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Showing posts with label Ghost. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ghost. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 25, 2018


I gave it all up
The ghost of myself, seeking
Becoming quiet

            Still, I am

Tuesday, June 27, 2017


Hunting in shadows
The ghosts of dreams, and secrets
Poison within me

Softly approaching
The muse captures the mystic
With soothing visions

Tomorrows promise
Transparent, as light as silk
The soft kiss of fate

Adrift in the void
The spirits of samsara sing
The wild, wailing wind

Touching everything
Between the heavens and earth
Specter in the garden

Brush the new flowers
Fingers bruise the dark blossom

Cut by the sharp thorns

Monday, October 31, 2016


I am getting old.
When I was young I imagined that Halloween was for children. It was costumes and candy and imaginary play. Halloween was an escape from reality, or it was a glance into another world.
We use to go block to block in our costumes, we called it Trick or Treating, we carried pillow cases with us, taking candies at nearly every door.
We scoffed at the people who lived in the houses where they handed out little bibles, or toothpaste, or home made goods.
I remember the drill of searching through our candy, looking for suspicious things, open packages. We heard that some people hated children and would slip needles, or razor blades into the candies.
Halloween was not all fun and games, it was not just for children either.
Halloween was a deeper holiday than we thought of as children, it was not just about ghosts and goblins and friendly witches. In the celebration of Halloween there was an ages old conflict, between the Christian Church, and the “Old Time Religion;” the customs of the pagans hiding just beneath the surface.
On the Christian Calendar; Halloween was known as the All Hallows Eve. It was a celebration of the honored dead, of all the saints who had passed before.
For the old pagans; whose traditions walk hand in hand with the church, it was a celebration of the dead. Plain and simple, Halloween was an acknowledgment of all the dead, whose spirits live among us still; good and bad, honored or not, and more often than not it celebrated the dangerous, the macabre, the frightening, and the weird.
I was fourteen the last year I went Trick or Treating, and really; I was only chaperoning my younger brother. I took some candy nevertheless.
In that same year I remember the Pastor at my church lamenting the popularity of the pagan festival. Believing that the Christian feast should be honored instead. There was no fun in that.      
In the that have followed, the number of children who go out in costumes seeking candy has declined by 25%. It is no longer considered safe or wholesome.
At forty-seven I watch my pears obsess over this day still. A few of them earn an income through it, I understand that. Other have children, and for them it is a carrying forward of a tradition. Most look to Halloween or the weekend preceding it, as a cause to be drunken, to crawl through bars in costumes, to cling to their childhood and the freedom of they had as children, which they remember, or imagine.
For me it is just another day, Halloween, I do not believe that the dead walk with us. I have never seen a ghost, or found evidence of magic.

Given 1st - 2016.10.31

Tuesday, January 5, 2016

Landscape and Memory

You have heard it said
You are what you eat
This is true, and you are
Where you have been; as well

Just as the foods you consume
Gram by gram, build up your mass
So do the engrams of your memory
Built up by the places you have been

I see the ghost of myself
In the streets that I walk
Reflections of me walking past  
In the streets I have walked all of my years

Me, in the glass of a storefront
My imprint in the textured handle
In the palm of my hand, opening
Toward the future places I will be

Memory is a tapestry made of
Neurons, spindle-fibers stretched
Woven on the skein of life
Proteins patterned on the loom

This is not fate that I am twisting in
Just the force of direction, of purpose
Following threads, the loop of a circuit
The electrons repeat and carry our signals     

Memory is an electric cocoon
From which we emerge, fresh  
Newly Formed by old imperatives
Shaped in the places we have lived

Listen to the laughter on my street
Echo, you are not so lonely now
Recall the scent of lilac in my garden
Spring returns; even in the midst of winter

Taste and you remember
The bitter and the sweet
The movements of our lives

The places and the moments, the people we have been