A ghost lurks
just outside my window, pounding ethereal
fists on smudged glass that will not crack.
Hours of this pointless game fall
like the hands of a clock, ticking
ever downward. There is no longer a ruckus
only canaries chatting, a distant chainsaw whirring,
and the persistent tapping by my ear
as I rest my weary head upon the window
Now, even that woodpecker tip-tip-tap
has blown away with an estranged
wind, the ghost floating away and longing for a hazy
October night where the cool air is ripe with fright.
8 thoughts on "Midsummer Haunting"
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“canaries chatting” and “estranged/wind” — just wonderful! Your poem paints quite the picture.
What a panoply of sounds! I especially love “pounding ethereal/ fists”
Thank you, I was quite excited about that line!
Your word choice and the sounds you describe complement each other so well in this poem.
I love the chill of this poem–the sleepless night–the sounds that persist–imagination your bed-fellow–It is so vivid with imagery—Thank you for your poem!
Thank you! I’m glad you found delight in a pre-Halloween spooky story😆
You’re welcome, I couldn’t be happier to share it!