The ghosts of pens…

A friend remarked:

If a ghost needs to remember something
– like a telephone number – then she needs to write it on a ghostly sheet
of paper with the ghost of a pen.

Yes, that sounds reasonable.

I think we can all agree that pens don’t have ghosts.

Therefore ghosts can’t remember things.

I disagreed:


The ghosts of many, many pens (and spectacles, and bus passes, and cups,
and paper clips) haunt me daily, as I search for them – and I seem to hear
their silent voices bewailing their disappearance. And socks…

And then someone posted this:

Postcards and letters
T-shirts and sweaters
Passports and Parkas
Mobiles and chargers
Two tennis rackets
Blue Rizla packets
A new sheep-skin jacket
I lost it all

All through my life there have been
Many rare and precious things
I have tried to call mine
But I just cannot seem
To keep hold of anything
For more than a short time
Possessions of a sentimental kind
They were mine, now they’re not

Gym-kits and trainers
Asthma inhalers
Silk-cuts and Bennies
Ten-packs and twenties
C-class narcotics
Antibiotics
The holes in my pockets
I lost it all

All that I’d like is to know
Just where do those lost things go?
When they slip from my hands
Then one night in a dream
I passed through a sheepskin screen
To a green, pleasant land
I found them all piled up into the sky
And I cried tears of joy

Apparently it’s from:

Lost Property – the Divine Comedy.

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