By Felicia Dorothea Hemans
See’st thou yon gray gleaming hall,
Where the deep elm-shadows fall?
Voices that have left the earth
…
Where the deep elm-shadows fall?
Voices that have left the earth
…
Explore Poems: Ghosts & the Supernatural
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From the magazine:Aeromancy, the Art of Sky Reading
By Mary B. MooreThe window clouds do roof-tiles
and ripples before they drown in sun,
become haze, innuendo,
but of…From the magazine:Halloween
By Lindsay TurnerSome yellow sunflowers open down the street,
A ladder is open beneath someone’s apple tree.
Beneath …From the magazine:Descendant
By C. Dale YoungNot, as some believe, from the word genesis,
the word gene came from the Greek genos
meaning origin…- By William Butler YeatsMidnight has come and the great Christ Church bellAnd many a lesser bell sound through the room;And …
- By William Hughes MearnsYesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn't there
He wasn't there again today
I wish, I wish he'd… - By Matthew ZapruderI think there was a movie once
where Frankenstein fell in love with a vampire.
A small mummy at first interfered
but later provided the requisite necessary
clarifications. He can only
meet you at night. Her face
is scarred in a permanent expression
of doom, but her... - By Shanta LeeMama birthed me, Papa sold me in the land of weeping willows
Traces of sin trail miles across skin, I go by Never Forget
My body’s evidence of daddy’s pestilence spread across the land
His sin traces my skin, a path never forgotten
Nameless,... - By Unknownþat it apertly was apayed for profite þat he feld,
and [wrouȝt] buxumly by þe bestes wille in wise as it couþe.
[1]
Hit bifel in þat forest, þere [fa]st byside,
þer woned a wel old cherl þat was a couherde,
þat fele winteres in... From the magazine:
On the Decline of Oracles
By Sylvia PlathMy father kept a speckled conch
By two bronze bookends of ships in sail,
And as I listened its cold teeth seethed
With voices of that ambiguous sea
Old Böcklin missed, who held a shell
To hear the sea he could not hear.
What the seashell...From the magazine:
My Grandma Told Stories or Cautionary Tales
By Marlanda DekineGrandma Thelma told me if I slept on my back
a hag would ride me and I’d never return, so I trained
my body to sleep on my stomach. Even now,
if I wake up cold, I open my mouth
and repeat the 23rd...From the magazine:
The Floatin Baby
By Marilyn NelsonA doll was forgotten in a bedroom
when the old owners of the house moved out
and G-ma and Gramps moved their family in.
There’s an old photograph in an album
of boy Uncle Roy laughing, holding it
in a jumble of moving-in boxes.
It spent...- By Jennifer WongOn certain nights they come back,
ghost story fragments lodged in my head
from midnight taxi rides. Almost always
a woman in a red dress, hollow laughter
and a ball bouncing in a playground,
lost souls crossing the misty river where Meng
offers them soup to... - By L. M. RiveraWhen the home is no more
When the mother's negative light goes also
When solitude rips the door from frame
When the transitory moves into the familial
Then: I often think of the drink, the notes, the contented, and badly drawn cartographies
On my bare... From the magazine:
Dear Mothership,
By Marcus Wickerit paralyzes their country mercy i will teach them how to be
...- By Sy HoahwahMy ancestors were not diligent
and so they lived beside the fort
that's neither on the maps of Heaven,
Nor of Hell.
In these lands, there is no difference
between a star and thrown car keys.
Chicken nuggets hatch from the eggs of eagles.
I grow dirty... - By Rachel McKibbensWhen my daughter rushes into the living room,
cheeks flushed from her wicked siblings who spring from closets
and unlit hallways, all the fear in the world blotched upon her
small round face, I pretend sometimes that her body is being driven by... - By Anne SextonI have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been... From the magazine:
From “Aftering Delmore’s ‘Season in Hell’ [Rimbaud] 3”
By John KinsellaI have gorged on a glorious dose of poison.—Triple blessings
on the advice that was proffered!—My guts on fire. Future shock
distorts and contorts and hurls me into the dirt. Choking and parched
I can’t call out. This hell, this eternal torment. Watch...
