At times, we’re visited by things whose paths were once invisible to us. Soft, hazy ghosts we tend to dismiss or ignore. Yet, there are days when these ghosts demand our attention with keen edges, the kind that scratch and nick. In Rae Armantrout’s poem, Unbidden, she hearkens to the unspoken and the things invisible.
The ghosts swarm.
They speak as one
person. Each
loves you. Each
has left something
undone.
•
Did the palo verde
blush yellow
all at once?
Today’s edges
are so sharp
they might cut
anything that moved.
•
The way a lost
word
will come back
unbidden.
You’re not interested
in it now,
only
in knowing
where it’s been.
Try It: Invisible Ghosts Poetry
Listen to the ghosts’ stories. It is time. Let them tell you where they’ve been—in the glimmer and in the shadow. Write a poem in which the ghosts of your past (or a single ghost unrelated to you) tells you their, or its story.
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Featured Poem
Thanks to everyone who participated in our recent poetry prompt. Here is a poem from Monica we enjoyed:
Invisible from the shore of the lake
Under the ripples, always awake
A twist, a whirl, a vortex churning
Below the surface, fire burning
Rumbling, almost too much to take
The water is still, the surface opaque
Yet veiled beneath, submerged, the ache
Remains—a stirring, turbulent yearning
Invisible from the shore
At this depth, something has to break
Opposing currents clash and make
A maelstrom moving, overturning
Never stagnant, always learning—
A push, a weight I cannot shake
Invisible from the shore
Photo by Donnie Ray Jones. Creative Commons via Flickr.
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How to Write a Poem uses images like the buzz, the switch, the wave—from the Billy Collins poem “Introduction to Poetry”—to guide writers into new ways of writing poems. Excellent teaching tool. Anthology and prompts included.
“How to Write a Poem is a classroom must-have.”
—Callie Feyen, English Teacher, Maryland
Prasanta says
invisible
(I am never alone)
close enough to taunt
remind me it is proximal
leaves signs of its presence
hovers in shadows
listening, watching, waiting
unseen, yet ironically
my constant companion
always crouching by my side
never letting me forget
Heather Eure says
Very nice, Prasanta. The line “my constant companion” is, for lack of a better word, haunting. Thanks for sharing.
Rick Maxson says
Mysterious, Prasanta, the way a ghost should be. I agree with Heather—haunting.
Rick Maxson says
Ghost
We sit and talk.
You, the father’s ghost,
somewhere in the dust
that falls constantly to earth.
I have a face for you now,
a mosaic in glass. In my dreams
your hands created it,
like the pieces of the angels
formed for the Sunday sunshine.
But there are the houses of memory,
the chairs moved in the night. You
can see the scars on the floors.
I can hear the tolling bells of my crying
from the blue mouths on my skin,
ringing in my aging ears.
In the snowfall of a winter mind,
your prints are lighter, after all,
you are a ghost now, your weight
is really only mine
until I am weightless too.
Rick Maxson says
Ghost Story
Ours is a real ghost story. The living,
are the ones who wander,
searching for something forgotten
that would make different the past.
This is the poltergeist—the cherished spaces
between pain, where the artist’s
hands moved to stain and seal the glass—
darkness broken
by restrained light—
a voice from a nightmare, your face
changed through the mercy of a door’s
edge; the faint deception
of a lullaby sounding
and abating through the years.
In a real ghost story, no one screams;
you cannot, and I do not
know how; there is nothing
to be done
about what was right or wrong,
that door has closed.
This is a silent movie
that stops
and starts without annotation.
Prasanta says
These are both wonderful, Rick.
I liked the “scars on the floors” in the first one.
In the second one, I especially liked the beginning and ending:
“The living,
are the ones who wander”
and
“This is a silent movie
that stops
and starts without annotation.”
I could see the scenes and the reels turning. 🙂