Do You Believe
in Ghosts?
John C. Mannone
Are they
ectoplasmic goo leaking from some
its
consciousness conjuring an electric you.
Maybe they’re
altered states of ethereal madness
or manic
illusions of disembodied schizoid voices.
Who ya gonna
call? Aykroyd yells,
the local
exorcist or psychobabble-ist?
Perhaps Ghostbusters,
Incorporated
to capture the
un-corporated (hardly holy),
but a few are
Marvelous-comic spooks:
friendly
slap-stickin’ slimy green blobs
or airhead
sheets with lashless Lulu eyes
and whitewashed
smiles with oval mouths
that blurt the boos,
without the blues.
Best therapy
yet
from a static
screen. Electromagnetic bliss
of white noise
hiss—electrons rastering
without a
trace, the ghastly ghostly images.
Are they the
departed that lurk
in theater
balconies—the type B shadows? Perhaps
they’re ionized
anomalies in plasma physics labs,
or balled-up
sheets of charge, a lightning
falling from
the thunderclouds
as glowing
goblins of the dark
or rivulets of
rain condensed from vapors
snaking from
Medusa’s head
dangling
on the belt of
Perseus, along with Algol,
the star of
ghouls, rolling in its light,
shimmering the
summer midnight.
Did they appear
from pages long possessed
with Greek
mythology or Babylon astrology
and roam the
gypsy skies? I suspect
the only real
ghosts are those in closets
with the
skeletons, occasionally rattled
and ready to
haunt you.
Poet’s Notes: “Do You Believe in Ghosts?” was a fun
poem to write. Its fast paced rhythms sustain the tension in the poem, which
tries to “define” the ghosts. This poem also serves as an example of how a
cliché at the end of the poem (skeletons in the closet) can be finessed with
syntax and the turn of the line.
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