Unruly in a Village Cemetery
They did not dream it when alive, yet ghosts
Are happy when they find a way to cause
Disruption as in polar bear cracked coasts,
Antarctic shores — or like Antarctic claws
From killers, icebergs floating toward the fate
Of February sailors. And why not?
Perhaps wraiths want to splurge up in a spate
Of hauntings in a village as a clot
Of dry ice screaming whispers just for fun
As pranksters so the living feel their blood
Congeal inside their armpits or to stun
The vicar’s ribs because of frozen thud.
More like some clowns who wear their graveyard shrouds
Instead of sheets, the ghosts want yokel crowds.
~ Phillip Whidden
by phillipw | Mar 6, 2025 | Uncategorized |