Banshee Number 93

Walking in the shadow 

Of a ghost I can’t shake,

Can’t lose it, won’t go away

Waking me in the middle of the night

With the sweat and the chill

Fear bundled up in a tense fetal position

Clenched jaw, locked jaw

Grinding teeth

Gnashing and mashing and crashing

When the thunder from within jolts and bolts

Screaming at the red sky,

Lava moon that melts,

Spurts around something that

Stopped beating in my chest long ago

Howling with a bolt of electric clatter

Through my nerves, 

Calm my nerves

Break the shadow, turn on the light

To find that I am the ghost

Who frightens me.

Hippie Ghosts

Walking into the Hip-E-Dream Antique Shoppe,

I strolled through aisles of pillows and hanging beads,

Looking for something that I wasn’t quite sure existed.

If it was anywhere, I knew that it had to be there

Because I heard about it from the ghost of a generation

Who couldn’t quite explain it to me in exact terms,

Just that people placed a high value on it

So I knew that it was worth hunting around the shop for,

Waddling through the flower power signs 

And the glass encased fringed leather purses,

Followed by imaginings of the thwack thwack sound

Of ancient huaraches,

Looking through rack upon rack of caftans,

Tripping over a few strangely ornate smoking devices,

I kept remembering how the elders mentioned

That they just sang for it and it appeared

But whatever it was, they now took up arms and battled for it.

When I saw the proprietor casually strike a match,

I smelled the smoke and saw my reflection in the mirror,

Looking rather disappointed at that,

I started to walk out empty handed and so sad

That I almost missed

The crumpled and torn scrap of paper in the corner

That held the words

Peace and Love.

Invisible Boundaries

Walking the tiresome journey

Through the drudgery of servitude

Sipping the bitter drink

Of the day to day to day

Breaking the back of the wishbone

Watching the dream fade to fog and uncertainty

The honor hidden in the realm of a noble past

The warrior confidence pulsing through the artery

Feeding the center of compassion

In the dust of the battle

Becoming a mystery,

A glimpse of a second sight

Of something delicate falling through

A crack in a colorful prism

Through a brilliant portal in time

Landing at our feet,

Overcoming the feat

Fighting on, wearing the armor,

Toughening our skin

Layer by layer by layer

Plodding forward in the duty and the honor

That continually keeps us from the glory

Clock Watchers

Sitting in the antiseptic waiting room

Trying to avoid each other’s eyes

Knowing that we are all there for the same reason

And it isn’t pretty

Some moms and aunts and grandmas politely smile

At the tag-a-long toddler to kill time, fill space

In the cloying atmosphere

Until he screams, screams, screams

Because we all want to do that, too:
Lose our filters, lose control

Instead we check unimportant updates

On our cell phones

While trying to pretend that we are not staring at each other,

Sizing up the person ahead of us

With his thinning hair and talc skin,

Wondering how some partners willingly came along for support

While others got roped into being there for a ride

Or for some cruel sort of punishment

Becoming numb to the wait, the lines, the worry,

Recognizing the un-indoctrinated to a system

Of circumstances beyond control, beyond hope

(I hope not!)

Regardless of belief or non-belief of the reality or of a deity

We all murmur a prayer before it’s our turn

Hoping that we come out alright,

Hoping that we come out at all

To live through another wait

In that uncomfortable waiting room,

Avoiding the stares,

And wondering about the same faces
On another day.