Ghost Haiku



  Ghost Haiku

  by

  Justin Blasdel

  Justin Blasdel

  10/12/2014

  [email protected]

  The Party

  In a black forest,

  Lived father and two daughters,

  The mother long gone.

  With the harvest past,

  Father had to leave for town,

  To sell his bounty.

  He left the girls,

  Told them not to venture out,

  Keep eachother safe.

  After He had left,

  Day was consumed by the night,

  Evil's turn to play.

  Knocking at the door,

  Younger sister pleaded "No",

  Older turned the knob.

  There stood a young man,

  Sharp smile and golden eyes,

  He begged them to come.

  A party was near,

  Filled with others like himself,

  No adults allowed.

  Older sister smiled,

  She grabbed the younger's small hand,

  And followed the boy.

  Through a hidden trail,

  The three found a lone cottage,

  Warm fire within.

  Inside, merriment,

  Girls from the town were there,

  The boys were strangers.

  A great feast was served,

  And glasses of wine galore,

  With stringed songs of love.

  The children were paired,

  Swooning wolves and helpless lambs,

  A perfect slaughter.

  Yet, youth revolted,

  Younger sister screamed and cried,

  Begging to go home.

  The older one sighed,

  Apologized to the house,

  And began to leave.

  The boys were angry,

  Tried to persuade her to stay,

  And stood at the door.

  But She pushed through them,

  Younger sister's hand in hers,

  And away they ran.

  They stayed up till morn,

  and when their father came home,

  They told him their tale.

  Father grew worried,

  For the girls left behind,

  They never came home.

  HE grabbed his sharp axe,

  And told his daughters to lead,

  He feared what they'd find.

  The cottage was there,

  It had aged a hundred years,

  Riddled with damp rot.

  Father walked inside,

  And he found every girl,

  They'd been skinned alive.

 

  The Severed Arm

  Along a grand road,

  Where business men crossed each day,

  There was a cursed bridge.

  A demon lived there,

  She would confront passerbys,

  And demand a toll.

  Those who paid her lived,

  Those who could not or would not,

  They were swallowed whole.

  As the years went by,

  The demon increased her price,

  Her greed knew no bounds.

  Those with little gold,

  And widows of warriors,

  Prayed for salvation.

  A warrior came,

  One with a sword of sharp steel,

  And an iron heart.

  He walked to the bridge,

  And crouched behind a tall shrub,

  Waiting to attack.

  When a merchant came,

  The demon demanded pay,

  Her hand stretched out far.

  A slice of the sword,

  From the hidden warrior,

  Her arm was severed.

  She screeched and fell down,

  Swearing revenge against him,

  And then ran away.

  Warrior smiled,

  He picked up the lifeless arm,

  And hid it away.

  Everyone praised him,

  For he had made the bridge safe,

  And now all could pass.

  As the years went by,

  He was asked to show the arm,

  Like a grand trophy.

  But he denied them,

  He didn't need to show off,

  For he was humble.

  His great-aunt begged him,

  She wanted to see the arm,

  Before she would die.

  Respecting her wish,

  He opened a hidden chest,

  And revealed the arm.

  His great-aunt smiled,

  And then changed her appearance,

  She was the demon.

  She took back her arm,

  And ate the warrior whole,

  As a snake eats mice.

  She never returned,

  The bridge remained safe for all,

  And business was good.

  The Small Man in the Large Hat

  In a small village,

  Was a wealthy family,

  Who were loved by all.

  Their only daughter,

  Scornful of all the young men,

  Was never married.

  Her parents begged her,

  "Please marry before we die!",

  But she refused them.

  With dreams in her head,

  She pictured the perfect man,

  The one whom she'd love.

  He would sing love songs,

  And braid her dark hair for her,

  And smell of roses.

  No man was like this,

  They rode horses and plowed fields,

  And smelled of the Earth.

  They tried to woo her,

  Showing off money or strength,

  But still she said "No."

  Then on one dark night,

  The woman wandered away,

  Unable to sleep.

  From beyond the trees,

  She heard beautiful music,

  And lovely singing.

  She followed the voice,

  And behind the trees and brush,

  She found a short man.

  He wore a large hat,

  Played on his ruby guitar,

  And carried roses.

  She was enchanted,

  By his songs of desires,

  And so she sat down.

  She laid on his lap,

  And he put down the guitar,

  Then braided her hair.

  He sang as he worked,

  Counting every strand of hair,

  His legs holding her.

  She felt completed,

  Having found her other half,

  Her perfect husband.

  When morning had come,

  The short man had disappeared,

  Leaving her alone.

  She ran to her home,

  And told her parents of him,

  The man of her dreams.

  Her father was mad,

  He had been searching for her,

  She had left no trace.

  Her mother let down,

  She hoped her child ran off,

  And eloped in town.

  But this was not good,

  They thought the small man a ghost,

  Wicked and evil.

  They chastised her choice,

  And forbade her to go out,

  Fearing for her life.

  She yelled and ranted,

  So they locked her in her room,

  Ignoring her screams.

  But when the night fell,

  And the village was asleep,

  The short man sang out.

  He unlocked the doors,

  And bade her to lay with him,

  To hear his love songs.
<
br />   She listened to him,

  And went out into the night,

  Without care or dread.

  Again she slept none,

  Again her hair was braided,

  Again he left her.

  She became quite ill,

  And she could no longer walk,

  Nor raise her own hands.

  The doctor was called,

  He prescribed pills and tonics,

  They did not help her.

  Her body weakened,

  Her mind had shattered to bits,

  But she still went out.

  On the seventh day,

  Her body finally died,

  Her spirit had gone.

  She was smiling,

  Hair was perfectly braided,

  A rose in her hand.

  The Singing Bone

  In the deep forests,

  Where trees are centuries old,

  There lived great monsters.

  One of these great beasts,

  A fiery red boar,

  With a taste for flesh.

  On the full moon nights,

  It would hunt in villages,

  And eat families.

  None dared to fight it,

  For all who did were vanquished,

  And became its meal.

  Two brothers arrived,

  The greatest huntsman of all,

  And swore to kill it.

  But they made a bet,

  To see who could kill it first,

  And choose different paths.

  The younger went low,

  Within the bushes and swamps,

  Thinking it liked mud.

  The older went high,

  Within the trees and mountains,

  Thinking it liked caves.

  The younger was right,

  And he spotted the huge beast,

  Cooling down in the muck.

  The younger took aim,

  And the arrow hit its mark,

  Piercing the black heart.

  The younger was proud,

  And found his older brother,

  Proclaiming his win.

  Older was jealous,

  His eyes turning red with fury,

  And he swung his axe.

  Younger's head few off,

  And his body fell over,

  Bleeding out the neck.

  Older grew panicked,

  And cut the body in halves,

  Dumping it in swamps.

  Older told a lie,

  That the boar ate his brother,

  And that he killed it.

  The people showed thanks,

  Giving him worthy treasures,

  And much of their land.

  After thirteen years,

  A trapper found a white bone,

  And made it a flute.

  It sang perfectly,

  And tales of the trapper spread,

  All wished to hear him.

  The people gathered,

  And asked the trapper to play,

  With everyone there.

  The trapper did play,

  And almost all loved his songs,

  But older brother.

  The bone was human,

  Haunted by younger brother,

  And he sought revenge.

  The older felt pain,

  Where he chopped his brother's corpse,

  Where his limbs bled out.

  Younger's soul whispered,

  Telling older to confess,

  Or else die that day.

  Older yelled out loud,

  Confessed how he killed his kin,

  And stole his honor.

  The people were mad,

  And with mob mentality,

  They killed the older.

  They cut off his head,

  Chopped his body into halves,

  Dumping it in swamps.

  The flute disappeared,

  Never to be seen again,

  Nor played by live hands.

  On a full moon night,

  It's sweet melodies play on,

  In those dreaded swamps.

 

  Lost in the Woods

  Once there was a son,

  Who had moved one town over,

  Away from his home.

  The two towns were close,

  Separated by the woods,

  And a little creek.

  The son grew wealthy,

  Raising and selling livestock,

  And tilling the Earth.

  These things took much time,

  And as the years flew on by,

  His father grew old.

  He became sickly,

  And when placed on his death bed,

  He asked for his son.

  The request was sent,

  And when the son heard of this,

  He prepared to leave.

  But a snow had come,

  An unfortold winter storm,

  Freezing everything.

  The air was deathly,

  The ground was covered in thick ice,

  And the skies were gray.

  His friends begged him to stay,

  For leaving would be his death,

  But he still left them.

  He put on thick furs,

  Bound his feet in leather boots,

  And walked through the storm.

  The winds were ghastly,

  Freezing any exposed skin,

  And snowing waist deep.

  The son was willful,

  He had reached the little creek,

  Preparing to cross.

  Someone touched his arm,

  It was the man's old father,

  Looking quite healthy.

  The father smiled,

  And said his body had healed,

  A divine blessing.

  They hugged each other,

  And father led the way home,

  Or that's what he said.

  They followed the creek,

  But all was covered in white,

  And the son felt lost.

  He called his father,

  And when the man turned around,

  He had house cat eyes.

  The son ignored it,

  And continued to follow,

  But soon called out again.

  When he turned this time,

  The father's hands had bear claws,

  But still he kept mute.

  The air grew colder,

  And the snow fell down like rain,

  Then turned hard as stone.

  The son was fading,

  His last breaths were upon him,

  Again he called out.

  The father turned 'round,

  Revealing an owl's face,

  Covered in feathers.

  The son threw large rocks,

  Yelling at the foul creature,

  'Till it ran away.

  The son turned back home,

  Trying to retrace his steps,

  Hoping to survive.

  When he found his town,

  His hands and feet were frozen,

  And his beard was ice.

  The townspeople helped,

  They laid him by a fire,

  And fed him warm soup.

  He told them his tale,

  And after they went silent,

  Paralyzed with fear.

  A letter came in,

  Telling how the father died,

  Before the son left.

 

  The Skin Tree

  Some children are bad,

  Born with evil in their heads,

  And a rotted heart.

  Of one such child,

  He was the absolute worst,

  A curse given form.

  Fat and greedy eyes,

  Muscular before his time,

  And a round belly.

  Children hated him,

  But they dared not provoke him,

  For fear of his wrath.

  His parents loathed hi
m,

  But both of them were cowards,

  And could not rule him.

  So they told him tales,

  Of the old witch and the tree,

  The tree made of skin.

  The witch hunted kids,

  Ones who disobeyed and lied,

  And she would skin them.

  She tanned their small hides,

  And sewed them into the tree,

  Their mouths still screaming.

  She lived in the woods,

  Far from the scarred townspeople,

  Alone with her tree.

  He wasn't convinced,

  Calling his parents liars,

  And cursing their names.

  He gathered some food,

  And he left into the night,

  Proud and without fear.

  If he survived it,

  His quest would prove him the right,

  That there was no witch.

  With the moon for light,

  He travelled the wilderness,

  His head held up high.

  He heard the wolves cry,

  And the wind whistled through trees,

  Chilling his small soul.

  The shadows had eyes,

  And the boy's body shivered,

  Fearing the unseen.

  A branch touched his arm,