Tuesday, December 3, 2019



On frozen winter nights like these
the dead dare to visit my dreams.
They come unexpectedly, uninvited,
in the cold unconscious hours
that we share. Their distant voices whisper
with the wind in the treetops
and although I cannot distinguish the words,
the plaintive sounds resonate
with gentle implications of love.

In these helplessly dark, bitterly cold hours
I shiver in my sightless room and lonely bed,
pulling the covers more closely around me
as if this fragile oasis can expunge distant
and afford protection from the harsh reality
of dreams.

My mother is among those visiting ghosts:
always patient, always attentive -
an enduring anchor of undaunted stability
in my vast sea of chaos.
I talk to her
and she listens as she has always listened
unfailingly and unselfishly bearing my
and cradling the remnants of my tattered

Friends that I knew in an extinct existence
crowd greedily towards my nocturnal
whispering in breathless reassurance
that I have not been forgotten,
that the past we once shared is an
inevitable future,
as accessible as a promised dawn of spring
which will illuminate the last dark page of

A lover I once knew more intimately than 
returns in a restless wind-driven canticle
singing with such sweetness of remembrance
that the unsuspecting howl of this frostdusted night
is momentarily suspended.
I remember the reassuring breath of eternal
as I drank deeply from our well of urgent
kisses -
as if my tongue could silence the trembling
that yearned to perpetuate rumors of
impending death.

My slumber is as soft
and innocent as newly fallen snow.
My dreams are suspended in
the exasperating fallibility
of mortal impatience.
In time, the voices of wind-driven ghosts
rise to wails of desperation,
rattling vulnerable windows
clawing against the impenetrability
of ice-glazed panes of glass.

Jon V.
from Love Letters to Ghosts 


  1. One of my favorites, Jon! I, too, have recently enjoyed nocturnal visitations - however fleeting or nonsensical. What I wouldn't give for an appearance by my own mother.

  2. A most excellent read. Thank you for sharing it here.

  3. beautiful. haunting. deep. your soul exposed. thank you for these eloquent words.

  4. Oh wow! That was worth coming back for. Well done, Jon.

  5. That was my favorite poem from you book. It affects me as much now as it did the first time I read it.

  6. So beautifully expressed, Jon! I could literally feel, see, and sense everything. Many years ago, (back in the mid-80's) I took a course in Dream Interpretation and found it utterly fascinating. Our subconscious expresses itself in our dream state, using symbols that we can identify with. I used to have a dream diary in which I would quickly write my dreams out in longhand in the morning before I forgot them. And it was amazing to see how easily (by writing them down) I could instantly interpret them.

    Beautiful poem, Jon!

  7. Beautiful! I love the sweet,loving ghost dreams.
    You have ghosts worth remembering. :)

  8. A wonderful poem, Jon. I also love the compelling photograph which illustrates it. Remarkable.

  9. Haunting. Very beautiful - just like you :-)

    P.S. I can relate to SO MUCH of what you experienced in the past. Why oh why did we never cross paths in Chicago? Fate can be such a cruel bitch (sorry for the strong language - but if the great Sylvia Plath can call her father a bastard in one of her most excellent poems, then it's good enough for me). Anyway, your poem is wonderful :-)


  10. It was almost as if I could visualize everything in these words, Jon.


I love comments. Go ahead and leave one - I won't bite. But make sure you have a rabies shot just in case.