My Poem “Our heroes are leaving us”

Slowly but surely
our heroes are leaving us…
sadly and silently
we have to watch those who we have grown up with
pass over the threshold between life and death,
as they begin a new journey far away from us…
every day we all hear that another person
who meant something to us at some point in our life
has broken free of the shell of their life and their body…
every day we have to say goodbye in our own way
to someone who we thought of as a friend
who touched and changed our life in some way…
it’s always sad… it’s always unbelievable…
it’s always shocking… it’s always strange
when we see again the face of someone who has died
but who still continues to live on in memories,
in photographs, on a screen, or through their voice
which we can still hear in a myriad of ways…
when we lose someone we have known all our lives
it is like watching the stars above slowly disappear
one by one before our eyes –
and though over time the space where bright stars
once burned from a distance will be filled with new stars,
nothing and no one could ever replace the light of something
or someone who used to be our guiding star…
the universe is constantly changing…
sunrises and sunsets are a way of life
for every planet in the cosmos…
no matter how hard anybody tries
there will never be enough words in any language
capable of explaining the meaning of life
and where we go to after we die –
but some questions can only be answered
after we have had life-changing experiences
and after we have witnessed the heroes of our life leave us.

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My Poem ‘A Ghost’s Story’

Some people think
that ghosts are all in the mind…
some people think
that we see what we want to see…
some people think
that the stories of hauntings
are more often than not
just a bunch of lies…
some people are just unable
to entertain the possibility
of somebody continuing to live
though they may not technically be “alive”…
ghosts, spirits, people remain on Earth
and they talk to us all every day –
but sometimes not in ways
that are easy to believe.

When a human spirit leaves its corporeal life
and is set free of its physical body,
a natural change and transition occurs…
when a human heart stops beating,
another source of spirit grows stronger
and we are given a choice:
to follow our instincts
and to journey to a place
beyond human understanding and comprehension,
or stay on Earth and be shown,
and get to interact with,
the living of humanity
within an existence of limitless-time.

Everybody has a reason to be who and what they are –
some people when they die become songs,
and some people when they die becomes stars;
some people’s spirit live on
within the pages of a book
long after their audible-voice can no longer be heard,
forever inhabiting a story’s every letter of every word;
every form of life, when it fully becomes its own spirit,
lives on – and the more that we explore other planets
in the galaxy I am sure that we will encounter
alien ghosts, also –
and I personally would not be surprised
if one day someone from Earth
finds themselves haunted by the figure
of a dead Martian while living
upon the surface of Mars.

Everybody has a story that they are at the centre of…
some peoples’ stories do not end
when their physical body gives-out…
everybody had a moment during their life,
and after death, when they have to shake-off
who they used to be and become someone else completely new –
the draw of an enticing bright light
is hard not to race towards like a moth…
some peoples’ idea of life after death
to some might be thought of as “heaven”,
and to others that same idea
might be their exact version of “hell”…
life when you are alive is different
to the life that awaits us all
on the other side of the threshold of our twilight
that we have to cross when our time
as a living and breathing human comes to an end…
it is said that when we die
we write the most beautiful poetry…
it is important to say goodbye
to loved-ones and friends…
every person, every-thing lives on…
everybody and everything changes –
but nothing ever truly ends,
and when each of us pass on
our story changes also,
from one like that of a caterpillar
to one like that of a butterfly –
and that is the essence of a ghost’s story.

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 ‘Fallen Angel’

It’s happened again.
Why has it happened again?
Tomorrow it will happen.
Next week it will happen.
A hundred years ago it happened.
When will it stop?
When will our race stop killing itself.
There are cancers and viruses and infections
that kill people everyday –
humanity should not have to worry
about one of its own kind
being bad for their health.
But it happens everyday.
People not only die, they are killed.
People not only do not get to live a full-life,
but in most cases they don’t even get the chance
to say goodbye.
It’s horrifying. It feels like it should be inhuman.
It’s almost soul-destroying.
No one should have to worry
about not returning home again
when they walk out the door in the morning.
And yet, most of the time,
it is what, or someone, who you don’t know
who is thinking about themselves
and what they believe –
which means more to them
than the life of someone else –
who decides which day will be your last day
to be blessed by the light of the sun.

I always only want to see
the positive in something or someone;
I always only want to think
that every-thing happens for a reason;
I always only want to see hope and not fear –
however, there are some days
when the worst things happen,
even to someone you do not know,
when the best and the only response
you can possibly give
is one that is expressed with words and in tears.

Why do good people have to die?
Why can’t it be the worst of humanity
who are exterminated from the face of the Earth –
like the cockroaches and the parasites that they are?
Why must some lives only be a short life?
Deaths happen when people are fighting in a battle –
but the majority of people in the world
are not and do not want
to find themselves in the middle of a war.

It is sad to see and to hear
that there are still people in the world
who do not understand how precious life is;
it is heart-breaking that in this day and age
that people still do not realize
that differences are a good thing,
and that with understanding can follow
the most incredible wave of love;
it is such a shame that people
are still being exposed to such horror
the like of which completely eclipses
the scary-stories that we remember
being told when we were kids;
I hope that one day humanity will evolve
beyond how we are now
and that there will be a day
when we will no longer have to mourn
the untimely passing and the slaying
of a fallen angel.

My Poem ‘The Haunting of 14 Yucca Drive’

There once was a girl called “Shelby”,
Who came from a family who were not poor
But did not have a lot of money…
Shelby liked dolls,
Shelby liked teddy bears…
Shelby liked dogs,
Shelby never went to sleep at night
Without first saying her prayers.

When she was alive
Shelby was the happiest girl
You could ever want to meet
And was never seen
To ever frown or cry,
Shelby was always laughing and smiling –
However after she died
Shelby hardly said a word to anyone
And just used to walk in silence
from room to room
Through her old house at 14 Yucca Drive.

Dead, just as she was when she was alive,
Shelby was sweet and kind;
Even though she could
Only be seen most of the time
By animals and children
Shelby was always there
And could make her living best-friend
“Hailie” laugh on a dime.

The Dial family who now lived at 14 Yucca Drive
Always knew that their house had something about it –
as if it was haunted –
It was just one of those houses that
Just had that spooky vibe…
Hailie could see Shelby,
And so could the family dogs, Snuggles,
Moo Moo, Bella, and Gracie –
Bella could often be seen
looking up to a seemingly empty wall,
When in fact she was actually being
Petted by Shelby from her nose to her tail.

Shelby’s story is a sad one…
Shelby’s life as she knew it
As a happy little girl
Ended one sunny afternoon
When she ran out in front of a truck
On State-line Road…
The truck driver managed
To slam on his breaks,
But Shelby was hit just hard enough
To send her flying to the ground
Where she lay out-cold
Without even a single broken bone.

Shelby died,
Shelby went to sleep…
And when she awoke
It was as if she had just
Woken up from a nap –
Shelby had no idea
What had happened to her
Nor how much time had passed…
But slowly but surely
Shelby realized that years had gone by –
Shelby’s family eventually sold up and moved away –
Even when Shelby was given
Her one-way ticket to heaven,
She said “no thank you”
And told the angel who came to her
That she wanted to stay.

So Shelby stayed on Earth
And she remained the girl she was
Wearing the same clothes
She was wearing when she died
For years – sometimes she could be seen
By sensitive adults, as well as by
Animals and imaginative children –
But for the most part
Shelby spent most of her time
Remembering her life
When she was alive,
And hoping one day
To find the one who could help her
Move on from her sadness
And free her from her
accidental Haunting of 14 Yucca Drive.

ghost-girl-shelby