Dusk

why must ghosts be human?
sad or vengeful remnants
stories that waver

the ghosts who live in trees
come out in flat grey bubbles
smiling sideways

because that's the half of it
the half way between living
and not,

smiling and frowning,
black and white, animal
and vegetable

everything that lives must die 
and deserves a dusk, a liminal breath
a moment 

to watch the clouds coddle the tired sun

13 thoughts on “Dusk

    1. Thanks! I took the photo two days ago – a strange pattern on a tree trunk. Then yesterday, our dog played with the dog of an older man who decided to tell me all these stories of his encounters (he was a carpenter by trade – now retired quite a while I think) with supernatural stuff. Unfortunately I was freezing cold and far more interested in my kids and the dogs and felt a little shackled to his stories. However the gist of them was firm in my head and I guess that’s where the poem came from.

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      1. that’s intriguing: I love the word ‘shackled’, a bit like being button-holed by the Ancient Mariner; but it was worth it for the poem you got out of it 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Thanks, John. At the end the man said “I will stop boring you now” and I wondered if my impatience had shown. But I think he just said it … a way to politely walk away.

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      3. most likely the latter; older guys are usually astute enough to be aware of that possibility; it’s the younger dudes who barrel on if you’re interested or not 🙂

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