Does something from your past come back to haunt you? Have you heard strange noises or felt haunted in the night? Had bad dreams? Told “ghost” stories? Had a “Bad Penny” moment where it just wouldn’t go away? A memory that lingers and you can’t put your finger on? Exorcise that ghost!


Alternatively, write a “ghost” poem.



Tomorrow I have surgery scheduled that hopefully will rectify the issues with which I’ve dealt for the past two years. Since no P.E.O.D prompt is schedule for tomorrow, hopefully I’ll be up and around to participate for the Friday offering. Either way, I’ll keep up when I can.  And when you do, speak of me kindly! 😉



    When I walk these old grounds I can see
    all the spectres: of Ike and of Lee
    and of many a ghost
    who began at this post
    and remain, some in bronzed memory.

  2. AUBURN COMES TO HAUNT, Walter J Wojtanik

    A comely waif came bearing gifts and packages,
    auburn-clad and glad to deliver each smile
    that you would give back to her, returned in kind.
    You’d think you would have had a mind to learn
    that auburn hair became your snare;
    the redder, the better. Reminders of a kinder
    gentler muse, it would have been a gaffe to refuse
    the laugh that she bore. It was there that her charm
    disarmed you, just like she used to do.
    Auburn comes to haunt you.

  3. I Don’t Mean to be Mean, But …

    The times I feel breath near my face
    Makes me nervous of who’s in my space.
    Are you foe? Are you friend?
    I don’t want to offend,
    But deceased, just desist! Don’t touch base!

    © Marie Elena Good, 2019

  4. .

    I awoke
    to see
    an NVA soldier
    or was he
    a wounded VC?

    He was
    seven feet from me,
    or was it
    only three?

    He was
    badly hurt,
    wrapped and tied,
    or was he
    actually free?

    He was
    the prisoner,
    or was it
    truly me?

    He was
    or dying now,
    trying to get free?

    I awoke
    to see
    my enemy,
    and he was
    actually me.

  5. GENTLE TEARS, HARSH TRAILS, by Walter J Wojtanik

    We live with our mistakes, our regrets,
    and it get daunting sometimes.
    It haunts me sometimes
    that a guy that can fix just about anything,
    has a hard time fixing broken folks.
    Sometimes I’ll make some jokes to hide
    the pain that is draining my resolve
    as I try to salve the next kerfuffle.
    But, I muff it more times than not,
    I’ve got these fickle fingers sometimes
    and my rhymes are all that saves me.
    Sometimes. I try not to show my weakness,
    the bleakness of which drives me to think.
    I do all I can and pray that is enough.
    It has been rough, but we deal with it.
    Stealing from it every moment of joy,
    trimming the sails in these prevailing winds.
    But, my greatest of fears is one day not being here
    to wipe the harsh trails of her gentle tears.

  6. Well, here is a haunting poem that tries to follow a form using interior and exterior rhyme. I’ll post it, and then if I have the energy, I’ll write a second free verse poem about ghosts. . . .

    Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda: A Haunting

    At times, regret rides high in my domain
    I’m made insane by coulda, shoulda and
    Their cousin woulda, wanting a new chance
    That time to dance has passed, a new day’s here
    I’ll stand and cheer, for I’m not that foolish girl
    No longer swirling feelings hold control
    Inside, behold, a new me now resides.

  7. .
    Hauntless and Happy

    Once haunted by past choices
    The possible outcomes of risks taken
    Risks that I survived from nonetheless
    No longer do they cross my mind

    I used to wonder what would have happened
    If I had taken a left turn instead of a right
    If I had gone North instead of South
    If I had stayed home instead of enlisting
    If I had married differently
    If I had never had children
    If I had not met Jesus on the road to Damascus
    So to say

    But I wonder no more
    My past haunts me not
    I have no questions
    No doubts
    No second thoughts
    Or second guesses

    Because I am exactly
    Where I’m supposed to be
    And I’m content
    I am happy
    And blessed

  8. Perspective

    A bunch of us were sitting
    in my college dorm room
    telling each other spooky stories.
    The room was dark except
    for the eerie glow of my lava light,
    making its globby forms
    my roommate thought disgusting.

    I was sprawled and comfy
    on my roommate’s beanbag chair
    holding my doll, made of cloth and yarn,
    which everyone thought was ugly,
    except it was cute to me.
    It really was ugly, though.

    I told them about my grandma
    during WWII who had two sons overseas,
    my dad and his brother Bill.
    One day, she was in the upstairs
    of her house looking at Uncle Bill’s picture
    when large black wings embraced her,
    only for a moment.

    I didn’t think the story particularly scary,
    figuring it was just God’s heads-up
    to Grandma, since Uncle Bill was killed
    a few days later. But apparently
    one of the guys thought it unnerving,
    because when I threw my rag doll at him
    he went straight up like a rocket.

  9. All the best to you, Walt!

    This one was written only a few days ago, not specifically or the prompt – but it’s such lovely synchronicity, I trust it counts. (It’s a dizain, in case you were wondering.)

    The Ghosts

    And still they go on living in one’s head,
    all those we’ve said goodbye to all these years –
    the undeparted, ever-present dead
    for whom we shed so many anguished tears.
    I promise you that no-one disappears!

    My husband wanders down the corridor
    from his old office which he had before:
    pauses, smiles, vanishes. My little cat
    nudges me with her head or gentle paw,
    invisibly. No, love’s not ended yet.

  10. In Need of Advice

    I wish I believed in ghosts
    Or spirits who linger
    I have questions unanswered
    Memories with holes
    Unfinished business here
    And I’ve been left to
    Figure things out on my own

    trying to catch up – I’ve been busy playing with 7 yr olds 😁

  11. September Ghosts

    It haunts my days and oft-times dreams
    Horror fades, they say–those not there
    Dust and ashes will never be clean
    It haunts my days and oft-times dreams
    Just yesterday . . . or so it seems
    I wonder if we’re truly prepared.
    It haunts my days and oft-times dreams
    Horror fades, they say–those not there

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