4. Suburban Ghost of 1967

“Messieurs et Mesdemoiselles,

this is Debussy!”

The grooves crackle,

and a ghost orchestra comes to life;

distant; remote to us,

but not to Monsieur,

his ancient sweater bulging and

bunching under his jacket

that must have once been black

but now has faded to something indescribable.

We feel at sea;

not the sea of Debussy that

Monsieur wishes us to feel,

a different shade of that

vast, suburban plain.

This is a blank and anxious place

without even a ripple

let alone a wave.

With a comical flourish, he raises

his violin to his chin and

startles us with his

almost violent intensity.

Clouds of rosin float down

to join the historical spots of white

that dance across his shoulders.

Monsieur plays on and onward,

as we sit and we stare.

It is way past our bedtime

and he is our TV test-pattern

in black and white.

5. Ghosts That Greet Me in the Shower

 Suddenly, there they are,

the voices in my head,

the voices of the dead,

that fly in my head.

And as they do,

I start to recognize

that no one else can likely

hear them as I do.

The sound of those voices,

so clear in my head,

the voices of the dead,

suddenly so clear in my head,

circle round and round

and around.

I just don’t know when

to expect them once again

or if I’ll suddenly stop hearing them

once and for all.

Almost no one now will ever know

the texture of each voice.

If sound never dies

if it goes on forever,

will some other ear

vibrate with your

unexpected voices

and wonder with even

a small fraction of the awe that I feel now

that we ever existed,

let alone in one single place and time?

6. Ghost of John William

John William was a very fine tailor

John William never hurt no one

John William wasn’t nothing but your neighbor

‘Till the day that he got a gun.

Feeling fear and rage because they said so

Couldn’t say where it would stop.

Always said he’d never have to use it

But everybody wants to take their shot.

All that hatred blowing through the country

All that hate can’t be contained

Every hate just calling for another

When did life become a hateful game?

It’s a story older than the ages

Hatred calling from the mountaintops

All those neighbors aiming at each other

This insanity has got to stop.

Every gun just calling for another

Calling out from the mountaintop

Calling out like the only true religion

This insanity has got to stop.

John saw them bowing down to dollars

Calling citizens to take their shot

It’s your right to murder one another

Everybody wants to take their shot.

John William was a very fine tailor

John William was a very fine shot

Took aim didn’t think about his brother

This insanity has got to stop

This insanity has got to stop

This insanity has got to stop…

7. Ghosts of Armageddon

 I waded deep into the river,

I caught my finger on a sliver.

The blood ran free,

there’s only so much anger, see

I can’t stop grieving.

The world is burning all around me.

Your bullshit ceases to astound me.

Five hundred million burned alive,

there’s no way anyone is watching.

Power-hungry ghosts of macho senators

spew their toxic waste before our eyes.

Self-important ghosts of so-called pastors

cast their stones and pray for us to die.

 Sometimes a golf-club is a weapon

and guns are never out of season.

The evil bastards own them all,

our kids keep running duck and cover.

I really shouldn’t be so bitter,

it’s just a scratch he never hit her.

What’s wrong with you, what’s wrong with me,

another day, are we so stupid? really?

The future’s bleak and getting bleaker.

The fucker’s voice blares from the speaker.

It doesn’t matter where he sits,

he’s just a steaming piece of…

Power-hungry ghosts of macho presidents

spew their toxic hate into our minds.

Self-important priests and so-called saviors

send their drones and pray for us…

Power-hungry ghosts of Armageddon

spew their lies and call for us to die.

Self-deluded evil politicians

spread their fear and pray for us to die.

8. Ghosts of Key West

 Call the roller of big cigars

Call the fisherman too.

Bid them come stumbling out of the bars

There’s so much more that we have to do.

Call the family, brothers, sisters,

Mother, Father, bored as hell.

Head on down that endless causeway

toward the Southernmost Hotel.

Concrete sweats and chlorine bleaches

Children splashing, unaware.

Cocktail hour blurs the sunset

Laser-focused, floating hair.

Call the fire-ants, skinks, and ‘possum

Feed them figs and green papaya.

Brittle, reaching, rotting branches

claws and jaws attack each blossom.

Conch shell splinters and sand-grit fritters,

dying shark and baitfish stew.

Turtles struggle for their freedom

in black and whites of me and you.

Call the Soviet submariners

heading straight for Havana harbor.

Those radioactive magazines are

plying naïve, delusional waters.

Drift through Miami neon night

Find the apartment, make the bed.

All that’s neon soon grows dark;

it has no meaning once we are dead.

9. Ghosts Forever Falling  

 I.

Reluctantly racing forward,

shifting, slightly off balance

falling back again.

Waiting at the edge of

boredom and betrayal.

Never sure at all,

which way you’re bound to go.

Floating, flutter,

try to touch, reach her hand.

We are all too late.

Almost horizontal

from down below

more like being frozen,

standing still,

but again, then again,

we all understand

this is self-delusion.

II. a

She tumbles out of bed

her head still full of dreams of flying.

Sees the cat out on the ledge,

maybe he dreamed of flying too?

Remembers all the things they said

and tries to keep herself from crying.

It’s time to try and move ahead,

sometimes our dreams just can’t come true.

Revolving doors of steel and glass -

enter the work day.

The ride so fast

the distance covered floor by floor.

That queasy feeling

as the altitude increases

then as expected stops

and fresh air rushes through that door.

III.

Cats love views

and climb out on the ledge

without a thought of any consequence.

So certain of their footing,

of always landing on their feet.

What if he gets distracted,

suffers a clumsy moment,

a sudden gust of wind,

up here, five stories above the street?

II. b

A sharp and blinding

flash comes through the window

all red and orange bleeding from

somewhere below.

The building shutters deep

and heaves in wounded horror.

A smell of smoke that’s foul

and paper shreds like flakes of snow.

The sound of breaking glass

is like a magnet,

with air that’s clear

if she can get beyond somehow.

But time slows to a crawl

and there’s no exit.

All logic’s gone for good

it’s only feeling now.

(We are sailing through calm water

the kind that settles at the end of the day

and we sail through fading light, the wind dies…)

10. Ghosts of our Former Selves

How the picture floats on by

moving out of frame forever

and dissolves before our eyes

with an answer that means never.

There’s a bit of blood and bone

then the time we get together

where you think that you have a home

and a hardship that you can weather.

But somehow you can’t get by

and moving on is hard

with so many tear-filled eyes

and your kids out in the yard.

So you bury what is done

find a place up on the shelf

and reflect on what’s to come

with the ghosts of your former selves.

© 2020 Suspicious Motives Music (ASCAP)