In miniature

Laced in pessimism

Instead Doubling over

The balcony together

With only one

Further sentence spoke

‘This is only the beginning,

‘This is only the beginning’ 

 








Approaching Station 12

Go back, Go-ooo Back, go back, go-ooo back
the wheels rolling down the track
seemed to repeat over and over and over
Go back, Go-ooo Back, go back, go-ooo back

From deep in the shadows it watched and wondered
“Why was this man not seeing the peril approaching
Why hire supposedly safeties best security - if
He only sits and watches the comely women boarding and leaving
Following their every move inappropriately”
While - right in the snipers line of vision
The train approaches the train station

On the train
An innocent child is coloring in her mother's new mystery novel
A clown is selling balloons ahead in the next car
The right Father Henry reads to sister Ann about the  apostle
Immigrants from far off India watch their new world out the window
The conductor strolls congenially down the aisle greeting all
“Station Twelve  ahead.” He calls

And the wheels rolling down the track
continue to repeat over and over and over
Go back, Go-ooo Back, go back, go-ooo back

The train lunged and shivered
As the vaporous shadow crystallized
Lunging to grab the cord above the guard's head
All business now the guard fights the spector
While the passengers cower in fright
And the train keeps rolling toward the station

The specter moans
Does anyone hear?
The guard has fought him off
He howls with frightful frustration
The sniper is wait---ing, wait--ing, wait -ting
Your doo-oomed , all doo-oomed

And the wheels rolling down the track
continue to repeat over and over and over
Go back, Go-ooo Back, go back, go-ooo back

Tugging her mothers sleeve, she points him out
“Can’t we help him, he wants us to listen”
The little girl cries
While the immigrants hide between the seats
And father Henry holds up his crucifix
The clown rushes in and pulls the cord
Slamming the conductor to the floor

The train rolls into station 12
But no one feels the bullets when they come
All are safely hiding between the seats
The specter disappears into the air
His duty done
His little girl and wife will make it home

(clarice) 04/10/2015

Part XXVII

(Part XXVII is the start of the end and a final meeting)

XXVII

Overtaking themselves

The bullets sprayed

All over the floor

Reconstituted in screams

With each shot

Dancing to a private dance

Staining chaos

Rotting in the air

Offering a different story

With each death

In honey eyed intent

Turning violence into prose

Madness into hope

All the way

To the top

And I faced him

Face to face. 

Part XXVI

(Part XXVI moving slowly and slowly towards the end game
is the Ghost and Michelle)

XXVI

Stalking on victims

Alfloat on imaginary highs

Swallowing up their panics

Like a vampire getting high

On emoition

Pausing for thought

In-between each shot

For a few seconds

Letting them think

That was it

And when they moved

He shot again

And again

Shooting some victims

Over and over

And puzzled

When shooting one

Turning back

A few seconds

To discover the body was gone

And was stood there

Half a metre up the platform.

Part XXV

(Only 5 more poems to go. Part XXV is Andy pinned down by the sniper)

XXV

Treading the boards

In a subtle tease

Slicing the truth

Chained to the ground

Her words tangled

Around my thoughts

In wind chimes

Gleaming between

The sunset

And the edge

Of that platform

Snapping bullets

Around me

Like an invisible wall

Jolting a distraction

Equivocatory  allowing me

To keep ducking and diving

Between bullets.

Part XXIV

(Part XXIV is a poem of trust between Andy and Michelle
moving further and further into the end game coming soon) 

Just trust me

Her words followed me

Out of the newsagent

Just trust me

With cold black eyebrows

Drifiting in and out

Of the shadows

Just trust me

And let me draw his fire

Let me draw his fire

While you sneak in

Behind him

‘even I can see

that’s a plan

out of Scooby Do’

I said.

‘I’ll probably get shot

before I am even

halfway across

the platform’

How I didn’t even know

To this day.

Part XXIII and Guest Poet 16 - Meshach R. Brencher - Kiss the knife -

(Part XXIII covers another conversation between Michelle and
Andy moving slowly and slowly towards the end game.

Our 16th guest poet is our returning friend, Meschach R Brencher
from with the second of two poems)

Biting at my ankles

Edged membrane grey

Cluttering across your

Every word,

Smouldering

Before snapping shut

Streetlight yellow

‘You have no choice

Andy’

Spooned into my emotions

‘All hell is breaking loose’

‘I don’t understand you’

thread inside out

‘This is just the beginning of the end’

Inbetween bullets

Riding up and down

The corridors

Inbetween seams of dust

Contradicting itself

Worse than memory. 

Meshach R. Brencher

Kiss the knife

That bleeds your soul

Dark vines have a sharp touch

Water running down

From the river

I sink underneath

The sail ship dancing figures around

Where I cross the harbour

While the horizon floats me in vain

Among cold feelings

Where my destination has no arrival

Entangled in heavy vessels I cannot escape

Forgotten like the ship anchors

The pier watching sunset

As I close my eyes shut

Darkness the only requiem

As the light has no purpose

To see what cuts deeply in me

Is so far away

Transparent and loathing

For eternal twilight

Sucked away by the wind

I cannot feel you

But your spirit will never leave me

Part XXII and Guest Poet 15 - Meshach R. Brencher - Dark Matter

(Part XXII moving straight on is a conversation
just before the action begins between Andy (the
narrator) and Michelle (Ghost))

(Guest Poet 15 is a young poet I have known
for a few years called Meshach R Brencher
who delivers the first of two very clever poems
which although not in Ghost Story II are very
worthy pieces in their own right)

(More of his work can be heard here and here
or read here)

XXII

Bearing the weight of the killings

Something unseen left

Wet marks on glass

Screwed up across soaked

Wrapping paper

And burst fountain pens

Scratched across the magazines

She said

Tumbling all around her

Cradling her fears

Enfolded across

An ocean of assumptions

tellingthe reporters

trapped in no-mans land

before I picked her up

sailing around a argument

littered with rhetorical rockets

and voices which she was sure

she said more than once

hurry up before more are killed

more are killed. 

Meshach R. Brencher

Dark matter

Shields translucent energy

The surface has nowhere to gravitate

Unquenched lips

Hungry with no purpose

Plunge into liquid that soon evaporates

Into thin air

The vacuum shift terminated

By application of a voltage

Malfunctioning the process to

Extinguish the flames

Not being present to be aware

Of a deficient state

Failure to attend to

What was expected

A moment that passes you by

Without witnessing a creature

Cradled in a sleepy state

While being investigated about its

Disappearance

With broad coverage on so many stories

Never told which don’t ever see

The light of day

Part XXI

(9 Poems to go and there is still so much to discover
including things to discover for myself.

Part XXI is again from the eyes of the killer)

XXI

Smoking buttons

Hectic in broken gasps

Calculating in incidental music

Stealing past his nerves,

Master-like with his rifle

Hardly moving

Through her valley of abuse

That still laced his ears

Driving faster and faster

Until he pulled in

Drawing aside that door

That led onto the roof

Startling himself

With each shot fired

Looking for her love

With each hit scored

Leaving the artist behind

In a matter of moments. 

Part XX and Guest Poet 14 - Martin Elder - Once Upon a time

(Part XX already. Phew.. Part XX covers our old friend the cleaner
who like the police inspector from Part XIX knows more than he 
also reveals)

(Our 14th guest poet is a gentleman I know from Write Out Loud
Stockport (A open mike night I regularly attend called Martin Elder.
A great bloke with a even better sense of humor. With this poem doesnt'
display his humour, this is a powerful skillful poem which I hope you
all will like also)

XX

Hidden out of sight

Peering across the tracks

Opening up his bucket

Like an umbrella

Broken into a concave shape

Mopped into silence,

He saw first the killer

Then me

Descending slowly

Like falling leaves

Over the platform

Clustering at the edge

Shining nerves

Passing the barrier

Not releasing

It was designed

To keep everybody out,

Separated only

To the point of rescue. 




Once upon a time (Martin Elder)

Once upon a time
There was you and there was me
Lost forever
In a place we called home
We would pretend
It was ours
The big house
Where others lived
But we could declare
To nobody else
It was ours
I was King and you were Queen
Like all good children
Heard but never seen

We ruled in our very own
Palace
It was our
Stately chalice
The holy grail of
Our life together
Forever young, carefree
Summers hot
Winters cold
Toasting by a fire
How we danced
So very bold
By day and by night
Until that day
A dance to close
Your dress caught
Alight
Two souls trapped
In a place
That turned from palace
To prison
overnight
Never allowed to grow up
We did not know the difference
Between dark and light

The smell of burning still
Remained
Our skin a pale white
Charred and blackened wood
Escape seemed impossible
The burning, smouldering flesh
Tormenting

A hundred years or more later
We walked danced and ran
Down corridors
Through walls and doors
Only ever seen by cats and dogs
And an occasional brave child
Confronted with the tired eyes
And flesh ridden sores

But now the house is gone
Knocked down
And turned to grass
With only a plaque to remind
Of the fateful day

And so we are free
At last
You and me
To become sprites of the day
Dancing across field and hedge
Free to wander and to find
Our own way
Far, far away

Part XIX and Guest Poet 13 - Hazel Connolly - Ghost II

(Moving on Part 19 - this piece tells the story
from the eyes of the Police Inspector who as you will
discover knows more than he reveals to the reporter.

Also is our latest Guest Poet, the 13th one is a lovely
lady called Hazel Connolly who has submitted a sequel
poem to the one she wrote last year herself. That itself
can be read here and more of her work can also be read
here)

Swollen with nerves

Scaled around the outskirts

Of what he had just reported

The police inspector

Spent the next 10 minutes

After his interview with the press

Panting with breath,

Fathomless in his guilt

Covered in a paused sweat

Lighting cigarette after cigarette

Like a stale perfume

Fragile in increasing nerves

Out wearied across the stars

Until a colleague joined him saying

‘Did they buy it, sir?

To which he answered

'I know I wouldn't.'

Ghost II (Hazel Connolly)

When I returned to the crossroads

To meet this raven haired ghost,

Lost in thoughts

I stared at the madness

Lurking in the darkness before daylight

All around the shadows gather.

Then, your ruby red lips

Brushed against my cheek

In a strange haze of shock

I call your name..

Again you are gone.

A cascade of tears

Falls down my face

You came and taunted..

I only wanted to say goodbye.

While deaths shadows

Loom over me

I’m drowning in sadness

My broken heart crying

While searching dark

Shadows in the night

I know now,

You are a child of the moon