Poetic Ghost

There is a ghost that haunts me
Stalking me in my library, mischievous
I wouldn’t want to exorcize her, shoo her away
Even though she catches me off guard
A little frightening, startling at times
Pulling words out of the air before I
Can safely anchor them, others she hides
Conceals them, cloaks or secretes them
Where, no matter how hard I look
They remain undiscovered, unfound

My Ghost is not imaginary, I know she
Is real because I can sense her when
She is near, but it is that part of me
She toys with, just to let me know
She’s there, tickling my imagination
Bending thoughts to excite me, arouse me
There is nothing about me she doesn’t know
She could write this poem without me
But what would be the fun in that
So let me struggle with words
Let me writhe and wriggle and
Thrash about for meanings
No matter what I’ve planned
My ghost will tell her own story.

One thought on “Poetic Ghost

  1. Keith Overstreet says:

    Patrick, I love your “Poetic Ghost!” Mainly because I am a Poet too, and I have always had a Ghost Muse following me around all my earthly days! I thoroughly enjoyed reading this poem – it is crafted with great nuance, maturity, and wisdom. These words of yours carry the Alchemist Ghost Muse, dancing within the struggling initially muddled but potent cauldron of “inspiration.” She teases us in the library; random books fall off the shelves and turn out to be life-changing milestones in our life. She flings darts at us while we sleep and we awaken at morning, barely remembering some haunting phrase or lyrical melody. Ah, she is a magical Fairy with her wings mostly concealed. But sometimes, as your poem suggests, sometimes we end up telling her story and its beautiful splendor – just like her! Thank you Patrick!

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