Every ghost story needs some constant creep factor, be it mist, moving shadows, or increasingly loud footfall. Yesterday I found one for “Louie, Louie and the Blonde Hippie”: white roses. This is the ninth ghost story in my collection-in-progress, entitled, Ghostly Demarcations.

I’ve begun a collection of ghost stories entitled, Ghostly Demarcations. It will likely contain 15 stories when completed.

 

 

A comic novel in verse working title: OUT OF THE WINE JUG

Prologue: the choice revealed

 

We open in a deep, cranky underworld

wherein Apple earbuds vibrate, resounding:

On earth above, such chaos has unfurled!

            Let us go aid our progeny, give them grounding!

 

“Send Abe!” some shout. “Send Plato!” cry others.

“Churchill!” wail many. “Gandhi!” some plead . . .

A lantern glowed. In an aged hand, it hovered.

“Diogenes,” the whispers came, firmly seeded.

 

All underworld eyes focused with a glow,

all underworld hands splayed open and ready,

all underworld ears prickled, ready to know

the choice of this searcher, infinitely steady.

 

He coughed twice, thus always his preamble.

“Victoria,” he announced, brown Greek eyes a-blink.

“That stuffy Queen?” That dismayed reply gave amble

through underworld grass, whilst doubters sipped their drink,

 

ambrosia, some called it, though more mickey finn

its effect.

“No, no. She’s much too in a snit

over Elizabeth’s longevity. Will it never end?”

Diogenes smiled and did his lantern bit.

 

“Woodhull,” he announced.

“Who?” faces below shouted.

“You’ve seen her.” D did a boy thing with cupped hands

at his chest. Females rolled their eyes. Who doubted

            the next world  would toss out the same? Angel bands?

 

            No, just more sex-crazed men in search of Viagra.

            Open a pharmacy down here and claim a fortune.

“She’s got brains! Gumption enough to stagger a

red state or blue,” D added, perceiving the tune

 

his antic hands had prompted. En masse, the females

exhaled. “Two millennia searching for an honest

man—at last he’s willing to try us.” / He wails

about no honest caps. Let him try a bonnet.” /

“Have you seen her? She’s awfully haughty.”/

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