A different operating system

My iOS

is analytical

my circular thinking sometimes is an ellipses

my blacklight is the moon

I sometimes feel a sense of doom

pessimistic gloom

whether I am apple, android or Linux driving this computers machine

I laugh until I scream

My search bar is Firefox

not Google

It’s has an interesting internet history

why is a mystery!

special interests

religion

Science

and philosophy

A cacophony of voices

and anxiety about choices

My App Store has flaws

is yet to be developed

my operating system

has ghost code

I sometimes have to try to avoid goblin mode

I find social stuff hard

Autism spectrum disorder

It’s hard to understand

even with AI

I know I am wired differently

I just don’t know why?

I already said I loved you

I already said I loved you

I already read the words

I already looked for answers

in the sky your heart and the free flying birds

I already grasped for your hand

I already whispered to your soul

I already took the plunge

but fell short of my goal

I already spent days with you

I already kissed your cheek

I already have your voice in my head

I already am that mad every week

the loss of you spiralling and making me sad

the chances are we will never meet again

but I am glad we were once close

I already thought about it already is my ghost…

Undead poetry

whispers of poems in every generation

long forgotten

bodies may decay and become rotten

But the words hang in the cold fresh autumnal air.

The undead poet from their grave may save

humanity still

it’s a battle of wills

selling poetry at bookshop tills.

softness and grace left in memories of one’s who knew them the most

although it’s his words live on like ghosts

a gnarled wizard staff

summons the poets craft

summoning words and stanzas

and questions rhymes and answers

Pulling them from sleepy faded ink

to relive times and make us think…

The ghost child of the man in the asylum

In side the beaten white walls of an mental institution

where people go to be uprooted from their delusions

Sat a man his hand outstretched as if holding hands with the dark

No spark to light his way, only the tragic marks his way

he used to play childish games by himself

look they say where is his mental health?

has it left him altogether why does his play childish games

he would call a name on the wind

for the child he lost unbeknown to them

Tilly or Matilda the ghost of a child of six

who he held in his arms before he was sick

she swallowed her tongue in an epileptic fit

but before then were eye spy and guessing games

before then were pin the tale on the donkey and blind mans buff

I guess we are all in a way sheltering memories like ghosts

In the places in the heart we hide

which we can never move away from no matter how we stride

or how many steps we take

life is sometimes an evil fate.

Ghost

In the doorway I can’t escape
I can’t walk through the door
to reset my life.”

my life has game over in the title
it’s sometimes all too frightful
I am ghost of the man I could have been
can you feel my afterlife come along?

It is overtaking me, I am feeling wrong
I know I have to face the demon in the mirror 
I know I can forgive her and myself
my dreams are still mine and I have their wealth 

But can I go the distance alone?
I know my heart beats like a living stone
but I know from the earth
I must ground myself and find my worth.

Ghost FM

The radio booms on speakers

it’s enough to wake the dead

zombies re attach their heads

ghosts clammer for attention.

What’s this dissenting dismal story

breaking from the ordinary

it must be the radio news.

This towns a ghost town and we are out of sight

dead ravens take flight

like they have been reanimated by Edgar Allen Poe

the word nevermore repeated.

Disco lights dance in the dusty ghostly radio station studio

the presenter moves his skeletal hand

and slides the controls to the peak setting.

his voice a long forgotten recording

playing jingles old songs and adverts

for a town where no one is around…

Ghost stories

Rain falling on the decomposing leaves
cold autumn air breathed in warm lungs
the wind blows muttering ghost stories
into our ears.

Pumpkins carved into wickedly twisted smiles
we dress up for Halloween discos and parties with style
gathering sweets as we go
while the full moon glows

Bonfires built as we wait for the 5th of November 
when fireworks will explode and sparkle in the night sky
we remember the gun powder plot 
as we toast marshmallows on the bonfire.

Haunted spouse

In a house on a hill

there was a married couple

with woman who’s will was broken

domestic bliss

started out with one kiss

now she’s haunted by the ghost of how her life should’ve been

he said he wished they never met

he yearned for a life of adventure

he says he’s been held back

through the crack

In the wall of their house

She believes she can see the stars.

Her eyes puffy from tears

her heart putty to fears

which shape her into clay pot

of wasted memories and time

why didn’t she travel the world?

instead of having marrying him

though she doesn’t regret having two boys and a girl.

She’s a haunted spouse

who will one day haunt a house

with memories bitter sweet

and taste the the pain of defeat

of eyes that shouldn’t of met

his stare

she yearns for another man to hold her and care

love and life are both unfair

and don’t hold her gaze

she sits and smokes her life to ashes.