by Ken Colonsay
Wednesday, April 04, 2012
Not rated by the Author.
Print Save Follow
Recent poems by Ken Colonsay
A Magical Autumn
Beach Master Bull
>> View all 252
Does inequality exist in the afterlife?
Are some ghosts ghostlier than others?
Will our stations be different?
Distinguished orbs and titled spooks
Only haunt the best houses; lords and ladies
Rattle keys, but for the working-class?
A ball and chain is about the size of it.
In the cupboard under the stairs,
A housemaid has just seen a lord.
Groping in the dark, fumbling for a niche,
He’s frightfully superior and will brook
On the margin of ghost society
There are spectres who cannot materialise
Their spiritual food. They resort to living on air,
A twilight existence spent hanging around vents
And street-lights, trawling dark alleys of the soul.
Nobody believes they exist.
Upstairs, white ladies condescend to keep one up
At night. They graciously feed on fear
And admiration. Their supernatural gossip is rife,
Their ectoplasmic eavesdropping
Goes on all the time. Who’s talking now?
Who’s whispering in the aspidistra?
If one of them calls your name
Just say What?