Memories of my death

I can remember that I was held under

Long enough for my lungs to tear themselves asunder.

I can remember trying to fight back,

Without any breath, my body just a sack.

I can remember that I screamed and screamed,

Screamed so long I thought I dreamed

The time without screaming, the drowning and pain,

Screamed until I broke, I was no longer sane.

Then, if I’m right, I think I died,

I… I think I actually died.

If I died… Then am I a ghost?

Doomed to wander this bleak coast.

I remember my death. What now?

I can’t stay, I must move on? But how?



I’ve seen ducks live in a duck house,

Getting through the door takes a duck from a grouse.

Their duck house has a duck TV

With a duck-tenna, Duck Tales to see.

This duck house has a spooky duck ghost,

Going “Quack quack!” at night more than most.

When the duck house ducks feel sick sometimes,

The duck-tor gives them prescription-limes.

The duck-tor they go to is a duxpert,

Knows every duck-ache that makes them hurt.

The ducks break their duckfast with green seeds,

Duck-lunch is kelp and duck-dinner is reeds.

These ducks like their house so ducky,

As far as ducks go, they’re ducky-lucky.

Sweet roll ghost

Today I got a chill in the cafeteria,

A tiny breeze deep from Siberia,

Swooshed fast by and blew in my ear,

It was my basest, oldest fear:

A sweet roll ghost just booing away,

It had come around to haunt my day.

At eye level just sweetly levitating,

Eye to sugar chunk, me hesitating,

I don’t dare to make one move,

(If I danced the situation might improve)

I listen to the sweet roll’s ghastly wail,

Listen to the words and I know its tale:

“CoOoOOOoooffeeee is what I want to taste,

Dunk me in it, don’t just baste.

CooOOoOOoffeeeeee, I have never seen,

Grant my wish, show me caffeine!”

I buy a cup and put it on the table,

“Double ghostpresso” is written on the label.

The small sweet form just dives on under,

I hear a yell that’s filled with wonder:

“It’s quite warm, thank your soooOOooOOoul.”

I drink it up and it warms my whole.

Why would you kiss a ghost?

Why would you ever kiss a ghost?

Asked my friend while eating toast.

Well, of course, to calm them down,

If you see them out on town.

Walking dazed and too confused,

Which is why they aren’t amused.

They try to talk but drive away,

The people run when they say “Hey”.

You should go and hear their wail,

It might fill your spine with hail.

They ask you for your warm affection,

A single kiss for good protection.

A peck on their ethereal cheek,

Their chain to earth lets out a shriek.

Disappears and waves goodbye,

Fades away with one last sigh.

But if you kiss a ghost pretender,

A ghastly horseplay, spoofy vendor.

They won’t fade with gratitude,

Might even show some attitude.

A kiss to them just might prove right,

If it makes their might take flight,

With their mind, away it flutters,

Above and on the fields and gutters.

Exorcised the wrong objective?

You might color yourself affective.

Ghosts of chicken and/or trees

Hmm, sense? What’s that.

I went walking in the snow one night.

The moon reflected off the drifts quite bright.

A twisting path in the wood-covered land,

Dozens of giants with a sun’s pale strand.

I looked to the left and saw a glassy stream,

It played the water symphony, wintery theme.

I looked to the right and saw shades of white,

The trees in the storm embraced the snow tight.

Hundreds of shapes, each tall and gaunt,

White and eerie as the suspect of a haunt.

One side black while the other is snowy,

The wind had decided to get a bit blowy.

I passed the copse full of ghosts of trees,

I noticed my hands starting to freeze.

Back home I get some chicken soup for heat:

My mind and a fun little thought happen to meet.

What if the chicken that I’d just eaten,

Decided to fight death and found it beaten,

Came to haunt me as I slurp the broth,

Torment me in its undead wroth?

As I sleep, I hear its ghastly stalk.

In the distance a wavy “Baa-aaa-aa-aa-aawk.”

Not the scariest of ghosts, I’m pretty sure;

The cramps from laughing: hard to endure.