Like jack-o-lanterns poems can have many faces. A poet can write about one topic in a hundred different ways in a hundred different poems, or express many different points of view in one poem. Something that terrifies me may not scare someone else at all. They may not even believe it exists. Within each fear, each monster, we are each represented in different ways.
Example Poem: “Ghosts” by Anne Sexton from Poems Dead and Undead(Aal)
Ghosts
Some ghosts are women,
neither abstract nor pale,
their breasts as limp as killed fish.
Not witches, but ghosts
who come, moving their useless arms
like forsaken servants.
Not all ghosts are women,
I have seen others;
fat, white-bellied men,
wearing their genitals like old rags.
Not devils, but ghosts.
This one thumps barefoot, lurching
above my bed.
But that isn’t all.
Some ghosts are children.
Not angels, but ghosts;
curling like pink tea cups
on any pillow, or kicking,
showing their innocent bottoms, wailing
for Lucifer.
~Anne Sexton
How do the similes and negations in this poem make the ghosts more real and more frightening?
Prompt: Write a poem about diversity within one type of monster. Use specific physical details along with similes. Use repetition. Use negation.
Possible form: A series of Lanturnes—a five line verse with the syllabic pattern: one, two three, four, one
~
[Pre-craft note: I love Anne Sexton. Sexton’s similes (“breasts as limp as killed fish”) give the ghosts tactile, almost gross body-ness; her negations (“Not witches, but ghosts”) carve away cliché so what remains feels shockingly specific, and therefore scarier. And. Thank you for the prompt! I went granular on “one monster, many faces,” using similes as texture and negation as a knife to carve cliché off the ghost until the specific body shows up. Also played with a lanturne chain for an echoing, breath-like cadence.]
Poem: Department of Ghost Differentiation
(diversity within one monster; uses similes, repetition, negation, negation-as-knife)
Some ghosts are salt,
grain-fine, clinging to wrists like the sea’s last word—
not angels, no—
they crust the lip of a teacup and call it a shoreline.
Some ghosts are copper,
pennies under the tongue, tasting like kept secrets—
not miracles, not relics—
only small economies of regret.
Some ghosts are laundry,
still warm, folding themselves as if hands were there—
not wives, not servants—
crease by crease they remember your shape.
Some ghosts are keys,
cold as bitten moons, rattling in ribcages—
not doors, not locks—
just the idea of exit, rehearsing.
Some ghosts are knives,
bright as a father’s Sunday shoes—
not murder, not warning—
only the polish of a story told too often.
Some ghosts are bees,
humming behind the sternum like yellow industry—
not honey, not hive—
only flight that forgot where to land.
Some ghosts are paper,
soft as old prayers in a wallet—
not scripture, not law—
just folds that know where to break.
Some ghosts are mirrors,
silvered water with a rumor of your face—
not truth, not omen—
only a corridor of unlearned angles.
Some ghosts are rooms,
dust motes auditioning for sunlight—
not childhood, not museum—
just air that remembers the shape of your name.
Some ghosts are salt—
yes, the first and the last are the same, like grief—
not circles, not traps—
only tide: it goes, it returns, it salts the wound to keep it.
Additional: Lanturne chain (form option)
(5-line stanzas, 1–2–3–4–1 syllables; repetition + negation)
shade
not wing
not blessing
smells like cold iron
ghost
dress
not bride
not widow
hangs like rain-soaked gauze
ghost
key
not door
not leaving
tongue tastes like pennies
ghost
bee
not hive
not honey
hums in my ribcage
ghost
salt
not tear
not ocean
grains on my wrist—stay
ghost
~ Oizys.