Here’s a spooky little poem I wrote for a creative writing course I took several years ago:

“Look, I see ghosts.”
I say to my hosts.
“It’s really just not a big deal.”

“Look, I see ghosts.”
I say to my hosts.
“It’s really just not a big deal.”

It’s odd to hear,
Even over a beer,
But it’s really just not a big deal.

But, they all ask,
As they take me to task,
“You can’t really think that ghosts are real?”

“Yes, yes I do,
I tell you it’s true.”
But my hosts, they look ready to squeal.

I tell them the facts,
“You should all just relax.
There are no ghosts nearby to reveal.”

Post whiskey and rum,
They want to see some,
I agree, though I don’t see the appeal.

We would take the car,
But it’s really not far.
None of us should be behind a wheel.

They’re all excited
And we walk united
Because driving would not be ideal.

Towards the church,
We stagger and lurch,
“Soon, friends, a chill you will feel.”

Near a stone for “Renard,”
Deep in the graveyard,
I see something looking for a meal.

I reach out with my power,
“This will last ‘bout an hour!”
They can soon see the ghost I reveal.

There’s really no danger
From this ancient stranger,
But this fact I choose to conceal.

They’re not having fun
And they all start to run,
Except Bob who starts praying and kneels.

They run and they shout,
They leap all about.
Their terror, the ghost can now feel.

It flies after Joan
While it lets out a moan.
It’s her life force that it wants to steal.

“Now you believe me?”
I call out to Pheobe.
I’m sure hope that her trauma will heal.

They are all fleeing
And some might be peeing.
But now they all know ghosts are real.

From the graveyard they’ve fled.
I’m alone with the dead,
But it’s really just not a big deal.