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Robert Ronnow Mar 19
Books to the library
photos to family.
Paint cans and lumber
from renovations years ago.
Most of the furniture
including the piano.
Fastest way to do this
is rent a dumpster.

On the internet
nothing’s permanent.
I like that.
Photosynthesis, evaporation
as if your spirit disappears
when the sun appears.
It’s a burden lifted
not to have to persevere.

for clarity
and brevity.
One owes the reader
a respite from
the tonnage of
fructifying English.
To drown one’s book is devoutly to be wished.

Coupla trumpets,
big comfy couch,
four beds and dressers
and the contents of closets.
Tools we don’t use,
surge protectors and chargers,
lawn and patio accoutrements,
table settings for ten.

Lamplit underground,
the stray branch,
synchronized chaos,
a red fez.
One canary,
map of Antarctica,
three deaf little otoliths,
six or seven sybils.

Extra salt and pepper shakers,
sharpies and crayons,
a printer and a scanner,
the Bible and Koran.
Kaput calculators and computers,
subscriptions and prescriptions,
a host of vitamins
and the ghosts of ancestors.

Time itself
but not nature.
and most of culture
but not my health.
That I’ll keep,
and sleep—practice
for perfect rest.
the shadow knows my every move
he writes my dreams
as if to prove
his dominance

he's in my head
like a vagrant thought
a spider in my own web
I am caught

he's closer now
I sense the space
is measured in days
before he takes my place
I returned from my second trip to Point Pleasant
much like the first
carrying back with me a feeling that I'd left somewhere I belonged
somewhere I had been before
not just once...but many times
perhaps I lived there
100...maybe 500 years earlier
things happen when I return home
the normal oddities that I experience
come rapidly and with more intensity
coincidences are rampant
and the spirit that makes itself known once in a while
becomes very active
a few mornings after my recent return
a glass light cover on the kitchen ceiling
managed to unscrew itself and crash to the floor at 5:00am
a few days later a 1990 ticket stub from a Paul McCartney concert
squirmed from the corner of a framed portrait of The Beatles
that I had hung on my dining room wall next to the table
it somehow bypassed the 6 inches of space between the edge of the table
and the it didn't merely leaped
and the numbers...yea, the numbers...111 and 1111
all the time...everywhere
I was watching a video on youtube about the JFK assassination
It was very well done and I was curious to see if it was receiving
a high number of views...when I checked...
his total views at that moment were

if you visit Point pleasant
stay at the Lowe Hotel
stop at the Mothman Museum
walk alongside the Ohio River and allow yourself to absorb the energy
that is Point Pleasant
and finally...say a prayer for the 46 souls that lost their lives when the Silver Bridge
collapsed in 1967
Faith Dec 2023
Do the malevolent poltergeists of my past haunt your benevolent spirit?
When I ride through my ghost-towns like an old west gunslinger,
Will the ricochets shatter your fragile glass house?
If I slash through phantom limbs, is it your blood that I spill on the altar of revenge?
Do all the periods of falling leaves and sundowns I spend at the graveyard
Will away the only real wisps of life I know?
JR Dec 2023
Those who write for love
Have felt pain
The road was rough
And they'll never be the same
They write metaphors
Comparing their love to a bird

But I am where they were before
Trapped by ghosts
Comparing my sorrows to outer space
Deep and expanding

I am not writing for love
I am writing for those
Who are trapped by ghosts
From a past that's hard to escape
Did u miss me?
TheKatIsDead Dec 2023
at some point, you just know that
you have got to let them go

of the first time we connected
all those memories we both established
those quirks, my quirks
and remained are flaws, irredeemable flaws

of the places we visited
and of the places that could have been
they now remain as stolen dreams
and retain in them, nightmares born
to its deserving king

of the ideas and lies that
perpetuated my thoughts
to you and for you
like a love that stalks rather
than one you wish I would have

of you
he who once was the sun to me
whose smile was solace like the moon
and though, most probably, it was all built in lies
it was something, truly moving
but remains in the sky, was nothing

that is why these things have to go
the stains that once belonged
and in their places are impressions, gone
what now remains, if they wish to remain,
are dreams that turned into nightmares
ghosts that I long ignored
love once harbored
and... you
Still not feeling well. These thoughts just hit like a truck at the most peaceful moments in life as if life is telling me that I do not deserve this peace.
I still remember
the night of the living dead
a tempestuous night
when we should’ve stayed inside
the weight of “beloved” stones up on our heads

I heard stories about
vengeful deceased
coming back to life
but if we’re full of hatred
why are we laying side by side?

I buried you
you buried me
but now we are just deteriorating
rotting flesh wandering around
when we should’ve rested in peace
hmmmm I was supposed to post this on halloween, sorry
Lindsay Hardesty Oct 2023
In an old small town at the top of a winding road there sits a small cottage house with boarded windows and a door that looks as though it has been kicked in multiple times. Passersby would assume the house had been abandoned many moons ago, but local townsfolk know that the house is home to the witch.
Though everyone knew the witch wasn’t scary, her house appeared to be haunted, and every fall the school kids would dare each other to survive what they called “the witches tour”. Some kids would come out crying, others laughing. One day, the witch heard a knocking at her door. A little girl, no older than six or seven stood at her door. “Here for a scare, come on in” the witch said while gesturing for the girl to come inside. The little girl entered the witch's home. The witch didn’t know why, but her palms became sweaty and she could feel tightness starting in her chest.
“I’ll start you off easy” the witch told the girl. “I’m not afraid of anything”. The girl responded back. The witch led the girl up the creaky stairs. When they reached the top of the stairs, bats began to fly overhead. The girl didn’t flinch, they kept walking down the cobwebbed hallway. The witch led the girl into her bedroom and told her to open the closet. The girl did as she was told, and opened the closet. Old skeletons started to fall, piling at her feet.
“I’m still not scared”, said the girl to the witch.
“You’re brave, I’ll give you that” said the witch as they walked out of the bedroom back down the hall into the bathroom.  Inside the bathroom, the girl could see the boa wrapped around the toilet, trying to free its long body from the pipes. Again the girl remained calm, not showing any signs of fear. This made the witch frustrated that nothing seemed to scare this child. The witch rushed down the stairs, her boots clacking on the wooden floor. She flung herself into her rocking chair next to the fire. The girl followed the witch downstairs, and sat on a stool in front of the witch. The witch had an idea, and pulled out her big book of fears. The witch began to show pictures of phobias to the girl. The girl looked at them with interest and entertainment. The witch, again frustrated, slammed the book shut, and film of dust floated in the air.
“You have to be afraid of something, everyone is afraid of something” the witch told the girl with exasperation.
“What are you afraid of”? asked the girl. The witch rocked back and forth in her chair. No one had ever asked her that before. “Ghosts”, the witch said with a tremble in her voice, “they always come back to haunt you” whispered the witch.
“Are you afraid of me”? asked the girl.
“Why would I be afraid of a child”? asked the witch, but then she looked closer at the girl and the ache in her chest began to grow tighter and she could feel the sweat form on her palms. “How did you find me”? asked the witch.
“I’ve been looking for you, I need to tell you something” said the girl.
The witch sat frozen in her chair, paralyzed by her greatest fear. The little girl climbed up on the witch's lap, grabbed her face in her small soft hands, and looked the witch in the eyes. “I’m proud of you and I love you” the girl told the witch before she nestled her head into the crook of the witch's neck.
Instinctively, the witch wrapped her arms around the little girl as she began to cry. The witch cried for so long that the little girl fell asleep in her arms. The witch rocked her until she fell asleep too.

In the morning, they woke up and the little girl told her it was time for her to go. The witch begged her to stay. The little girl told her she would always be with her, and to look in the mirror if she ever needed her.
The witch hugged the little girl goodbye and watched her skip down the long, winding road until she was out of sight.
In a small town at the top of a long, winding road, sits a beautiful cottage house with a tall oak tree, and a tire swing where the school kids play. In the house lives the witch, who maybe, never really was a witch after all.
Demonatachick Oct 2023
I dance between the spaces you create, the air you shift, my music.
Wishing eveyone a happy spooky season :)
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