December Ghosts


Please stand still when you see a ghost filtering

through the forest,

shadows between trees,

even floating,

let them pass, heading

to the city… the ghost

of Christmas past,

and hopefully

not of the future.


Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

Note: I decided to have some fun with this today.

Ghosts Often Keep Silent


In the mist, in the density of fog, ghosts often keep silent

taking away even the joy

of birds chirping

preferring a silent forest,

yet keeping their presence

their shadows as they


in and out, waiting

saving the scare

for tourists with too much cologne

and clean,

expensive tennis shoes.


Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

In the Summer Fog


Ghosts shimmer in the shifting shadows

of the summer fog,

lamenting of losing their former glory

seeking to escape……

the absence of flesh or at least

to explain their plight

to a willing writer, walking

in the woods unafraid.

If you stand perfectly still……

they will sense

your heartbeat.


Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

Ghosts Will Reappear


Within the deep fog of the final days, ghosts will reappear with the smell of buckskin

and burning wood in the air, showing us how to make lodges, and the sacred art

of bow making, giving us the wisdom of medicine, and the harmony

of all things will flow in our veins once again,

so that the deep fog will no longer

need to hide us, anymore.


Note: This is part of the Apocalyptic Journal.


Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

There Are Still Ghosts


And there are still ghosts in some of our churches

wandering from the graveyard, passing through walls

sliding quietly into the pews, moving over

out of habit, silence surrounding.


And while they wonder where we are –

down at the bingo hall, women adjust

their lipstick, and men tuck in their shirts

and everyone listens

as “G9!” is called.


And back at the church the motion detector trips,

moved by the wind, a signal

for the ghosts

to return

to their beds

at the graveyard.


Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies

Peace and blessings to everyone.

“When we love people, we give them hope.”

The Sound of Bells

Mountains and Rivers 335

Ghosts don’t mind the sound of bells

reminding them of easier times, of joy

a church with a wedding, a ship guided

safely through the fog, along with wood creaking

brings a sense of hope. But some ghosts enjoy the grey,

waiting for a warm fire in an empty house

absorbing the silence, the lack of a body,

to care for. Most of them though, long for eyes,

real eyes, veins pumping real blood

so please don’t laugh at them when they search

for a body with a pulse, and for bells,

reminding them of easier times.


Poetry and Image © Copyright 2015, ancient skies

Peace and blessings to everyone.

“When we love people, we give them hope.”

Living in the Final Chapter


In the end of every chapter,

in the walk of every graveyard,

there are always answers,

for the living.

The ghosts said,

“you do not belong here”,

so I took my candle,

and walked,

into the light.

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2015, nicodemasplusthree

Peace and blessings to everyone.

“If you love nature, you will love people.”