Love ghost

in #powerhousecreatives5 years ago

Two stories for a cup of coffee for any time of the day...

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Image by dre2uomaha0 from Pixabay

“Shhh, not a word about the love ghost who came in through the broken window and sat on the stairs and said it is our yearning that brings us to know we are the bird through the way and it was I who sat under the moon that flows in splendour as a strange request for beauty like a huge wind roaring up finally set free.

Yet the moon’s beauty is in my hall and I have suffered for its silence and if the bamboo reeds strike at dawn sunlight’s desire then set love’s surrender upon my heart the secret value of dust.

Yes I have a book of maps and they all lead to the same place, written for me by a little man on a black horse of silence who came round one time and drank all my wine.

Think I’ll go rest now, it’s all too much, thought I was home for a while then, thought I was fixing something, but it doesn’t matter all that much, got me a new thing, since you left, it’s all right too,” said a passing friend.

“Psst,” said the love ghost: “this way to Cuba,”

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GOLD! GOLD!

“A speeding whoosh that could have been the invisible ghost passed the dandelion lady in her field going like a bat out of hell, the wind of its passing raising dandelion seeds in a big cloud.

“Must be the postman,” said the dandelion lady and went back to her picking.

The speeding whoosh halted at the pile of gold and filled two buckets it had brought and then hobbled off slowly with the exertion to bury the gold in a good hiding place.

Nine chanting monks with their begging bowls happened upon the gold horde heaped up beside the path and so filled their bowls to the brim and then hurried back to their temple; take-away pizza was now on the menu.

A passing witch who was hurrying home after a late night passed the gold that was now gleaming in the early sunlight, the gleaming caught her eye and on investigation filled her pockets to the top and decided to leave her past behind and start a new life and so with the broomstick groaning she set off to pass the pass where her past was calling, and passing her past she passed on into her new life where her past, past so quickly she had to go back for more gold and then she flew home; she’d had her fling.

By this time the gold horde was somewhat diminished and yet was still a sizeable pile, so much so that when Skidman Dale rode past on his motorbike taking a short cut through the graveyard he did a double take and turned around and filled his saddle bags full and rode away towards all the things his fertile imagination could think up.

And so in this way during the first hour of sunrise the gold became less and less until there were only two gold coins left gleaming by the side of the path.

When the pirate and Jimmy the five fingered hand came back pulling a cart to carry away all the gold they at first couldn’t believe it was gone.

“Who’s stolen all my gold,” shouted the pirate and went off to kill someone.

Jimmy the hand picked up the two pieces of gold that was all that was left of the treasure and trudged off home vowing never to work for a pirate again.

And the moral of this story is: never leave your gold alone in a graveyard,” said the story teller finishing.

The dreary mother witch in disguise took out her deadly American gun and shot the story teller dead for fear he would spread the story and someone would tell the pirate she had taken some of the gold.

“Next,” she said to the gathering there to tell stories in the story competition.

After the stampede had ended for the way out and the throne room was empty save for the dreary witch, two black cats, a half finished bottle of beer, a blue ghost in the rafters that couldn’t stop giggling in silent hysterics, a full moon shining through the window of a picture on the wall and the dead story teller who’d fallen over backwards and landed on the floor with nothing left to say, a quiet descended, so the author of this little play wrapped it up and sent it off for publishing.

Images from Pixabay

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I will never leave my gold in a graveyard!!! Ever!!

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I would say that that was a fair comment

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Thank you

I would have liked to write like you, short stories. Unfortunately my poor English prevents me. In general, I avoided reading posts like this but yours has attracted me to find some words that appeal to me: coffee; moon; bamboo loves ghost.

And don't forget jimmy the five fingered hand

I don't know him but I think this is good...

Appreciated

I'll keep my two gold coins in my pocket @wales 😁

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You have gold coins?

I started collecting gold coins with my parents birth years 1910 and 1921, the '21s are tough

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That's nice

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