I was feeling pretty good after a few ***** tonics,
to the point where I felt comfortable enough to converse
with this vaguely familiar, lovely lady sitting next to me at the bar.
I leaned over and quite brazenly asked;
" Do you like ghost stories?"
" I happen to love ghost stories" she replied.
I began by telling her about the ghost that tried to suffocate me
by burying my face in a pillow at exactly 3 am
the night after I saw my name appear in large black letters
on the television screen while watching a movie.
She ordered a double and asked me to continue.
I told her about the lady I work with who advised me to answer the phone
because it might be my Mother, knowing all the while that my Mother
was deceased.
Well, the lady on the phone just happened to have the same last name
as my Mother's maiden name; Joy. Not Smith or Jones...Joy.
Her husband's name was Edwin which just happened to be my Dad's name.
Then I told her about the time my sisters and I were visiting the grave site of my parents.
We were in the wrong area and searching when I stumbled across a section of headstones with the family last name but no relation as far as we could tell.
There she lay....Mary E. Owens...deceased 1951, the same year and day my sister; Mary E. Owens was born.
I must say she was a bit startled when she came over to have a look.
"Shall I continue?" I asked.
Without hesitation the pretty lady replied; "By all means, continue."
"Okay, this is the kicker. I attended a VanGogh exhibit a few years ago.
I was compelled it seems by unknown forces to his work,
but had never viewed it in person.
On the day of the final viewing I knew I had to go.
I was sick with fever from an active kidney stone
but decided to take the trip downtown by subway.
When I arrived there was a very long line. Tickets were free, but limited.
A man approached me trying to scalp tickets he had obtained.
I declined, placing my faith in destiny.
I got my ticket as did 3 or 4 people behind me and that was it.
Hundreds were turned away.
The viewing of VanGogh's work was a moving experience.
I was exhausted by the end and my fever had risen.
It was all I could do to remain standing.
While I viewed the final piece of the exhibit; 'Wheatfields Under Threatening skies',
someone spoke to me from just behind my right shoulder.
" I want to thank you for coming my good man. It means a great deal to me."
I turned to answer, but before I could reply I was stunned to see that the likeness
between this man and VanGogh himself was astounding.
I turned to look at a self portrait on a wall nearby and back to the gentleman again but he was gone.
Hallucination due to my fever...perhaps, but I'll never believe that.
"That is quite the story and you are quite the storyteller.
Now it is my turn to tell you a story before I go.
Do you see that lady in the mirror next to you?
The one captivated by your lust for life?
Look real hard, then slowly close your eyes and slowly open them again."
When I did, she was gone, but in a brief instant it was as if the entire room went quiet
and I heard a whisper that echoed as if it were inside a church,
"I loved posing for you, Vincent."

Author's note: This is a 'Ghost Story' I wrote which is a bit unusual in that it contains actual events wrapped in a ficticiuos setting (the bar). I wrote an article for the on-line publication; 'Wordcatalystmagazine' detailing my run-in with the ghost at 3 am. It's called 'Ghost Story' and it's in the Dec.2007 issue.

standing in line
at the funeral home
back where i grew up

waiting for someone
to pay respects
to the dearly departed

i heard the young
dead woman gloat
a little

pleased with the plethora
of flowers and throws
and angel figurines

and the long line of mourners

and the way
her ***** looked
in the shirt she wore

she thought
and i'm not paraphrasing much
that 'she looked pretty good
for a dead girl'

i used to think
that we left this world
and stepped into angel wings

but now i know
we cannot be
what we haven't been

These ghost have been with me as long as I can remember.. I never did fear them.. I embraced their very presence and would always look for them..  They would do small things.. Like write Hi to me in the dust, Turn on lights, And walk with me under the night sky.. I never felt alone.. Even though I could not see them I knew they were always with me.  I could feel when I needed privacy that they would let me be..  But today I read a message in the dust that finally scared me..  It said " Are you a ghost?" It turns out I was the ghost all along..

I sleep in a room where my cousins saw an elderly lady sitting on the window. Decayed face, messy long hair, creepy posture. A ghost, they said.

I used to be afraid to spend the night in that room alone, for I couldn't imagine how it would be if the creature showed up in front of me. What if it ate me? What if it took me to another world?

But it was years ago. I sleep there now, in a room where my cousins saw a horrible creature that lurked in the dark. The only difference, is that I'm no longer afraid.

The actual monsters are lurking inside my mind.

You are such a stalker--
Or at least your ghost is;
It keeps following me
Closer than my shadow.
I feel your breath on me.
I hear it in my ears,
I just can't see it now
Since you're right behind me.

Some people would be scared,
Others at least anxious
But you'd never hurt me;
You didn't when you could.

At night in the dark halls
I swear I see a hint,
A sliver of you, quick,
As I change direction.
My memory is clear
As it haunts my present
And perhaps I see you--
Your ghost, to cope with the
Loss.

Seated at my feet when I wake at 2a.m.
You faithfully keep watch over my soul.
Yet the unspoken words between us
Haunt my thoughts by day.  
There is so much I long to know.

I sense your ever-presence guarding
My every step, my thoughts, my heart.
Tortured by your silence, yet
Comforted by the knowledge that
I'm never alone.

My lovers friend passed away
She feels him with her
The love he still has intwined
Laying on his grave singing
---
There was a ghost in my rear view mirror
Standing looking at me when I looked back
No one.  A blue shirt and dark skin gone
Still there in my memory as I looked for him

I saw you once across the street,
And all I did was stare.
For seconds after seeing you,
I realised you weren't really there.

darling,
there are winds
and then
there are ghosts
the hard part
is knowing
which is kissing your cheek

Ghosts
grab my ankles and hold me back
like a plastic bag catching my shin in the wind.
The slight tug and pull draws my attention to you.

I have yet to know what you wanted,
and maybe I wouldn’t feel so haunted
if you would meet me once again.