Tag Archives: dream

Day 4 – Unfocused,

let the layers fall away,
through the world goes our gaze,
penetrating film and cell alike,
and to the onion say we, dry
your eyes lest candles ignite,
sudden through deep midnight.
Impossible diamonds cascade
and, though we grasp, dreams fade.

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Never look at your phone in the middle of the night. Never. I had a dream, and the minute that screen blinded me, I forgot it. 😦

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Commentary – Day 18

My fingers tingle.
Funny, I don’t recall
falling asleep.
I’d say this was a daydream,
but all I see are small hours,
shown around by small hands.

In searching out the
tiny fine things,
have I lost sight of some
Bigger pictures? Or am I simply
putting together slowly
a multitude of jigsaw pieces
in this puzzle we call life?

Somewhere along the way
I looked over a rainbow
and forgot,
what joy there could be
in the crafting of a thing,
in making something well.

My hands are not
the only part of me which has
fallen asleep.
My heart beats slower with every
waking midnight minute
drowsy, lazy, blank and bored.

Don’t tell me it’s the chemistry.
My poor head would swoon and faint,
so long after nothing was said,
nothing got done.

My hands fall to the blank space,
my heart stirs the muse,
but my eyes drift and linger,
dream and, dreary, fade.
Can’t even see where one day
Begins and another


I know it’s late, but I had to do a good bit of soul searching to get to this point. Considering my current state of mood, I count the few decent lines in there an accomplishment. Anyway, it’s three-whatever in the morning and I don’t even know what I’m writing any more. Enjoy the nonsense 🙂

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If I could Dream

If I could dream
I would only be clouds,
wandering, drifting,
nothing but the wind to hold me up,
sliding slow over mountains,
mourning their small and ancient deaths with my rain.
I’d get lost, and call it an adventure.
I wouldn’t be afraid.
Darkness would not dissolve me,
for moonlight makes out of me blue rainbows
adorned with stars, falling with dew,
I would rise with
tendrils of mist to wrap around you,
carry you off, up, and away.

Come with me, take a sip,
it’s only a little dream,
sweeter than nectar, decadent, honeyed.
Do not donate all your sense to the daze.
What does sunshine know in silence
that starlit whispers don’t reveal in the dark?
Come, dearest, dream with me,
we’ll explore new lands together.

Did you know? Only clouds can see ahead.
They’re so high up on dreaming,
they know the end of the path.
That’s why they weep
and cast rainbows in our way.
That’s why they throw out lightning
and crash about their thunder.
If I knew you wandered ever closer to the edge –
how could I not do the same?

Come, then, before all that,
dream away the empty days.
Glide like a mist through dew-heavy grass,
like you know, wherever you go
it’s worth your weary, scarred up soul.
Take only a sip, don’t get there too quick;
I wouldn’t lose you yet, darling.
Have your pick from dreams of cotton.
Some of them are sweet,
some bitter like coffee at the bottom.
I prefer the spicy ones,
with twilight purple flavors.

What next, you ask?
Well, think like a cloud,
like a wisp of water-breath.
Breathe in, rise up on your toes,
Reach up for the moon,
and let go of the earth –
Dearest, come back, not that far,
we’re not astronauts. Not yet.

Still, we fly, into felted cloudy sky,
shedding laughter like stars upon
the drowsy dazed below, who never thought to drift.
We strike tiny lightnings, storming our brains.
We dance through moon-made rainbows
above mysterious, dew strewn lands,
but we are never lost.

Midnight breezes bear us up, bring us back,
lay us down, kiss our brow,
‘til safe and sound in the dark we drowse.
Those adventures we dreamed
forgotten upon waking,
dissolved like a mist in the sun.

Thought I’d post this to get the blog rolling again, so to speak. I want to sort of build up to April (NaPoWriMo), and also post things about my novel here and there. We’ll see what happens. Anyway, this poem’s a little longer than I meant it to be, so who knows, I might go back and edit out half of it later. For now though, I like it too much to do that, so here it is in all its wordy weirdness. Enjoy 😉

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Petals of the Acid Moon – Day 22

The moon tonight is sharp enough to burn,
prick and slice, a rosy scythe.
Sunsets bleed and fall soft like knives–
close your eyes, stars billow down,
thrown tidal winds crash, dream.
Away float moonbeams over broken waves–
tiny holes pierce the firmament,
rend and blaze, bloom and perish.

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Lullaby – Day 13

Goodnight baby,
close those sky blue eyes.
You’ve had a busy day indeed,
creating explosions from buckets of toys,
making masterpieces with markers.

Even for you, baby,
lucky enough to get naps,
this day has been long,
a parade of unfamiliar faces
telling you how very
beautiful you are.

Mommy tells you right from wrong,
yes from no,
good from bad.
But baby just wants to play,
wants to stay
wants her way.

She’s tired and ready
to drift off to sleep,
thumb in her mouth
socks on her feet.
So dream, pretty baby,
of tutus and cars,
of baby dolls and number blocks,
counting songs and stars.

In the morning you’ll be off again,
running in squeaky shoes,
but for now, you just sleep baby girl,
with God’s angels protecting you.

 

Wrote this for a friend’s little girl, who I was baby-sitting today.

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Sleepovers – Day 11

If we studied shadows,
did we understand
the shape of the world?

If we saw moonlight become
blue-hued rainbows through
misty morning fog,
did we abandon liquid gold
for silver streams ethereal
swirling in midnight pools?

If we dreamed of dancing breezes,
which we wish away in sleep,
did we find upon the moonrise
a sprinkling of stars in the dew?

If we listened to the crickets,
who sing for flashing fireflies
with sparks in their hearts,
did we remember campfires,
musing through thrashing shadows,
hypnotized by truths better left
in the dark?

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Not Alive?

What do you mean?
He’s just as alive as a mother’s lullaby,
or a warm and pleasant dream.

For twenty years she’s washed the top of his head
with her kisses, and with her tears.
He’s been protecting her for longer than
she can remember.
Comforting this lonely child through
nightmares and strange shapes in the dark.

This old dog, he used to be fluffy and tan,
now he’s all matted, a darker mud brown
and one of his eyes is always winking at her.
He’s got a ragged yellow collar,
a worn black nose, and threadbare paws.
His body is unevenly stuffed from
a lifetime of being squeezed round the middle.

All those years rolling over on him,
pushing him out of the bed,
using him as a pillow,
throwing him across the room.
He endured it all.
He’s had a few stitches here and there,
a few close calls, a few repairs
while she peeked nervously over Mommy’s shoulder
at the delicate operation.

But he is alive,
like a secret lingering in the dark
like the familiar smell of quiet midnight memories
like a child’s musings and ideas growing up with her
until they become distilled emotion, coursing
deeper than a night full of stars.

More simply, he is alive
because he listened when she had
no one else to whisper her poetry to.
His every nook and cranny of raggedy fluff is full
to the brim with a child’s wonderings.

And he is alive
because he dried her tears with his ears,
because he protected her from the scary dreams,
because he was always, always there,
And because she loves him.

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