[Jim Moonan]

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version 4

Juvenile Thoughts

The milky-white friendly ghost of my youth
still floats, nebulous, in my labyrinth brain,
still falls in love with goodness,
still leaves things better than before.
like free verse averse to being tamed.

I am toast to be caught in the same head.
I am my own klutz poltergeist: a dread
who scatters little Casper into pieces,
blows him out through my ear holes,
stunned to find myself haunted, alone.

Yet, like a miracle, he always returns.



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version 3

How Poltergeists Get In

The Great Geometers angled through the late afternoon sky
commanding a rake of light that streamed through the eye
of a dazzling prism dangling by a gray thread, igniting themselves
into tiny swaths of rainbows that danced around the room
staining a thousand things with their voodoo magic.
Some fell on me
rendering my preexisting thoughts momentarily obsolete,
mesmerizing me like a child awed by sudden shadows
or tickled by silly mirrors at the carnival as the clowns guffaw.
There they were: my posse of poltergeists, jiggling on the wall.

But then the light dimmed and undercover they vanished
into nowhere to regroup for their next act. This time
reappearing in disappearing darkness to rake my thoughts
across the empty sky behind my eyes, making my skin tingle.
Jekyll! I cry. Hyde! they reply. I whimper weakly, I don’t know why
you keep coming back... I have nothing for them. I wish they’d go away.
Abandon my dull head. Find somewhere else to play.



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version 2

When Things Aren't Right
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for W.A. Hughes

There’s a poltergeist I keep tied up and caged in my head
who escapes from time to time like Houdini from the dead.
Or he emerges from closets, mirrors, the bathroom sink,
shedding his stink and setting traps, making perfect sense,
throwing thoughts at me like tongues of spit-fire
as I flee his reach, but he scurries ahead and waits…

I lock the doors, latch the windows, disguise myself,
deny him light. But there is no barrier he cannot breach,
spouting his clear conspiracies doused in doubt,
collecting dots to become the nose on my face.
He commands a tsunami of noise to swamp the room.

I shout, Who are you? But he stops me with a punch
to my gut, a knee to my groin, and says, You know who I am.
And he’s right, I do. He’s that man I know who hides
behind the curtain, but when I pull back he’s gone—
vamoosed to his hiding hole to cry, and he conspires
to come again when things aren’t right. When I’m lost,
sleepless, up all night half-dreaming, half-dreading daylight…
Then suddenly there he is again, sneering, spitting,
spewing his unholy truths at the side of my bed.


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Original
Poltergeist

There’s a poltergeist holed up somewhere in my head.
He appears like zeitgeist come back from the dead;
from closets, cracks in the floor, from behind curtains
to startle me with his maniacal yelps and his perfect sense.
throwing thoughts around like dishes against the wall.
I try to leave him behind but he scurries ahead
locking doors, latching windows, shapeshifting,
spouting clear conspiracies, connecting dots
to become the nose on my face, the elephant in the room.
I shout, You’re that charlatan wizard doing wizardly things!

But when I pull the curtain back he’s not there. Gone
to his hiding hole to cry and conspire to come again
when things aren’t right; when I’m helpless,
sleepless, up all night half-dreaming in dread,
and suddenly — there he is again — sneering,
spewing his unholy truths at the side of my bed.





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