This poem is based on the poem, Colonel Fazackerley by Charles Causley. I did it as a writing exercise, rhyming quads instead of couplets. I thought it turned out fun.
Lord Isaac Ackerley Butterworth-Toast
bought an old castle complete with a ghost.
A resident, I’m sure, he rather not host,
especially him being more British than most.
It was a manor home beyond compare,
but why would a Lord risk such a scare?
You see, the estate seller failed to declare
to Ackerley that a spook was in there.
Late that first evening, while waiting to dine,
Lord Isaac was tasting a new sherry wine.
And just as the bell rang seven, eight, nine,
a light from no source began to shine.
Lord Isaac Ackerley could do nothing but gape,
at this oddly bluish translucent shape.
Thinking that perhaps it had just been the grape,
he wished, “Oh! for a blank video tape.”
From where, the Lord had not a clue,
came this light the fade color of blue.
It looked like a man, but in space it flew.
It could hardly be someone he knew.
“My dear fellow,” Isaac said, ‘that is really the best.
Can you do that long, or do you need to rest?
If so, then please, sit, be my guest.
And tell me your trick, I’ll not be a pest.”
At this, the dread ghost gave a hideous yell,
so deep and dark, like from the depths of hell.
“Please,” Isaac asked, “could be it a secret spell,
or something we can produce, package, and sell?”
The phantasm had then made a horrible face,
as it flew to and fro, all about the place.
It broke every plate, two mirrors and a vase.
It even tore the curtains of delicate white lace.
Isaac hardly could open his eyes to peek.
The Lord laughed, as tears run down his cheek.
“Here’s the entertainment for which I long seek,
and just as things were looking most bleak.
“My house-warming party I hope you won’t spurn.
I dare say, kind sir, you must give us a turn.
And please, dear fellow, don’t take me too stern,
but this fantastic trick you just must help us learn.”
And now, the poor spectre --quite out of his wits--
proceeded to shake himself almost to bits,
this man, he was giving him these terrible fits,
so he even tried singing some of Barry Manilow’s hits.
But Lord Isaac Ackerley, just as before,
was simply delighted and called out, “Encore!”
At which the ghost could stand no more,
and was never again seen on a castle floor.
“Oh dear, such a pity!” Isaac Ackerley said.
“I will certainly miss that dear old Ned.
He never was so much more alive, when dead.”
And thus, Lord Isaac Ackerly did away to bed.