A Ghost Story a short, Jenny story

When I was a little girl, my parents gave me a Casper doll.  He had a string out the backside of his neck.  Pull the string and he declared, "Hi, I'm Casper the Friendly Ghost."

Oh, how I loved him.  Casper slept with me and I carried my doll to breakfast and into the living room to watch his cartoon on television.  We rode my tricycle and the swing. We went for hikes and ran around the neighborhood.

One summer day, Casper and me climbed into the wading pool in the back yard.  Splashing, jumping, sculling, dipping and paddling about, we had a great swim together.  Then we left the pool and sat on my towel to sun.  I pulled Casper's string and what I heard astounded me. "Higgg, Imgg Caszgger thag Freggly Ggghhoat."

Oh dear!  Even though his terry cloth body was soggy, his plastic face held its sheen and his happy expression never changed. I like to believe my doll enjoyed his one dip in my pool.

Technologies evolve. Time and circumstance spirited Casper away, just like all my ghosts. ox

Words

When words lay down
the way I want them
they feel like lovers
sounding off in syllables
caressing the page
leading me on
rhythmic as mirth
soothing, whimsical and pert

Fleece and Velour - a short story

I was at a nightclub, the band was loud and some guy walked over to me and started a conversation. We began talking about fabrics, in particular, how fleece is made from recycled plastics, and the soft feel of velour.

We had not been talking long, when he looked at me and asked, “Are you a whore?”

I thought, what a jerk and in disgust, made a fist and slugged him in his upper chest, just hard enough to knock him back a step. He grumbled something, turned and walked away.

Several days later, I told the story about the creepy guy to my siblings. After listening, my brother asked, “Are you sure he didn’t ask, “Are you wearing velour?”

I wonder?

City girls are tough.

Status

This poem is about every person I ever loved.

Michelle, Michelle

lives so well, like a queen upon a throne.

Why try too hard to get real close?

The Queen is busy, you'll get your dose.

She's dispensing fairies to subjects unknown,

like the court jester whose mind is blown.

The jester only wants to make her happy,

smiles knowingly observed as sappy.

Wandering, wondering, questioning fate,

at least that's something at any rate.

What's the point, you want to know,

questioning this odd one as belligerent foe?

Do not give up; please stay near,

consider coming 'round for beer.

This gentle fool is not psychotic,

just full of shit and a bit neurotic.

Amuse

No one knows me
the way you do
You are my muse
an answer to reason
a vision, a conquest
a reachable star
a thought to behold
to step out for, to let be
What I do for muse
will be for me

Tumbling

A tumbling rock
in the sea
pushed by surf
onto the shore
pounded by waves
reduced to sand
mutable
insignificant and small

The Person You Are

Why not be the person who fascinates?
the person who loves
Be the person who accepts
Who does
Who was
Who is
Who does
Compulsion
Obsession
Of love
grief
Of passion
Of gratitude
Of, who does!
You are

Poetic Nightmare

Most people who love me
dislike me
I'm not too lovable
but
most people like me