Tag Archives: ghost

I am the ghost in the machine

I am the ghost in the machine

I am the ghost in the machine,

the elephant in the room,

the fly in the ointment,

the wolf in sheep’s clothing;

and I have a loathing

for what I am.

I am the ghost in the room,

the elephant in the machine,

the wolf in the ointment,

and the fly in sheep’s clothing;

and I have a loathing

of what I have become.

I am the wolf in the room,

the fly in the machine,

the elephant in the ointment,

the ghost in sheep’s clothing;

and I have a loathing for this type of poem,

where the combinations grow

with every word

ever more and more absurd –

I am the septic in the poem,

or should that be sceptic?

Anyway, as I was saying,

I am the poet

in the septic,

tank.

No, that’s not right…

I am the poet in the room,

sheepishly wearing wolf’s clothing,

flying in the ghost machine,

whilst coated in ointment…

allegedly.

A Caller At The Door.

A Caller At The Door.

When your doorbell rings

in the middle of the night

and there’s no one there

no one there.

When your doorbell rings

in the middle of the night

and you get out of bed

and there’s no one there

no one there.

When your doorbell rings

in the middle of the night

and you get out of bed

and the dogs are barking

and there’s no one there

no one there.

When your doorbell rings

in the middle of the night

and you get out of bed

and the dogs are barking

and you check outside

and there’s no one there

no one there.

When your doorbell rings

in the middle of the night

and you get out of bed

and the dogs are barking

and you check outside

and the boy down the roads

says it wasn’t him

because he’s been a very good boy

and there’s no one there

no one there.

When your doorbell rings

in the middle of the night

and you get out of bed

pop on a few clothes

and the dogs are barking

and you check outside

where it’s foggy and cold

and the boy down the road

says it wasn’t him

because he’s been a very good boy

and there’s no one there

no one there.

When your doorbell rings

in the middle of the night

and you get out of bed

pop on a few clothes

the dogs are barking

you check outside

it’s foggy and cold

the boy down the road

says it wasn’t him

he’s been a very good boy

and there’s no one there

no one there

and whilst you are checking

the doorbell goes

and there’s no one there

no one there

No One There!

Ah! I think to myself,

It could be the batteries

in the doorbell.

I check

But there are none there

there

are

none…

there.

Ghost of a Haiku #Haiku


Ghost of a Haiku
It stood there, laughing –

Though it hadn’t been funny –

That Haiku I’d killed.