My Poem “Supernatural Obsession”

The thing about the universe,
the thing about the world,
the thing about life,
the thing about death
and what happens after we die
is that we simply do not know
everything that is out there,
nor do we know what is going to happen next…
we don’t know why any of us are here,
nor do we know what real aliens look like,
or why some people are haunted by ghosts?
So much is known about the world –
however, so much about life is still unexplained…
so much has been explored
and so many questions have been answered –
and yet there still remains fundamental questions
about the nature of life and what awaits us all
in our after-life that are constantly being posed
within someone’s brain.
Heaven? Hell? Angels? Demons?
What world awaits us and who should we expect
to find on the other side when it is our time?
Is where we go next dependent upon
if we have lived a life in which
we have been cruel, or if we have been kind?
It is existential questions
that drive our souls as we live our lives…
it is questions of morality that define
the stories that we tell one-another
that are the content of what we dream about at night…
it is our fascination with questions of the incredible,
the impossible, the unbelievable, and the phenomenal
that will continue to always spark to life
humanity’s collective imagination…
there will always be characters
in paranormal stories and adventures,
like Sam and Dean, who will be our guides
and our storytellers of paranormal events
and experiences that will continue to fuel
our long-held supernatural obsessions.

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My Poem ‘The Ghost Train’

Ever wonder how ghosts get around?
Ever wonder how ghosts travel from town to town,
when they are not hanging around in cemeteries
or scaring people as they haunt a particular house?
Some ghost are haunt-o-holics,
some ghosts just can’t move on –
but there are some ghosts
who like to get out-and-about
and who like to go to other places – hey, why not?
It’s not as if ghosts need to wait in-line or buy a ticket?
While some ghosts are essentially agoraphobic, you could say,
and don’t like going anywhere
and would much rather just stay at home –
there are some ghosts, however,
who don’t want to rest in peace for too long
before wanting to make a break for it
and see the rest of the world.

There is a “train” for the dearly-departed
who choose to stay on Earth
when they are given their choice
to either pass-on or stay right where they are;
there is a train that is the fastest in the universe
that runs 24-hours a day, all-year-round,
to every corner of the planet,
that is the quietest form of transport ever envisioned –
this train is so underground
it doesn’t even make a sound.

Ghosts have a lot of time on their hands;
ghosts still like doing what they loved
to do when they were alive –
ghost may be dead,
but that doesn’t mean
they can’t make plans.
Ghosts know more than anyone
how short life for the living really is…
some people die and become ghosts
and instantly get bitten by the “travel-bug”
and in no time at all become tourist-spirits.

Getting on the “Ghost Train”
is no problem for the no-longer-living;
if you know how to board the “Ghost Train”
then you can get on whenever and wherever you are –
all the world is the “Ghost Train’s” station;
there is no place that the “Ghost Train” will not stop,
and there is no limit to the number of passengers
it is capable of transporting –
to those do not know about the “Ghost Train”
at first it can seem like an absolute sensation.

There are many things that the living cannot explain;
there is knowledge and there are answers to questions
that those who are still breathing
are not able to understand
because they have too much
clogging-up their already over-active brains.

There is something that travels farther than a plane,
along rails that could be thought of
as if they were some kind of speed-of-thought fast-lane…
there is a way to get from anywhere to anywhere on Earth
for ghosts, and for all intents and purposes
it is aptly called by those who ride it:
“The Ghost Train”.

My Poem ‘The Ghost Host’

On the sandy beaches of Normandy, France…
still sailing the oceans and seas…
men, women, animals, children, continue on –
some free to act independently,
some stuck in a cycle forevermore
as if repeating the steps of a spectral dance…
as if conjured back to life,
even for a short time,
some people still live on
in the words that they have written –
it is as if the simple act of reading
and letting someone’s voice be heard again
allows them to once again breathe.

While walking the fields of old battle-grounds…
while sitting in the room of a house
thought to be haunted…
while walking through a grave-yard
without a sound to be heard all-around…
while thinking about somewhere and someone,
whose bones and whose life-force still resides there,
every time my senses and my intuition go into over-drive
and I can feel, and I can almost see the face,
and hear the voice of a passed-on spirit –
someone who is still bound to Earth and to its gravity
and who have not chosen, for whatever reason,
to ascend to heaven.

Long-dead soldiers
still walking through the woods
of the state of Georgia, in America;
homeless ghosts still walk the streets of New York City
hoping that perhaps in death
someone might notice them, finally;
patients still walk the wards
of long-since abandoned hospitals
as if they were a zombie;
homes that were once taverns, in England,
still have patrons waiting
to order a drink at imaginary bars.

When we die, I believe that
we leave more behind than what we realize;
when our spirit leaves our body,
I believe that there are sensitive people
who can tell that we are still on Earth –
as if our echo-self has the pungent smell of burnt toast;
when we close our eyes for the last time,
I do not think that that in any way, shape, or form,
is our final goodbye;
when you live a life, like many of us do,
and you share a world with other people
it is only natural to not want to leave that place –
and there are those among the living
who know that, and who recognize that want and that need,
and who choose to open themselves up
to being the conduit and the host of a ghost.

My Poem ‘Interview with an inspirer’

Across a table,
over a mug of tea
or a cup of coffee,
over the years I have sat down,
spoke and communed
with the truly inspirational –
and every ghost of everybody
who has chosen to come
and pass on their wisdom to me
lives on in the words of the verses
within the lines of my poetry.

A long time ago,
William Shakespeare himself,
with quill in hand,
taught me how to write
and how to tap into
the well of inspiration
of my own heart;
only a couple of years ago,
I was sitting in a coffee-shop,
when who do you think it was
who sat across from me?
Why it was the ghost of Vincent van Gogh –
who instilled in me
the importance of every brush-stroke
that we all make, in art and in life,
and to not be afraid to make our marks
that number as many as a sky full of stars;
the white-suited spirit of John Lennon
regularly sits down with his guitar next to me
and inspires me to imagine and to see the world
for how it should be.

Only a few days ago,
I was having a deep and meaningful conversation
with the legendary ‘Starman’ David Bowie;
Amelia Earhart wants me to remind
every man, woman, and child
to never stop overcoming the odds
and reaching for the stars;
Audrey Hepburn has stopped by
to share breakfast with me –
she teaches me every time I see her
that being happy in life is all that matters;
Agatha Christie likes to drink
a cup of hot black-coffee
when sitting down with me
and explaining the importance of a great mystery;
“don’t be afraid to let your mind run wild
when you are writing anything”
was an inspiring piece of advise given to me once
by the author of ‘Frankenstein’, Mary Shelley.

I have been visited many times
by amazing people with epic stories
to tell from and of their lives –
Robin William, RIP, comes by often
to tell me a joke and to give me
the answer to a question
that I did not even know was on my mind;
everybody who sits across from me,
or beside me, talks to me, I believe,
because I listen and because I care deeply,
and perhaps because my imagination
and my heart burns like a fire;
special people never stop having
something to tell you and pass on –
even after death the light of a person’s spirit
lives on, and I am always ready and waiting
if somebody who used to walk the Earth,
but who is now in the after-life,
wants to return to life
through words and through memories
by allowing me to talk and interview
those who will always inspirational
and an eternal inspiring inspirer.