Guest Poet 19 - Uncle's Ghost by Ananya S Guha.

Even though the story is finished for this year, i am still getting submitting in which are simply too good quality not to use.

First up is returning friend Ananya S Guha who offers this excellent poem 'Uncle's Ghost'.

He sat Buddha like
shaven, ashen
he sat otiose, no looks
moribund, but sitting.

Me thirteen
me in myths and shrouds
me who knew ghosts
but hadn't met
me me me.
My eyes became a traffic snarl
I hid under the blanket
unmoved he stared, meditative
smiling, almost laughing
after all Buddha like
my first incursion to prayer,
sleep and oblivious meditation.

Buddha like. Ghost? Buddha was
dead centuries ago.
But now this Buddha, terrible, smiling
sitting at my supine feet. Incantation.

My anthropological uncle in
one of his excavations- digging!

Part XXX Part A and B and guest poet 18 - Jeffarama!

(Last two pieces today. It's been a long
and eventful journey but has become apparent
to myself over the past few days that this story
is not over and hopefully health permitting,
there will indeed be a Ghost Story Part III
next month. 

As a special afterthought which may lead into
Part III, my special buddy Jeffarama! (http://www.writeoutloud.net/profiles/jeffarama!)
has done a alternative ending 

In the meantime, thanks for reading)

XXX (A)

Creating a breaking sound

Your words of agreement

Was almost overturned

Then unpacked

Into the boot of a car

Blowing on panes of glass

Resurrecting itself

In a verbal affirmation

Of the truth

Translated into a slight tear

‘It’s only going

to get worse

He was just the first’

Vanishing down the staircase

With me in tow. 

XXX (B)

Vanishing across railway dust

Tranmissing effects

Into hand held mysteries

Shooting down hopes

Freckled into spots

Migrating into different towns

Kicking through other doors

She said it was only going

To get worse

Before we even got

Down the staircase

And a few dozen deaths

Was nothing to what was going

To happen next

Shifting answers

Into another adventures

Before surfacing again

At the beginning of

Another story. 

 

Don't think that's the end of the matter...

Ironic really
the headline said it all
'Innocent commuters massacred'

Ironic as it was on the paper stall
outside the station
the atrocities happened

Not  even a natural disaster
no, that may have been acceptable
but as usual, a complete waste,
a senseless loss of innocent life

What gives you the right?
to take my life
to cut me down in my prime
to dictate the day that I die...

I hope you get
everything you deserve
although it's nothing compared
to what I have in mind

Remember to watch your back
for the rest of your life
if you think you're being watched
those eyes are mine

My soul won't rest
Until I track you both down.

Jeff Dawson April 2015

Part XVIX A and B

(As said yesterday, in a attempt to keep this down to just April
I am now writing two poems a day.

The poems today follow straight on from Part 28.

Can you wait until the conclusion tomorrow? (with a special
epilogue wrote by our last guest poet too)

XXVIX (A)

Shut close

Those words followed me

Cresting over the balcony

Into a muffled deadness

Shelved into blurred lights

With his face staring

Into my eyes

All the way down

Thirsting for blood

Leaving footprint

After footprint

In my memory

Cutting through my relief

With an axe

Slipping away

In a broken lullaby.

XXVIX (B)

Ripping up the tension

You would have kissed me

If you could and told me

I’d be okay

Threading away my pain

And the blood

All over my ripped jeans

And trainers

Thickened in

A sharp transfer

Seeping through

Drenched in passion

As much as

A lingering sense of guilt.

Part XXVIII Part A and B and Guest Poet 17 Stormy Gail Dormire - Approaching Station 12

(The people who know me better may remember

it's my birthday today but still no stopping me

on Napwrimo. As previously hinted, there will

be extra pieces to help me finish off the story

and I can now confirm from today for the last three

days, there will two poems per day. Talk about 

making life harder for myself - lol. Today's poem

is Andy with the killer finally meeting)

(Also included is our latest guest poem from Stormy Gail Dormire
who offers Approaching Station 12 directly set in this world)

XVIII (A)

Broken into pieces

He pumped shell after shell

Into the spaces

Round the doorarch

Above me

Spraying it so much

It looked like

He was redecorating

Rather than trying to kill me

Screaming ‘Die, Die, Die’

With such force

It sounded like

He was trying to will me

To death

When the bullets didn’t

Losing the thrill

When he kept pumping

Them out

And none of them hit me

Before proclaiming

Eventually

‘How?’

‘I’m not sure

I know myself’

I said walking

Slowly towards him.

XVIII (B)

Slim as a flute

Accompanied by flames

And muffled cries

I wish I could say

I grabbed the rifle

And threw the bullets

Off the balcony

Headlong into

The doorway

Sculpting hope

From the worst of misery

Packed within sandwiches

Experimenting in voices

In miniature

Laced in pessimism

Instead Doubling over

The balcony together

With only one

Further sentence spoke

‘This is only the beginning,

‘This is only the beginning’ 

 








Approaching Station 12

Go back, Go-ooo Back, go back, go-ooo back
the wheels rolling down the track
seemed to repeat over and over and over
Go back, Go-ooo Back, go back, go-ooo back

From deep in the shadows it watched and wondered
“Why was this man not seeing the peril approaching
Why hire supposedly safeties best security - if
He only sits and watches the comely women boarding and leaving
Following their every move inappropriately”
While - right in the snipers line of vision
The train approaches the train station

On the train
An innocent child is coloring in her mother's new mystery novel
A clown is selling balloons ahead in the next car
The right Father Henry reads to sister Ann about the  apostle
Immigrants from far off India watch their new world out the window
The conductor strolls congenially down the aisle greeting all
“Station Twelve  ahead.” He calls

And the wheels rolling down the track
continue to repeat over and over and over
Go back, Go-ooo Back, go back, go-ooo back

The train lunged and shivered
As the vaporous shadow crystallized
Lunging to grab the cord above the guard's head
All business now the guard fights the spector
While the passengers cower in fright
And the train keeps rolling toward the station

The specter moans
Does anyone hear?
The guard has fought him off
He howls with frightful frustration
The sniper is wait---ing, wait--ing, wait -ting
Your doo-oomed , all doo-oomed

And the wheels rolling down the track
continue to repeat over and over and over
Go back, Go-ooo Back, go back, go-ooo back

Tugging her mothers sleeve, she points him out
“Can’t we help him, he wants us to listen”
The little girl cries
While the immigrants hide between the seats
And father Henry holds up his crucifix
The clown rushes in and pulls the cord
Slamming the conductor to the floor

The train rolls into station 12
But no one feels the bullets when they come
All are safely hiding between the seats
The specter disappears into the air
His duty done
His little girl and wife will make it home

(clarice) 04/10/2015

Part XXVII

(Part XXVII is the start of the end and a final meeting)

XXVII

Overtaking themselves

The bullets sprayed

All over the floor

Reconstituted in screams

With each shot

Dancing to a private dance

Staining chaos

Rotting in the air

Offering a different story

With each death

In honey eyed intent

Turning violence into prose

Madness into hope

All the way

To the top

And I faced him

Face to face. 

Part XXVI

(Part XXVI moving slowly and slowly towards the end game
is the Ghost and Michelle)

XXVI

Stalking on victims

Alfloat on imaginary highs

Swallowing up their panics

Like a vampire getting high

On emoition

Pausing for thought

In-between each shot

For a few seconds

Letting them think

That was it

And when they moved

He shot again

And again

Shooting some victims

Over and over

And puzzled

When shooting one

Turning back

A few seconds

To discover the body was gone

And was stood there

Half a metre up the platform.

Part XXV

(Only 5 more poems to go. Part XXV is Andy pinned down by the sniper)

XXV

Treading the boards

In a subtle tease

Slicing the truth

Chained to the ground

Her words tangled

Around my thoughts

In wind chimes

Gleaming between

The sunset

And the edge

Of that platform

Snapping bullets

Around me

Like an invisible wall

Jolting a distraction

Equivocatory  allowing me

To keep ducking and diving

Between bullets.