Poem: The Frisky Ghost
The Frisky Ghost
I walk abroad on Hallowe’en night,
A perfect spooky, a gruesome sight,
Haunting this here sleepy village
In search of trusting souls to pillage.
I am the spectral highwayman,
My mortal name was Dashing Dan;
They hung me from this fine lamppost,
And now I’ve come back as a ghost!
I didn’t really do much harm -
A stolen locket or golden charm -;
In truth I never hurt a soul,
For riches were my only goal.
A sparkling jewel, a silver chain,
A heavy purse, a tankard plain,
A stolen kiss, a stealthy tumble –
Romance to make a husband grumble!
When my Casanova skills were praised,
An irate lynch mob was quickly raised,
And truly I did lose all hope
When first I saw the hangman’s rope.
I gazed across the howling crowd,
And saw ladies’ tearful faces bowed;
But then a nobleman dressed in red
Offered to bargain with me instead.
In return for my eternal soul,
I could stay beneath this tall lamp-pole,
And try to steal a thousand kisses
From all the lovely village misses!
Don’t mind my rot, don’t mind my reek,
Don’t mind my broken neck’s dull creak;
I’m Dashing Dan, the frisky ghost,
Who lives beneath this fine lamppost!
About this Poem
The Frisky Ghost was written in September 2007, and was intended for use as part of a planned ghost tour for Hallowe'en. The idea was for local writers to combine efforts with local actors, and together produce a tableau of short stories and poems to be performed for the public as they walked round Oxton Village on the Wirral peninsula, England.
The ghost tour never materialised, and the poem doesn't offer an accurate reflection of my philosophy, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.
Questions & Answers
© 2017 Adele Cosgrove-Bray