GloPoWriMo

Softening, Out-of-Focus Romance, & Love Extinguished: Three “Ghost Line” Poems.

In March of 2009, the poet Rachel McKibbens introduced the poetry community to the concept of the “ghost line”. McKibbens defines the ghost line as “an inspiring line or image that becomes the unseen first line of a poem”.

The poet Ollie Schminkey provided their readers with a poetry prompt on April 9, 2025.

The prompt is as follows:

Use a line of a lyric from a song you have been listening to as a ghost line.

i: softening

Before they exhume our bodies
from this cold hard earth,
I will make a subtle plea,
begging you to quiet that nest
you have woven in your skull.
(Silence the birds or hornets or whomever
comes to roost
in the twigs and branches there.)

Before they dig our bodies
from this cemetery ground,
I will make a hushed demand.
Relax your body beside me.
Your skeleton is crafted of exquisite granite,
but I remember when it was bone.
Soften, my love,
and be still.

Photos via Cottonbro Studio

ii: out-of-focus romance

This twig and branch nest sculpture is home
to a part of me I have never named.
Creatures who blur the edges of memory
when a lover is involved.
(It’s not that I don’t remember –
it just becomes out-of-focus
like a dream.)

This is what happens when you have been raised
on tawdry romances and inescapable dreams.

Photos via Yaroslav Shuraev, Daria Liudnaya, & Natalia Naitkevich.

iii: love extinguished

These wraiths might not catch breath
as they dance along cobblestone,
but, so long as I am here
with you, my love,
none of the rest matters.

I have diaries scrawled with messages
of love,
dedicated to the creatures
who have blurred the edges
of my memories.

Yet I watch the apparitions
and know the truth.
I have you, and you have me.
(We are here among tombstones,
and love like ours cannot be extinguished.)

Photo via Skylar Kang
Photo via Tanmay Ghosh
Photo via Yi Ren

Isabelle Palerma

Eluxoroma: a Follow-up Poem to Lypophrenia

“A term invented by author Gregory Venvonis to describe the devotion to positive spiritual growth amid underlying darkness.”

Though the glimmer might be eradicated
(from time to time),
it is always capable of shining again.
Though it can be hard to see when cloaked
in midnight,
your mind is capable of fabricating untruths
like a ruthless politician or an adversary.

(It’s why we tried to give the enemy
a name –
to make him easier to talk about
then just an abstract concept.)

But the boulder that buries itself
on top of you,
smothering your breathing
and swallowing your light,
is also capable of eroding.

It might feel like centuries have passed you
by,
but just know –
after every winter, we see flowers blossom.

You, too, will blossom again.
I will resurrect from this darkness
and discover my light from within.
(Even if I have to excavate my soul
like some damned archeological dig.)

It’s too easy to surrender,
but we’ll fight through the frost,
push past the sparrows’ wings that beat
furiously
against our bones,
and surmount our devils.


(The ones we have named
and even the anonymous ones
who prefer to cower in the darkest places
inside us.)

Isabelle Palerma

Lypophrenia: a Poem

“A feeling best described as sorrow that has no clear cause.”

We thought by giving him a name,
it couldn’t break me so badly,
but the agony still extinguishes the illumination
within my irises, within my pupils,
within my soul.
There is a darkness deeper than I care to admit,
but I cannot hide from forever.
(My fire has not ignited in days,
yet I cannot hide in bed
and relinquish myself to the shadows
completely.)

I swore to myself
I would not drown in thoughts such as these,
but sometimes,
the devastations are greater than I can control.

It sometimes feels as though
I am caught in a riptide,
the ocean current pulling me away
from everyone who loves me
until all they are is a speck of sand,
a memory.

(My honesty is raw,
my words are plain.
I usually hide behind an ornate metaphor
crafted carefully and I tread with caution –
not to overstep the boundary lines.)

I have picked up the pen several times,
but the ink well is dry
and my thoughts crystallize
like honey thickening as it cools.
Nothing makes sense when the demons
take the reins
& I try to swallow the bile down.

I try to offer a courageous smile,
but I feel weak and collapsing
is the only option I have sometimes.

Don’t judge me for the anguish I carry.
Each one is a sparrow beating its wings
inside my chest,
desperate to be released but finding a home
buried deep in my rib cage
alongside that dimly burning crystal
that is a barely beating heart.


(I cannot swallow
for all the feathers that have climbed
from my chest to my throat,
from my throat to the wet insides of my mouth.)

So, instead, with this inexplicable sadness,
I lie here,
my heart – my sparrows – knocking against my chest
(an unspoken tragedy bearing down on me).

Isabelle Palerma

Image via freepik.com

Poet Spotlight On: Alfred Gremsly

Alfred just recently shared with me a reader review which I feel entitled to share a part of with you all before including his interview. A reader of Alfred’s poetry had said the following:

The candor of this review honestly speaks volumes about Alfred Gremsly’s poetry, and while I am just starting to familiarize myself with his poetry, I can tell he has the same intentions I do with my writing and my day job – to provide a voice to communities normally stigmatized.

Alfred Gremsly is an American born poet who writes about mental health and the struggle that comes with it. A lifelong sufferer of anxiety, depression, and other mental illnesses, Alfred began writing poetry at the young age of twelve as a means of escaping his own mind.

Whose poetry style is most like your own?

I don’t know if anyone’s poetry is like mine.
I don’t read a lot of poetry, and if I do read, it’s going to be something that’s complete opposite of what I write.

Have you received formal training for writing? If so, what’s your background? If not, what got you interested in poetry writing?

I started writing around age 12; I was a very depressed kid. We lived in the country and had nothing to do, and so, I would make homemade books for myself of my thoughts and feelings.

Who are some of your favorite poets?

Some individual poets I like to read are Jan Serene, Ashley Jane, Angie Waters, Margie Watts, and Sarah Kay Collie.

How do you feel when you’re writing a poem? Is it cathartic or do you find it draining? What types of emotions do you experience when writing poetry?


As I, myself, am a lifetime sufferer of depression and anxiety, I have extreme highs and lows. Unfortunately, it takes being in those extreme lows in order for me to get out what I’m needing to say.


I sometimes feel as if writing is a curse of sorts –
so horrible would be the feelings and emotions I’m under while writing.

A lot of my poetry features fractured versions of myself as a narrative voice. What subjects do you write about and how are they influenced by your own experiences?


I write about what I’ve been through in life’s journey – my struggles with mental illness, the feelings of being mentally ill. I have overcome a lot through in life through poetry. I now have a grasp on my depression and anxieties, and I’m now on a mission to help others suffering from mental illnesses.

Where can readers find more of your poetry?

https://instagram.com/poetalfredgremsly

http://www.alfredgremsley.com

https://a.co/d/5B8OkmR

I’ll Be Dead before I’m Better

Am I just pretending
there are voices in my head?
And can anyone else hear
a single thing they’ve said?
Am I really talking to someone
who has been talking back to me?
Or have I just become
a psychotic mystery?
Life’s no fun pretending
when you need a friend
and a therapist is not the answer
when you want the words to end.
Can anyone hear the voices
that are screaming from my head?
I’ll be dead before I’m better
if I’m not already dead

– Alfred Gremsly

Isabelle Palerma