#ghoststory
Thundering roads, travelling at speed—
two wheels to balance man and machine.
Black night riding on the lights,
the only way to see where I go.
Road and trees now merge.
Eyes bare and heavy—rest,
rest now. I dream.
The old house I see through my lighted way,
sat high on the high hill.
“That will do,” I sigh calmly.
Now I can rest my bare eyes.
Sleep now.
Tomorrow I will ride more.
As I close, I see the house is an inn—
better still.
I stand the machine, secure.
Tomorrow we will ride more.
I gaze high on the inn.
My bare eyes glimpse a shadow—
looking close to the window. Now gone.
The old sign reads Travellers Rest.
A door handle of old brass. I knock,
then knock again.
“I hear you,” a man cries.
“I hear you—knock no more…”
“Have you a room for the night, sir?”
“Why yes. Yes, come in, come in,”
the man repeats and repeats.
Still, no matter—
a room I now have.
My bare eyes heavy.
Sleep I need.
Sleep, now I think and repeat.
Eyes drawn to a doorway.
I dream, I think.
Shake my head—I dream.
There’s nobody there.
“Number 29, sir—my birthday.”
“Second floor.
Lift not working. Sorry, sir.
The stairs you must take.”
“Thanks,” I sigh.
Looking to the stairs,
shake my head,
wipe my poor bare eyes.
Nobody there.
“OK, sir?” asks the old man.
“Yes, yes… thought… well…”
Now I repeat,
“Thought I saw someone.”
“My wife, sir. My wife—
setting your bed, sir.”
Climbing the stair,
I see down the passage
the glow of a warm fire.
“Straight ahead, sir.
Straight ahead—that’s your room.
Nice and warm now, sir.
Nice and warm,”
the old man still continues to repeat.
So weary now.
My bare eyes catch a glimpse—a shadow.
I squint to see.
Nothing. Gone.
Sure—I’m so sure something was there.
“Here we go, sir. Here we go.”
Entering the room—warm and snug.
A large bed, fit for a king.
“A king,” now again I repeat.
“Supper, sir. Supper at seven, sir.”
“OK… maybe… not sure…”
I dream of sleep.
I lay on the bed,
slumber into a light doze.
Music now playing below.
Shadows I see through the gap
of door and floor.
People passing, I suppose.
Tick tick, tick tock—
goes the old clock above the fireplace.
Sleep…
Chimes of seven awake me.
I look to my watch—eight.
Eight o’clock.
The clock is slow.
The music still playing.
More shadows now pass my door.
Strange.
No voices.
No voices, I repeat.
I dream.
Sleep.
Sleep I need—fit for my ride,
me and my machine.
Chimes of seven awake me.
Eight o’clock, I think.
Looking to my watch—no,
seven o’clock.
It runs well now.
Shadows passing my door.
Voices and laughter.
Knock knock.
“It’s the old man.”
“Breakfast, sir. Breakfast.
Seven-thirty, sir. Seven-thirty, sir.”
The man still repeats.
“Thank you, thank you,”
now I repeat.
I rise, wash, and vacate my room.
Glimpse—something there.
I turn. Nothing.
Nothing.
Trekking the stairs,
standing at the bottom,
wiping my bare eyes.
“What is this? What?”
Deep breaths I take.
Spinning round—what?
Derelict.
Derelict.
The inn is just a shell.
I turn and look to the stairs—
dark, broken.
Nothing.
Just a derelict old house.
Its glory long past.
My bare eyes stare—
disbelief.
A voice from the street:
“OK? You OK there, sir?
Careful now, careful.
That place’s been long gone.
Fire. Fire, sir.
Terrible. Terrible it was.
All dead. All dead.”
“Are you OK, sir? Are you OK?”
“’Twas my twin brother’s place, it was.
Gone now. Gone now, sir.
Well—I’ll be on my way.”
I wipe my bare eyes.
“What was this? What?”
“Hey, sir!” shouts the man.
“They say my twin still roams this place…”
Silence.
Shock.
I de-stand my bike,
taking to the thunder—
the thunder of the road.
Man and machine.
Balanced as one.
As one.
Now I repeat.
Feb 6
Feb 6, 2026 at 6:42 AM UTC
Alex 2 breathes, stacks and unstacks papers, distantly
Alex 1, front cubicle, coughs, clicks his mouse
Eddie pulls out his drawer, pushes it back in, clicks his mouse
Alex 2, yes two Alex's, saunters up to the coffee machine
Alex 1, head down, clacking his keyboard
Mouse clicks, keyboard clicks, electricity
Monitors glow, fluorescents never flicker
Alex 1 opens a new file, two clicks of the mouse
Eddie sips his coffee, puts it down, clicks
New folder, new file, new data
Data entry, spreadsheets
Alex 1 asks did you get the email
Alex 2 has his coffee, his white shirt, under the fluorescents
Statics noise, static, mouse clicks, keyboard
Every new click, new file, new data, new folder
Data in, data out, file, click, the static electronics
Alex 2 clicks, files, new folder, new deal, new data
Eddie clears his throat, softly, the static noise, flickers,
Every new love story is a tragedy
Alex 2 opens a new folder, inputs data, spreadsheets
Numbers in, Eddie clicks his mouse twice rapidly
Stale effluvia coffee, static noise, electric light
Alex 1 sniffles, clears his throat, the clock ticks softly
Eddie opens a new file, the electric screen reflects his fixed eyes
Alex 2 sips his coffee, opens a file, clicks, keyboard clacks
Stasis, complete stasis, electricity, nodes, linear graphs
Numbers input, data, new file, file transfer
Every old tragedy is a ghost story
Alex 2 sips his coffee, breathes, clears his throat, data
Spreadsheets, monitors, electricity, static, data input, output
Every ghost story is infinite
Alex 1 gets up for a new coffee
Eddie inputs data, spreadsheet, file, new folder
Electric lights, stasis, data, file, click, file, input exp..
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 10:21 PM UTC
Relaxing on the hotel terrace
Absorbing the gentle dusk breeze
I glance across the manicured field
To the ever darkening trees
Then something catches my wandering eye
Making my whole body freeze
It cannot be true, I swear I can see you
At the tree line, down on your knees
Is it the wine, or a trick of my mind
Conjuring up your ghost
Or is it the stale lack of closure
From the person that frightened me most
I reach out, feeling dizzy with fear
And steady myself on a post
Blink several times and focus again
On my illusory, beckoning host
Our time together was painful
Your passion was bruised and blue
Your threats and punches disguised
In a love you declared as true
When I finally found the courage
To run for a life anew
You followed and tried to take
My spirit, though long had it flew
And now it is many years later
I thought I had broken free
From the tears, unwarranted guilt
Of whether the fault lay with me
Yet here you seem to appear again
Your arms reach out imploringly
It seems you are trying to call
Your mouth forms an unspoken plea
I rise, turn and start to walk away
I know this is all in my head
I've had too much wine, too much time to reflect
On things been and gone, once said
And as I depart, back into the bar
Off to safety and warmth of my bed
I receive a text, of a car accident
Announcing that you are now dead
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
I don't always see the ghost-
he chooses a wicker chair to sit-
seems to be the problem when past comes to dine.
I don't always see them-
the empty obscure references
as they drip like baby saliva from pale lips
places we've been,
things we've done.
The past sits across.
pinky out daintily
as past will do
when drinking champagne
and talking about the
good days.
I see him like James Dean leaning against the door frame.
I feel like Grace Kelly
Flipping blonde hair flips in dip and twirling curl,
licking pink lips as if they were full of icing on cupcakes.
Yes, I do not see him.
Here I go again flirting with the past.
I do not see the emptiness of the stare
as he looks across to me
I think foolishly it is star crossed love-
and grab his hand to slip wistfully through my own
and pull him grudgingly forward.
I zoom with him room through room,
looking for a place to hold him.
And the present sits forlornly on my front porch.
dejectedly he sits.
And the presents gift-
of soon wilted flower
lay on his lap...
And the present stares through the window
as I waltz with a ghost.
I do not see, I can not see.
I do not see the ghost.
Sahn 10/03/14
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 6:21 AM UTC