Tag Archives: ghost


In long-gone days, the wraith
came at my beckoning, materialising clear
as a leaf in a clean running stream
brightly clad in nature's hues
With wings of light
she'd flitter through fields
greeting trees, spinning
in whirling dervish twirls 
till balance failed 
she fell 
helpless with glee
revelling in endless freedom

I watched her mount the Oak,
childish fingers clutching ever slimmer limbs
Taunting a fleeting theory of God
challenging death 
placing her feet 
on the flimsiest twig
willing the wood to take her weight
even as she dared it to defy 
her credence 
that her breath 
would never cease

Frozen in time, the child 
remains forever nine

When the world growls and bites I call her
and she arrives.
She always shows  
consoling me through the years
with her reminder of joy
Time breathes mist over my eyes
and leads my senses toward a vacuum, yet still 
from time to time 
my wraith twists through 
the claws of time 
 lending me memories 
of crowning days. Her margins 
have long since blended into the landscape, 
her flesh faded to grey 
evaporating into smoke

Her diaphanous wisp
floats over fields and streams
beside my childhood home; the ghost
of the child who was me 
and I recall 
that once upon a time 
I felt immortal 
and believed I was free

©Jane Paterson Basil

They come to me


one by one
they come to me
those wakeful nights
floating like a grey dream
their water-stained bodies painted
in bony monochrome
shadows of what they used to be
lost souls in supplication
straining for what they think they need
I don’t know why they come
to me

in a queue
they come to me
each one with a request
uttered in urgent words that I can’t discern
then as if sticking to
a rule of etiquette for the dead
they pass by my shoulder
making room
for the next
sad shred of lonely memory
to beg for a lost possession
or physical release
and in this
seemingly endless stream they come
to me

limbs askew
they come to me
with their lips shaping silence
in some far language
unknown to I whose beating heart
pumps blood
I whose clear eyes can relate a story
and yet, desperate for help they come
to me

they come to me
leaving with no more than their pain
no more than a picture of human pity
and I wonder if they know
they are ghosts

Written for The Daily Post One Word Prompt #Ghost

©Jane Paterson Basil