Spooky Haunted Lighthouse Poems From Michigan
It's spooky season, so that's a great excuse to share a project I'm working on with you: haunted lighthouse poetry from Michigan. Yes, we have THAT much haunted lore about lighthouses. No surprise, really, considering Michigan has hundreds of lighthouses and more lighthouses than anywhere else in the United States. We've got a lot of shoreline (and a lot of shipwrecks, gulp!) So, that means ghost stories.
For this project I'm calling Storm Songs (cover to be announced), I took legends of haunted Michigan and turned them into poems to bring you into the experience.
Walk with the brakeman at the mysterious Paulding Light that appears in northern Michigan quite regularly but can't be explained.
Follow the final footsteps of a lighthouse keeper who was murdered and left on a shore for no apparent reason.
Experience the grief of a mother who lost her mind taking care of a child who passed.
Yeah, you know, uplifting stuff. But it's Halloween, so enjoy a few exerpts from Storm Songs: Haunted Lighthouse Lore From Michigan
The Paulding Light
The scientists at Michigan Tech insist
the Paulding Light in the Keewenau,
peninsula of snow drifts and Lake Superior
is a result of cars on the highway
turning a corner.
Locals say it’s the old brakeman
on the tracks who tried to stop
a runaway train.
Wrong place, wrong time.
Now he walks with stiff jeans
lantern held aloft,
wrong place for all time.
They say even the devil can quote scripture,
and seeing the brakeman in the night
doesn’t make it end all right.
It never does.
A Boathouse
is there anything nicer than
a 100-year-old boathouse?
its foundation cracking on the sand
spigot outside spilling
lake-scented water
on my jeans?
oh, yes,
the little boy ghost
peeking out from behind
the life preservers
thumbs stuck in his overalls
is the best part.
he taps his bare foot
until I acknowledge him
and give him a canoe ride
across the lake
to his friends’ house.
Beeson Mansion & Crypt
What if your infant child
was torn from your arms
and ceased to breathe,
but you could not imagine this was real?
What if you walked to the baby’s crypt
night after night
eventually installing gas lighting to
not have to deal with lanterns
while bathing,
feeding,
and clothing
your precious child’s remains?
Eventually the mother is driven
the rest of the way mad by loss
and is institutionalized
when the baby’s poorly form
disintegrates in its mothers arms
and the shock can’t be delayed
any longer.
As dry-mouthed awful as this is,
why is it we can all relate?
--
Happy Halloween and Samhain to those who celebrate. I'm hoping I can get this collection out by spring 2026.