“The ghoulies…”…my poem

their silent mirth

The things are there,

we know they are,

they have no names,

they hide from view,

they make no sound,

they have no shape,

they laugh, they do,

their silent mirth

is meant for you,

is meant for me,

they move across our lives,

they drum endless fingers

as they mark each moment,

and move closer

to touch and tingle

and make tiny terrors

in our hearts.

February 25, 2026

Inspired by traditional Scottish prayer:

From ghoulies and ghosties

and long-leggedy beasties

and things that go bump in the night,

Good Lord, deliver us.

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Your comments are welcome—tell me what you’re thinking.

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