I dream in a dream
Where in my dream, I’m a perfect
A perfect girl dreaming about her
I don’t want to leave this
I dream in a dream
In my dream of a dream, I’m
Where rain can’t wet my clothes
Where winds can only beautifully
wave my hair
I dream in a dream
While I'm sleep tight hugged by
In my dream you sleep next to me
I dream I hugged your back before
In this dream of a dream,
In your arms I look flawlessly
I dream in a dream
In my dream, you adore me so
In my dream of a dream, I’m your
In my sleeps, I repeat those
In this two-stage dream,
You are mine, I am yours
*Aah* my brain is the best
For Frank H. 'DREAM' Contest
It's here now under a converted sky
Where daylight has loss it’s might
Hours before the green hills had sight, with
splattered hints of yellow wild flowers so bright
Now time has casts a different light
It here now where the heavens sings an evening song
With twinkled lights on a moon lit prong
Dancing stars and dreaming of mars
Its here on this transformed spot
I will sit and jot
It is here now as I lay back on this cool grass, and write a story
with the heavens the color of quarry
Of jeweled eyes in the skies
that connected to stories, some disguised
With silver spoons and astrological loons
On dream away, dream on by
to the earths motions and lullabies
It is here now time to take a brake
from life’s work ,and worries and heart ache
Try it yourself remember when, you were a child
when you looked up the night and smiled amen
generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them
Beauty of nature
Why condense it down to God?
Isn’t life enough?
I’m riding your horse, no giddyap allowed,
simply plunge into the deepest unknown.
Your voice sets the pace, it whispers
into the ears of my ride, sometimes they twitch
sometimes they find water, sometimes
the waterfalls absorb all thought. I lean
over neck, sample horse blood like a vampire,
like a computer’s command mode
taking over my brain, allowing my heart
to beat in tune, my feet to turn to hooves
and kick up or canter, moving with the rhythm
and flow, feeling the sweat of the sun
overhead and the damp of shady pines
and raking the grasses until they rustle over skin.
This is how I know you: the whisper on the wind
the stroke along my frame, the bed stead
in which I dream, the places of unimagined
like a lure, a bait, overtaking me, leading
me down a road I’ve never found
until you lent the movement of ride forever.
I once was like a catipiller young,naive,and new
Always living from my heart not knowing what
else to do.Easy to take advantage of, that is
just the case, people would walk over me
like I was their dirty used up suitcase.
Now I feel a newness coming, like a light
shining from the sky, colors fill my world
and I know I am blooming into a butterfly.
Purple,Pink, Blue and Green I can feel them
flowing through. Colors of the rainbow raising
me into full bloom. Wise and strong I am becoming
My faith leads me where I need to go giving me
insight and wiseness for only me to know.
I have not done this on my own you see
I have been guided by God and Angels
on this Earth. Wise words the wisdom at
it's best comes from a wise lady who
seems to know me best. Lucky, I am
to have her in my life, she always shoots
it straight and tells me like it is, knowing
her words touch my heart and gives me tons of faith..
I feel like flying through the sky or climbing
a tree way up high. I feel like observing the
world just like a brand new butterfly so as I
Bloom I become Anew something unlike the past
Smart and wise beautiful on the inside and outside
a touch of color here a touch of color there
makes me glow and become a beautiful blooming butterfly...
Written By: Christina A McCullouch
I stand solo, aloof in the snow, a precipitation
of words cascading from a nebulous eye
Fathoms wide, forever dripping like wax onto
a punctured paper serving a Sanskrit sky,
and spreading into sibilant sentences swiftly
sliding from syllable sorcery to soulful serenades
so silent in the shunting shout of white. Poetry
fills a churning void where novels cannot wade,
Phrases solidifying into idolisation of emotion
itself, isolation of the isometric individuality that so
Crushes my keeling cavern of thought, ever
careering from caustic career path to another new low,
Which so seems to crumble into crazy paving’s
counterpart. In this first freeze-frame we can all grasp
A fraction of the familiar, oh so fractured by the
fumbling nature of enforced form. Freed by the gasp
Of a photo-opportunity glowing phosphorescent
with firsts, I am no longer framed by the festering
Constraints of non-fiction, and folding my fond
farewells carefully, I hesitantly face a vision pestering
Me, fearing the fiend that would open maw and
gnaw beneath my feet, evoking an avalanche of the
Vernacular, but I am further past this unfed
existence now, loosened from the fickle friendship of a
Winter thaw. Focus not your gaze on the grinding
gauze of the greats, for the pressing pestilence of
Perishable poetry is elsewhere pondering its parallels
in posturing and post-modern pining for forlorn love.
Praise no other; I am poetry.
I had this crazy dream
It's the one that keeps you interested
If your me, you'll know what I mean
To ignore your self resisted
So deep in slumber I went
On this night of required sleep
It's the snooze we always dream of
Into dreams of abyss deep
Through pages of looming clouds
As they fluttered in dreamy breeze
Many words I could see in my reach
Like winter leaves, on crying trees
Enticing in dream like flow
My two eyes can't be everywhere
I'm like a Rabbit caught in dreams headlights
In slow motion action I stare
Scattered yesterdays are all around
When I grasp they crumble to dust
Past words in anagram free
My steel beams now reduced to rust
In drift I try to imagine
Day to day life without the soup
It's a sentence I Just can't comprehend
Once tall and proud, I'm painful in daily stoop
The animals know better than us. The rain has never poured so loudly in a key so soft.
To the front, the sailing of city buses and mini vans cruising across in this weather makes the water underneath their tires sound like the street is crying out for 5 more minutes of sleep. Up above, the trees are protecting a nest of baby blue jays before they get washed away by the silence of their mother not being there. But with sky blue young spirits, and small empty stomachs, they keep hope alive in the fact that even children know storms and struggles don’t last forever.
Below the trees, nature has found a name to call it’s own. From the hole dug by the little boy next door, a family of three foxes have named human nature sanctuary, and burrowed their problems into the sediment to rest for a while.
To the side of the hole, a flock of ducks are swimming in the water with eyes open wide enough to where you can see their loyalty to love one another rushes wild.
To the right of the pond, caged up in a man made blanket, and lost in his own mind, is the boy. From what he remembers, last night was like a train accident; A head on collision of two people he could’ve sworn he saw holding hands just the other day. He hears the sound of plates shattering in C-minor, and the chorus of words that his parents screamed in F-sharp, so he imprisoned himself in his own bed sheets, accompanied by the courageous corduroy bear who he swears keeps hearing whisper “everything will be okay.”
It’s raining outside, and the crescendos of screams have been silenced by it’s peaceful security.
The boy, sleeps soundly now. The rain has protected his ears, and guarded his heart from being washed away by all of his nightmares.
He doesn’t care whether he wakes up. The baby blue jay, the resourceful fox and the brave little duck are all he wants to keep dreaming about.
Maybe he’ll run away into the rain? Or maybe into the arms if his mother?, whom he prays he can still recognize. To the left of his bed, he picked up the blank page of his coloring book and a crayon, and became a life long poet in that moment that morning. Taking a deep breath in, and giving a soft breath out, his first sentence was
“The animals know better than us.”
of all metals to win the clay:
Water licks your feet
Far cry from the beating sun
Desert sand to sea
Pop may be catchy
But not lyrically deep
Case in point: Chris Brown.
(N.B. Poem written after hearing "Don't Wake Me Up")
I do not know?
My Wishes are Simple
My wishes are simple,
my desires few,
to gaze upon an ocean,
and marvel at a solitary drop of dew.
My wishes are simple,
my dreams not too grand,
to feel the waves teasing my tired feet,
with no footprints left in the cool, wet sand.
My wishes are simple,
my thoughts serenely gentle, calm,
my heart resting beneath a swaying palm,
healing my being, caressed by nature's soothing balm.
I do not know?
The journey of a life time is fueled by the purpose in a dream.
What is it to see the soil of home again?
A welcome, snow-struck and a return
To cold; sharp white contrasts sunburn.
We converse in broken tongues to men
We know, hooked on holiday language
Comprised of wandering hand signs.
Collect the car and pay parking fines,
Drive through towns and over a bridge
Until we reach the Western gateway.
Oh when will we arrive at our house?
No camels there, only field mouse
Which are eaten by our cat anyway.
The plane flies for an age, slyly yawning
Through the stretching, pealing sky,
A knife through air; what it is to fly.
Our travels over; a new day is dawning.
I do not know?
Silent saxophones sing the reverberating echoes, the songs of the night as chirping crickets conduct
Violin strings drip flavor into each moment with melodies like embroideries of serenades
Cream painted roses lie lusciously on helpless guitars scenting the sound of earth’s praise like would the balm of Gilead on her skin
Speaking to her the languages of sanity, eternity’s cadence as the flute whispers the culture of angels
The romantic noises of trumpets sensual resound at the site of wingless butterflies on deciduous trees as water lilies are teased by bracken ferns
Conifers whisper the tales of organisms in various ecological niches
As osmosis dances across semi-permeable membranes balancing the division of symbiosis while diffusion spreads the news via ~ between harp’s hips
While enabling the stealth of each chord’s intensity to penetrate with dramatic fragility,
Dissolving ~ melting ~ stripping the exotic essences of resonant reasoning
Leaving her to ponder among realities, fairy tales, abstract nights and concrete dreams?
Between these green cotton
I start to hop over the chunks of
dark chocolates, hop by hop
I love this dream; creamy and
-A dreamy dream-
Where not very far I can see a
Built with wafers covered by
warm dip of choco
It’s moist outside but what I think
of, could it run dry?
-How our covers always tricky, ask
The thunder is rumbling, an
lollipop twist up there
They swirl up those light blues and
spread the dark,
Trying to suck anything inside
Look at those skies, from then to
these shades of dark?
I wonder who could survive that
wonderful and deadening stark?
-Funny how light can turn to grey-
One biggest thunder calls me,
I’m charmed by its mighty voice
Scared at first, I try to repel
But hey, the more I try the more I
want to go closer
About the danger? I don’t think I
care for more
-Interesting how curiosity fertilize
Is this where I live now?
Or my delusion has taken over my
brain and sanity?
That house is near but million
steps I’ve made
Nobody’s here only my small me
-I believe dream should not taste
Inspired by "Between Dreams and
Sponsored by Tracie ~*~ Indigo
They ride the good dragon-cloud towards warm light
While wistful wind was a wrongdoer on the hollow hill
Wrapped woven from the wounds and wrath`s night,
The wood will wear white woolly witness of the windmill.
Hoarfrost hitch-hikes and hoists with hoarse hood,
Drumming beat of hobble of the army`s fatal feet,
Far away from the glow-worms of their childhood;
Friends fumble the glassware where they might meet.
Falteringly frogs of fancy jump towards the lake’s glass;
Orphan souls sit on the steps of hope in winter`s time
They scrutinize the frozen sky of hope to find the rhyme
Of the verse from the other side they want to happily pass.
I live in a place striving for sobriety surrounded in alcohol looking for happiness trapped among our very own sadness. I hear my people’s laughs and I hear my people’s cries, but most of all I see their dreams because their dreams are my dreams because we remain not against each other today as enemies but hidden friends united through culture, language and blood. I laugh with my people and of course I cry with my people and I fight with my people but most of all I continue to dream with my people. I know who I am and where I am from to know where I been to still hope to where I am going to go. I feel darkness engulf not only myself but also almost my entire reservation’s race, no matter mixed or not because soon our culture and language will have no face without any more light to shine upon it. I know where I lived and still live to know if I will truly go where I truly want to go in life before I have my one walk with death. I know by a long shot that I am not the best but by a close hit on the reservation’s target I could be better.
I take a stand against self to stand against others to better a worsening crowd of many young lost indigenous souls waiting to be unknowingly found and waiting for something similar to what I’m about to write. I take a stand for self so that others know that we aren’t all lost and we can and will be found with the true hope of no one’s but your own. I take a stand because my brothers and sisters wont, I take a stand because now days most the people around me or within me can’t or don’t know how, I take a stand for the children who don’t have a father and mother as I once had, I take a stand for my unborn child almost here, I take a stand for courage because within me is filled with fear, I take a stand against because the alcohol and drugs within me now I just can’t stand, I take a stand for those around me who cannot stand, I take a stand for a culture dying on its knee’s trying to get back up, I take a stand for the forsaken yet to be forgiven self-stand.
I patiently wait, lying away in the darkness searching for light even though I can see the light I just don’t know how to get on thy path to the light. I am not alone, I know for a fact that I am not alone in my thoughts and feelings about life on earth here. I can see our pain, I can hear the hollers and screams, I can feel your anguish and I can smell our destruction. I walk through the reservation valley of darkness as if I am but a blind witness to our own destruction upon where many of us go unknown truly forever in depths of time, in the depths of death.
I know that I cannot give in or give up on a dream of a people’s dream where the buffalo in our young hearts and minds may roam around free and where the wolf warrior chief may rise above all odds and become thy greatest modern day warrior, the people seek him, the people crave him, the people need him, the people need someone to rise if not geographically the worldwide mentally.
I do not know?
I'm lost, in empty hallways, with no way to go,
I'm endangered, and my legacy lives through the way that I flow,
But I'm not intimidated, the more you tell me to stop, the faster I'll go,
My heart has frozen over, so no emotion is what I'll show
If the streets were as deep as the ocean, then I would drown in disgrace,
My words, are the Titanic, breaking the structure, of my paper and drowning my sorrow away,
I'm not dreaming, I'm succeeding, because reality is fake,
And the future is getting closer, I taste of it everyday
I live for the feeling, that I get when I got my hand on a pen,
And all the pent up thoughts, are released when I leak the ink that's within,
But through all the rythm and the beats, that I hear all the time,
Nothing beats the feeling when I expose through a ryhme
So I'm gonna put together syllables until my brain goes dead,
Or until I'm riding in a hearse because of the things I said,
I'm gonna climb this mountain, nothing can make me stop,
because the reality of it is, my resting place is at the top
“This is the best of all possible worlds I hear, and you’re the master of your life”,
But when you count the closed shut doors, and look around you for a window,
Turn a rubik’s cube around and play with empty running rivers.
Mere stupidities and bottles with clichés will smear, right across the empty floor,
Tremble stupid kid! For cold, is just your empty sensation of fear.
This life is a wondrous gift, you’ll say; a challenge for the mighty heroes.
The good Pangloss in blood and flesh could not resist his own ideas.
You run and jump on sharp and blunt spears, to catch a glimpse of certitude.
But gravity, a law of nature, will keep you still in mortar shoes.
“Men have somehow corrupted Nature”, and I corrupt myself with dreams
But what is hope but a glorious strength, embedded in genetic attributes,
Like aids attacking healthy cells, will disappear. And let it go Candide!
You die a hundred times a year and fear, fear, fear another death, another life,
The grand pillars of values and potent righteousness,
You dare to believe in their existence.
It’s like the God you trust, but cannot see and cannot feel.
But do not be shaken, have no fear for this is just your own free will,
Oh Cunegonde of mine, you’re near, and every time I look you disappear!
Sometimes you search the absolutes of universe and wonder where,
Does God exist and what He’s doing when Cunegonde is flagged and raped?
Stumble on the rocky path on orators and chaste priests,
With tongue so sweet and gloried preachings,
But what they do in solitude with sharpen knifes in backs of infants?
Close your eyes oh sweet Candide, and dream away with no restraint,
And watch how all your hemispheres will tremble soaked in darks and lights.
If not your head can imagine life without a shadow or a tear,
You are corrupt Candide oh dear, but this is the best of all possible lives.
You kill even the ones you love the most, nothing is holy anymore.
Just the promise of Pangloss and the dream of Cunegonde.
Merge your coding to save a dear, stop on red, and do not litter!
For your punishment ‘s not in Hell, it is indeed the life you bare.
Pace yourself! In the New World, like a Columbus you’ll try to steer,
Your arms and legs but not your head, for it is damned for it is barren.
There is no sun, or air out here. You strive for breath in empty chores,
At least you have your Cunegonde I hear, but she is just another whore.
Who cursed her love for seven years, but plow your garden cher Candide!
For this is the best of all possible worlds.
Enlighten days have past
He comes excel in all, so he thinks
"I am greater than man,
I know what ignorant man does not.
Come to me for knowledge unsurpassed!".
He points to the blue heaven,
"Where is thy wisdom? For I know all.
Where is thy command? That makes the ground shake
And brings forth water that lives?"
At the great gatherings,
He flocks the shepherds, blind, mute and deaf
He answers to the multitude of questions
He asked the shepherds, "but what are thy questions?",
“I know not what do ask a man of your wisdom, but what is a dream?
What is life?” asked the young herdsman.
"I know not what you speak of", said the Man.
"I only know what i can feel, touch and see"
"A dream is dream that passes us by, like gentle breeze of fresh spring.
Life holds all things mystery and doubts.
Shepherd knows to flock, not life or dreams".
"The shepherds are those who are humble, noble one", said the herdsman
"The blind cannot see, the mute cannot speak and the deaf cannot hear".
"Who are you preaching to? Silent and amaze, the man looks on.
"If the blind could see you,
They would say, 'look here is the man who tried to humble the blind
For they can see what others cannot,
If the mute could speak, they would humble you!
And if the deaf could hear they would shamed your wisdom".
"Was I a fool?" said the Man "or are you not that young herdsman?
Who knows nothing of life and passes his days tending the sheep's?
What could you learn from such simpleton life?"
"Life I live is simple indeed,
No one knows that the shepherds are those who protects the weak"
"Nature is a friend of the shepherd; we sing the song of David
And rubs the olive oil to our young sheep, to keep away the flies".
Insulted, the man's fury turns over to the young herdsman
"Nature? Protect the weak? The song of David? Flies?
How can nature befriend a lonely shepherd? Protect who?
Song of David the Shepherd who became the king?
What flies would harm the young flocks?"
The young herdsman smiled at the frown face of the man,
Left without a word
The blind, the mute and deaf ignored the man.
An unyielding shame kept the man humbled
He wonders why the young herdsman smiled about.
He came about a bridge and crossed the rocky roads
On the hill top he stood
And saw the young herdsman singing the Song of David.
The ticking, etching the central location
Talking about something
Talking about nothing
A thought, a question
Will this dare leave me now?
I can’t see my world it has gone blind
Where I look and to what I find
Passages of time
Knowing the purpose
Or not knowing
Hide it quick its showing
They cannot know me
For if they do they shall be sickened be on compare
For so long you’ve been my friend
So don’t fail me now
My paper, my pen in my hand
A place to run to
A dream to dream
The ticking, etching the central location
The writer's scream
So much is placed
in the written word,
of life, dreams, fantasy
We read such written
words daily, but do we
take the time to understand
them and the mind of the
writer behind them?
From childhood we are
taught to express through
our words, yet so much
is not understood.
The mind is complex,
it never rests until the
end when words will
no more transcend.
When the writer has gone,
will his words left behind be
of life, dreams, fantasy
or gibberish? We leave you
Drained to my very heart by our slow-paced arrival,
I wander through tasteless decor to the metal arches
Beyond which a future is unfurled.
My bag’s innards are spilled like blood in the Bible
Before the cold gaze of the armed man who marches;
He holds the key to this new world.
The mechanistic arch stands and takes quasi-sentience
Beside passport control, piercing my finely popped
Eardrums with sonic solemnity.
I am refused by technology but stagger forward hence
Into baggage claim where a suitcase pile is propped
Up like a holiday Tetris calamity.
My suitcase is soul black and with difficulty is found,
In its lucid eagerness to fasten itself a faux family;
Airports are filled with pretences.
Now we are away again, small trolley safe and sound,
On the road from snow, heat is where I plan to be.
Our intrepid journey commences...
with apologies to E. A. Poe...
At first the chamber's gentle rapping could not my slumber even stir,
but as it came to be a tapping sonorous visions were to be no more.
And as I stumbled in the darkness, I heard her voice distinctly cry
"O Ed your offer reconsidered will now with me an evening buy!"
Femininity with such harsh bravado, what lady offers such taboo affairs?
I've read of men, weak in the loin, who fall into such infectious snares.
Flesh's joys can wait, I've got to study, for school has such quick paces
and as a student of the arts, time's robbed me of all social graces
Alas, I dream of that day of bliss, but now Ed's the man and I'm the other.
I ask her name and Eleanor is given, by her, but certainly not her mother.
"He's not here, in fact, I don't know him." I utter with a boy's tone.
"Well I'm still here, and you're awake, and so am I and all alone."
My thoughts arranged like a card deck dropped, and left with such a feeble mind.
Should I ignore this dream, or is it real? Behind the door what will I find?
A gentleman would let her in, at least she'd have safe haven.
But to my shock with doors pullled wide, there's nothing but a raven...
Now I'm not mad, but this is odd, as a women spoke, not a bird at my feet,
so I sprint to my room, bury my head...but now it's clear...the wooden floor's
got a beat...
A POETS DREAM
"Fragments and crumbs of life, all the little pieces"
John Ruskin, 1853
When I write I do my best when I'm alone.
Sitting at my PC and turning off the phone.
My writing is all about the things I see.
Things that mean something to me.
Everyday I sit and clear my mind,
Thoughts of what I need to find.
A poem I wrote was of my favorite things.
Also about love,childhood and angels wings.
So poetry is my favorite thing to write.
When I'm done I hope I've done it right.
Entered in Constance La France's ~a rambling poet~
"all the little pieces"contest
I just realized
My life’s been cheating on me
My luck is never lucky
It is never myside it belongs to be
Fright dreams give me a goodnight kiss
Me, not the same since
Friends act like enemies
Family, they treat me in brutality
Who am I? Is it still the same with Me?
Was it the dream or reality that took my sanity?
Are they real, or I deny them to be,
Since those are too painful for me
You know w hat I want
And how you can live through me
You know I want to be your slave
Teach me how to behave
Release me from that past phase
Breathe with you rhythmically
I know what you want
And you can heal me in so many ways
Need something to dream about
Need a wish to come true.
Make another sudden taste enjoyed rhythm
Broken anonymous talented eager
I know you’re not the that innocent
And maybe because of you
Neither will I
I know I want you to be my slave
Teach you how to relate
Release me from the next phase
Breathe in my rhythmically
You know what I want
And you can heal me in so many ways
Need something else to dream about
Need a wish to come true
I know you can hear me
I'm talking dirty inside
Cover you ears if you have to.
I can taste its rewards like freshly made pancakes
In this type of field I am like the butter fizzing in the pan
But I refuse to melt away. I refuse to give up my chance.
Even though at times it may seem hard to seek,
I'll never let it get away from me. I'll mark it down on
the calender like it's my anniversary.
I can feel it bubbling inside me
like the formation of a pancake in a pan.
And the images they run through my head
like an unborn child's sonogram.
I toss my dreams up into the sky with a
invisible magical Spatula and wait for victory.
Because just like these cakes that are about to
be devoured I know I've got it in me.