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Narrative Dream Poems | Narrative Poems About Dream

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The Old Dark House

The Old Dark House

This tale of “The Old Dark House” is one that’s replete with a
most horrid sense of pure evil and macabre, and is worth being
retold each year during the deep-dark hours of All Hallows’ Eve
before the chime of midnight, when the thin veil separating the
land of the living and the dead momentarily dissolves, bringing
both worlds together until the break of dawn.

Beware of this house’s mythical and ethereal presence in the
shadow dreams of the innocent, and be forewarned to never
conjure its image in your unconscious mind. If so conjured,
The Old Dark House shall become an unending reality to the
innocent and uninformed, and on All Hallows’ Eve, the evil
“Demons of Hell” shall come for your very soul!  

The Old Dark House is one that is bathed and cursed in utter
hellfire and damnation by Lucifer himself. It’s one that creeps a
chill and frozen reminder into the very frame of its nasty, putrid
structure. It shall guarantee you the worst possible nightmares as
your very soul cries in agony and pleads unrelentingly for mercy!

Your nightmares are, in turn, amplified and born into the very
structure of this house with ivy creeping as you palpably sense
the wretched ice-cold fingers of Hell opening the doors to the
cavernous basement were evil shadows of goblins, ghosts,
ghouls, vampires, and werewolves parade openly from past lives.

Everyone suffering the curse of the damned was captured here
when they visited, becoming prisoners to the darkness of true evil,
far away from the light, goodness, and eternal mercy of Almighty
God Himself.

Six generations of my family actually dwelled beneath the rafters
of The Old Dark House where demonic forces were constantly in
play—as hot sparks burned the tongues of lost souls who cried in
agony, and their world would enter the vortex of darkness whilst
blood-curdling screams could be distinctly heard during the night
on All Hallows’ Eve. Ghostly images would appear out of nowhere
supported by the frightening ferocity of Lucifer who is the true dark
presence and ultimate tempter of mankind!

The horror I felt as a young boy trapped in this existence is truly
unimaginable. The image of The Old Dark House still haunts my
adult consciousness, even today, as I would shudder in the cold
night-sweat of sleep to purge its eternal presence from my mind!

Cruel pictures adorn the hell-hole hall of imagination as a gruesome
and unbelievable power underneath wields its vice-grip of hideous
words, whispering in the coldest of ice without the living being able
to breathe in a cloud of mercy and forgiveness, within an ancient
language of evil and evil-doings that twist the shape of words to
suit one’s human fears and cold shivers!

I still don’t understand the full measure of things being lost in this
dark pit of Hell in The Old Dark House. It’s a place that’s devoid
of human meaning and worth as shrunken heads are disembodied!
I hold on to what remains of a past shame, hovering high in the air
as unclean spirits of a crooked vision-circle wander aimlessly as a
Blind Sheppard leads our lost souls to the depressing Dark Land of
Nowhere and Nothingness!

Every October as the full moon rises high in the dark-sky evening,
a ritual fire is set by a local coven of witches to celebrate the advent
of All Hallows’ Eve. These witches know well the power and evil of
The Old Dark House. Their burnt offerings and black magic spells
echo hauntingly as Hell’s own fury is unearthed, challenging all
things virtuous in mankind’s existence and in God’s world of beauty,
hope, kindness, and light.

These evil images of black magic and witchcraft haunted my sleep
entire. I couldn’t sleep at all before dawn. I constantly sense now
an awakening madness in my soul, as if it comes from hidden graves
yet to be uncovered. Images and bad memories of The Old Dark House
push me now toward the opening of unknown tombs. I can actually
now smell Death’s Sulphur-burnt flesh!

Doors begin to rustle behind me as I hear loud footsteps of a pin
echoing deep in my mind. The echo shatters any illusions I have
of human sanity and forgiveness. I feel the sheer horror and begin
suffocating as the stale air is trapped in each breath I take!  

I sit up now—immediately confused, looking directly at a lonely
and empty Black Void that goes on and on and on—to infinity!

Cell doors in the house basement were always closed tight with
rusted iron links bound by heavy chains. As a poor child alone in
this house with other condemned children, there were nice rooms
upstairs that were always barred and shut to us as we suffered in
the filthy basement below. In Lucifer’s Hell!

I recall now too, in my memory, a gallery of special portraits in
The Old Dark House, which formed a ghastly mosaic of pure evil.
These portraits were of key human disciples of Lucifer who had served
him well through the ages. All of these images were grotesque and evil
when taken as a whole.

What did I learn? Evil is what Evil is! And Evil does what Evil does!

I’m free now from the eternal curse of The Old Dark House. I escaped
this mansion of the macabre as a young man and found my soul path
to Almighty God and stepped into His holy light of forgiveness and
redemption! 

As a very old man now, I sleep and dream a lot. Usually my dreams, 
thank goodness, are pleasant as I draw toward the end of my mortal
existence here on earth.

Yet, despite all the good things in my life now, during October of
each year, as All Hallows’ Eve cometh closer in the deep recesses
of my mind—I remember clearly that the ground floor of The Old
Dark House always had these frigid-cold wind gusts that spoke 
chillingly to one’s very soul. As young kids we would run upstairs
in this evil house to hear the “Demons of the Night” moan and cry!

Old Hob always had a way to speak to all of us as kids in His House!

Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid, and Gary Bateman
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 7, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

- The Demons Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror -

The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror

This tale of “The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror”
lives on in the mountain village of Gpeth Tor in the outlying 
region of the “Dark Forbidden Forest” known for evil, death,
and lost souls. This tale passeth from generation to generation,
to the present, and still frightens all people who hear its grim
message as it sends an icy-cold chill that stabs the heart of one’s
holy eternal soul!

A young boy who just turned six years heard this tale so told
by both of his parents who shivered with a great palpable fear.
Their story of the Devil’s Demon of the Dark Forbidden Forest
mesmerized this young lad, giving him gruesome nightmares,
whereby the Devil’s Demon whispers cruelly to him in the 
darkest corners of his mind and in his deepest moments of sleep!

The young boy’s recurring nightmares show him running each
night deep into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest while both 
shouting and screaming his desire to see and to serve this foul
Demon of the Wild, while forsaking Almighty God in his thoughts!
This ghastly dream world each night is like morphine to his brain,
as this young boy suffers, feeling the chains of its merciless torment!

But this story of the boy is now 22 years ago as he’s progressed on
to manhood—driven to the very depths of depravity and insanity
as he witnesses nightly in his padded cell the evil actions of both
Ghouls and Ghosts who’d open up the graves of past rotting souls.
This insane young man now sings paeans with a fulsome alacrity
as he celebrates the shrill and haughty cry of the Devil’s Demon!

Does anyone really believe in happy fairy tales when Hell itself
corrupts the mind and spirit of the young and unsuspecting?

Does anyone believe a young fairy princess who kisses a frog
and says that the frog is now a dashing, noble prince?

Does anyone really understand and believe there are real monsters
who roam the maze of one’s mind crying now into a dark abyss,
while Goblins and Ghosts float freely robbing the living of breath?

The Dark Forbidden Forest of this evil lore does indeed exist, and
it lives freely in the dreams of young village children so frightened 
and terrified by the dark-demonic-visage of a bile-black-blooded 
Bogeyman who resurrects himself nightly in their true dreams of a 
sweet innocence in the place where scars are born every waking day,
as the lid of terror is lifted open, spewing legends and tales of the
macabre stealing the very life-force of heartbeats leading to Death! 

The local people of this legend in the village of Gpeth Tor speaketh 
freely of shrunken heads in large glass jars deep in the bowels of the
Forbidden Forest, where the threshold of pain and absolute madness
knows no bounds of moderation, and tortured beings and lost souls
cry out loudly as the Dark One takes his due while the broken bones
of those who remain are crossed—weighted so heavy like an anchor!

Invisible and evil forces at the Devil’s command have taken control
of the Forbidden Forest, where nasty beasts with a rabid blood thirst
for torture live in the very cells of the chained and forgotten souls who 
have lost their way to Almighty God and His Angels in Heaven above.

Grotesque stories still abound to the present time in this century of the
perverse and maledictory nature of this dark forest that borders so close
to the ancient village of Gpeth Tor—of what can happen to those who
dare to speak of the unspeakable, as Specters of the Undead feast upon 
the heartbeats of innocent victims until they are fully consumed, and
their souls are condemned to an unending damnation and agony!

It’s been so many years since I graced my presence again in this ancient
“Village of the Damned.” Mea Culpa! Forgive me! A difficult journey!
I’ve now lost my way into the light and to the holy path to God Himself.

Gpeth Tor and its people live on into this twenty-first century as it is.
The frightful memories and presence of the Forbidden Forest are real,
and are still devouring the very living thoughts and ideals of the young.
Many moons later the sacrilege of this reality still lurks and crawls now
beneath one’s own human flesh as the divine answers to “God’s Truth”
lay, locked far away in the depths of Lucifer’s Kingdom here on Earth!


Gary Bateman, Anne-Lise Andresen, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 20, 2016 (Gary)
September 10, 2016 (Anne-Lise)

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

The Demon's Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror

The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror

This tale of “The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror”
lives on in the mountain village of Gpeth Tor in the outlying 
region of the “Dark Forbidden Forest” known for evil, death,
and lost souls. This tale passeth from generation to generation,
to the present, and still frightens all people who hear its grim
message as it sends an icy-cold chill that stabs the heart of one’s
holy eternal soul!

A young boy who just turned six years heard this tale so told
by both of his parents who shivered with a great palpable fear.
Their story of the Devil’s Demon of the Dark Forbidden Forest
mesmerized this young lad, giving him gruesome nightmares,
whereby the Devil’s Demon whispers cruelly to him in the 
darkest corners of his mind and in his deepest moments of sleep!

The young boy’s recurring nightmares show him running each
night deep into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest while both 
shouting and screaming his desire to see and to serve this foul
Demon of the Wild, while forsaking Almighty God in his thoughts!
This ghastly dream world each night is like morphine to his brain,
as this young boy suffers, feeling the chains of its merciless torment!

But this story of the boy is now 22 years ago as he’s progressed on
to manhood—driven to the very depths of depravity and insanity
as he witnesses nightly in his padded cell the evil actions of both
Ghouls and Ghosts who’d open up the graves of past rotting souls.
This insane young man now sings paeans with a fulsome alacrity
as he celebrates the shrill and haughty cry of the Devil’s Demon!

Does anyone really believe in happy fairy tales when Hell itself
corrupts the mind and spirit of the young and unsuspecting?

Does anyone believe a young fairy princess who kisses a frog
and says that the frog is now a dashing, noble prince?

Does anyone really understand and believe there are real monsters
who roam the maze of one’s mind crying now into a dark abyss,
while Goblins and Ghosts float freely robbing the living of breath?

The Dark Forbidden Forest of this evil lore does indeed exist, and
it lives freely in the dreams of young village children so frightened 
and terrified by the dark-demonic-visage of a bile-black-blooded 
Bogeyman who resurrects himself nightly in their true dreams of a 
sweet innocence in the place where scars are born every waking day,
as the lid of terror is lifted open, spewing legends and tales of the
macabre stealing the very life-force of heartbeats leading to Death! 

The local people of this legend in the village of Gpeth Tor speaketh 
freely of shrunken heads in large glass jars deep in the bowels of the
Forbidden Forest, where the threshold of pain and absolute madness
knows no bounds of moderation, and tortured beings and lost souls
cry out loudly as the Dark One takes his due while the broken bones
of those who remain are crossed—weighted so heavy like an anchor!

Invisible and evil forces at the Devil’s command have taken control
of the Forbidden Forest, where nasty beasts with a rabid blood thirst
for torture live in the very cells of the chained and forgotten souls who 
have lost their way to Almighty God and His Angels in Heaven above.

Grotesque stories still abound to the present time in this century of the
perverse and maledictory nature of this dark forest that borders so close
to the ancient village of Gpeth Tor—of what can happen to those who
dare to speak of the unspeakable, as Specters of the Undead feast upon 
the heartbeats of innocent victims until they are fully consumed, and
their souls are condemned to an unending damnation and agony!

It’s been so many years since I graced my presence again in this ancient
“Village of the Damned.” Mea Culpa! Forgive me! A difficult journey!
I’ve now lost my way into the light and to the holy path to God Himself.

Gpeth Tor and its people live on into this twenty-first century as it is.
The frightful memories and presence of the Forbidden Forest are real,
and are still devouring the very living thoughts and ideals of the young.
Many moons later the sacrilege of this reality still lurks and crawls now
beneath one’s own human flesh as the divine answers to “God’s Truth”
lay, locked far away in the depths of Lucifer’s Kingdom here on Earth!

Gary Bateman, Anne-Lise Andresen, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 20, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

Ancient Shadows Awaken into God's Light

Ancient Shadows Awaken into God’s Light

Underneath the deep seabed the stirring sands of time have passed on.
Ancient shadows continue to haunt all of us from the oceans’ depths,
And insidious and violent nightmares portray bloody and evil visions,
As an old treasure chest is opened and a gull’s cry foretells tragic stories.

Untold riches awaken Neptune’s deepest waves as the tides turn inward,
And a star-gazing dust trail turns into a golden circle of subtle measure.
The dark moon’s horrid howl sounds in its crimson cradle over the ocean 
As the cruelest beast from evil Hellspawn creeps and invades all energies.

The moon’s beam feasts on poor and lonely souls under the cover of night,
Whilst savagely touching the sad forlorn places between Heaven and Earth.
These unholy places of dark origin beckon the spirit of a vile Vampire who 
Cometh from a deep-darkness creeping around under the Devil’s own aura.

This Prince of Darkness bringeth enchanting soft-sweet kisses of solitude,
Tempting now the innocent silhouette of a ravishingly beautiful young lady
Whose true desire and passion for love leaps over an ice-ruby magical fire,
As her robust heartbeats incite the Vampire’s ravenous thirst for her blood.

The sensual fire stoked by this lady’s heartbeats and lifeblood burn sold 
Down a macabre river of true darkness, all perfect up, as she gasps aloud
For air, wincing and moaning audibly, as she expires with a most ghastly
Death rattle as the Prince of Darkness gleefully smiles at her godless soul.

This gruesome image invokes a blending of human bread eating into the
Suffering eyes of salted fish bait trapped and gasping for air, for mercy,
Just like a trapped drunken sailor now swallowed inside hungry ghouls
Who haunt over dark sea whispers that chill to the bone mankind’s future.

Those souls lost within the land of this living dream bask now positive as
The darkness turns into sunlight in God’s own yard of supreme radiance, 
Metamorphosing into a lovely butterfly emerging from its silken cocoon,
Now so cotton-soft and swallowed by the bright light of the human soul.

The soul’s lucent energy of heavenly radiance comes forth for all to see
As the Devil’s dark beast now sings its paeans of utter joy as this terror
Transforms itself—yet ever so slowly—into a calm sea of true change.
With this miracle change cometh a peace sanctuary of God’s angels!

That’s a thousand of God’s angels now chanting with a pleasured delight
As a heaven-sought change comes to nurture the plight of all lost souls.
With this aura of change, love’s sacred light shineth now so ultra-bright,
For even the darkened heart of the beast can find peace in Heaven’s light!

We await to see where this beast shall go and what shall follow in kind.
Shall this former beast of the Devil himself experience a final epiphany
To be like the blessed butterfly or to return to the black heart of the crow?
Almighty God does indeed move in the most mysterious of ways! 

The Prince of Darkness laughs no longer as his long-lost soul burns hot
And blue-bile-black-red in Hell’s own deepest, darkest inescapable pit!
No redemption for him and for his master, the Devil, confined below.
By God’s holy command, all ancient shadows shall awaken whole into
Heaven’s eternal and radiant light! All by God’s divine grace and mercy!

Amen! Amen! Amen!

Anne-Lise Andresen, Gary Bateman, Liam McDaid, and Michael Clarke
A Team Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
November 16, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

A Dream In The Mist

The mountain peaks in colored sugar coat
Of pinks and blues and lilac violet hues
The sky, just before sunrise, all windless and clear
The day is misty, bitter cold, and crystal sheen
But I am warmed by one small ray of golden morning light

From high upon a perch of snow top crest
A lone stag with graceful legs that fly
Carving out a quiet trail, like fleeting wind
The sound so soft, the hush of whispered steps

He halts, and looks at me with logic's eyes
And seems to smile in recognition, 
His golden crown of antlers, gleam in morning sun
Just when I thought my crystal world would splinter
He tilts his head, and bids me to come
And like an eagle's wing, remote and sure
He darts away, just like a bird
Without a sound

Beauty of the wind....beauty of pure grace
I run after him, panting and breathless,
Through the glimmering, in search of answers
But, I cannot keep up, as he disappears without a trace
And still not wringing the answers from the slightest sound
Yet, I am left alone, and feel at peace


For Constance's Contest:  The Nature Dream/Spirtual Dream
Carrie Richards

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative | |

The Old Dark House

This tale of “The Old Dark House” is one that’s replete with a
most horrid sense of pure evil and macabre, and is worth being
retold each year during the deep-dark hours of All Hallows’ Eve
before the chime of midnight, when the thin veil separating the
land of the living and the dead momentarily dissolves, bringing
both worlds together until the break of dawn.

Beware of this house’s mythical and ethereal presence in the
shadow dreams of the innocent, and be forewarned to never
conjure its image in your unconscious mind. If so conjured,
The Old Dark House shall become an unending reality to the
innocent and uninformed, and on All Hallows’ Eve, the evil
“Demons of Hell” shall come for your very soul!  

The Old Dark House is one that is bathed and cursed in utter
hellfire and damnation by Lucifer himself. It’s one that creeps a
chill and frozen reminder into the very frame of its nasty, putrid
structure. It shall guarantee you the worst possible nightmares as
your very soul cries in agony and pleads unrelentingly for mercy!

Your nightmares are, in turn, amplified and born into the very
structure of this house with ivy creeping as you palpably sense
the wretched ice-cold fingers of Hell opening the doors to the
cavernous basement were evil shadows of goblins, ghosts,
ghouls, vampires, and werewolves parade openly from past lives.

Everyone suffering the curse of the damned was captured here
when they visited, becoming prisoners to the darkness of true evil,
far away from the light, goodness, and eternal mercy of Almighty
God Himself.

Six generations of my family actually dwelled beneath the rafters
of The Old Dark House where demonic forces were constantly in
play—as hot sparks burned the tongues of lost souls who cried in
agony, and their world would enter the vortex of darkness whilst
blood-curdling screams could be distinctly heard during the night
on All Hallows’ Eve. Ghostly images would appear out of nowhere
supported by the frightening ferocity of Lucifer who is the true dark
presence and ultimate tempter of mankind!

The horror I felt as a young boy trapped in this existence is truly
unimaginable. The image of The Old Dark House still haunts my
adult consciousness, even today, as I would shudder in the cold
night-sweat of sleep to purge its eternal presence from my mind!

Cruel pictures adorn the hell-hole hall of imagination as a gruesome
and unbelievable power underneath wields its vice-grip of hideous
words, whispering in the coldest of ice without the living being able
to breathe in a cloud of mercy and forgiveness, within an ancient
language of evil and evil-doings that twist the shape of words to
suit one’s human fears and cold shivers!

I still don’t understand the full measure of things being lost in this
dark pit of Hell in The Old Dark House. It’s a place that’s devoid
of human meaning and worth as shrunken heads are disembodied!
I hold on to what remains of a past shame, hovering high in the air
as unclean spirits of a crooked vision-circle wander aimlessly as a
Blind Sheppard leads our lost souls to the depressing Dark Land of
Nowhere and Nothingness!

Every October as the full moon rises high in the dark-sky evening,
a ritual fire is set by a local coven of witches to celebrate the advent
of All Hallows’ Eve. These witches know well the power and evil of
The Old Dark House. Their burnt offerings and black magic spells
echo hauntingly as Hell’s own fury is unearthed, challenging all
things virtuous in mankind’s existence and in God’s world of beauty,
hope, kindness, and light.

These evil images of black magic and witchcraft haunted my sleep
entire. I couldn’t sleep at all before dawn. I constantly sense now
an awakening madness in my soul, as if it comes from hidden graves
yet to be uncovered. Images and bad memories of The Old Dark House
push me now toward the opening of unknown tombs. I can actually
now smell Death’s Sulphur-burnt flesh!

Doors begin to rustle behind me as I hear loud footsteps of a pin
echoing deep in my mind. The echo shatters any illusions I have
of human sanity and forgiveness. I feel the sheer horror and begin
suffocating as the stale air is trapped in each breath I take!  

I sit up now—immediately confused, looking directly at a lonely
and empty Black Void that goes on and on and on—to infinity!

Cell doors in the house basement were always closed tight with
rusted iron links bound by heavy chains. As a poor child alone in
this house with other condemned children, there were nice rooms
upstairs that were always barred and shut to us as we suffered in
the filthy basement below. In Lucifer’s Hell!

I recall now too, in my memory, a gallery of special portraits in
The Old Dark House, which formed a ghastly mosaic of pure evil.
These portraits were of key human disciples of Lucifer who had served
him well through the ages. All of these images were grotesque and evil
when taken as a whole.

What did I learn? Evil is what Evil is! And Evil does what Evil does!

I’m free now from the eternal curse of The Old Dark House. I escaped
this mansion of the macabre as a young man and found my soul path
to Almighty God and stepped into His holy light of forgiveness and
redemption! 

As a very old man now, I sleep and dream a lot. Usually my dreams, 
thank goodness, are pleasant as I draw toward the end of my mortal
existence here on earth.

Yet, despite all the good things in my life now, during October of
each year, as All Hallows’ Eve cometh closer in the deep recesses
of my mind—I remember clearly that the ground floor of The Old
Dark House always had these frigid-cold wind gusts that spoke 
chillingly to one’s very soul. As young kids we would run upstairs
in this evil house to hear the “Demons of the Night” moan and cry!

Old Hob always had a way to speak to all of us as kids in His House!

Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid, and Gary Bateman
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 7, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

Together As One

Together As One
To dream as one.
When we dream we dream as one. When we laugh we laugh as one. We have a life 
together that compliments one another. We have a love that is like no other it’s as 
one. We reach for the stars and look for the moon. We support and care for one 
another on our journeys as our journeys cross paths.
We listen with excitement to each other’s dreams. To understand and encourage 
comes from the heart. Knowing with certainty that we deserve the love we give and 
receive as we are as one. What is wonderful for one is so for the other for our life 
path is the same. Knowing one so well is to know one’s self without a doubt.
Dreams that come together both big and small shared by knowing hearts that want 
the same want are as one. A love so strong can feel and guide with the stars and 
moon. Set in motion a force together nothing can sever but blessed be a dream 
together as one!
Dream, laugh, and love we do as one for we became one. Together we reach for the 
stars and the moon as we share the paths we take. Our journey takes us many 
directions to which we share our delight. A journey worth taking is a journey worth 
sharing…sharing as one!
                                                                                   Debbie Knapp


Copyright © Debbie Knapp | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative | |

Let Her Dream

She'd smile sometimes in that rocking chair
I'd wonder what was going through her mind
Sometimes joking with her about going cruising
Radio blasting, and she'd laugh
Get a six pack, Peggy, and we'll put the top down
I'd watch her eyes light up and she'd be back there
Doctors say it won't be long
But for a while, Peggy was a girl again
So let her dream
Let her dream of days long past, memory fading
Childhood fantasies, little girl laughter
Let her dream
Hey! How's my girl, ready to go
Big smile and a “Yeah” then fade off
So let her dream.
Stopped in one day and they told me Peggy's gone
Life's too short no matter what the years
Said a prayer, shed a tear and asked Our Lord
Please let her dream.

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative | |

Always a Dream

A little fairy princess one day sits resting on a most beautiful sunflower,
And magically she begins stretching her wings for anticipatory flight
While capturing a vision assortment of most bright flying colors, 
Of one gentle and soothing rainbow promise—a shining and a light to delight;
As the ground begins to tremble and crumble underneath her tiny feet,
She takes flight on her splendid little wings—quite magnificent to behold
Through the colors of mist and the veil of magic she sees a bright sparkling shine, 
And then all becomes clear—she sees gold, and even more gold on the horizon
Radiantly gleaming in front of her very eyes and charming her senses entire.

Then a most curious little green man with curved ears pointing heavenwards 
And possessing remarkably strange and yet soft mesmerizing green eyes, 
Presents himself both kindly and boldly to the little fairy princess in person; 
He jumps right in the pot alongside her dancing a jig to his heart's content,
And the princess shines all colors of love and warmth over him under the mist 
Of a most dazzling and enchanting dream to behold, know, and cherish.

With this the little green man reveals his true nature to his new found princess,
And with a most proud alacrity bearing a quaint princely nature, he declares:
 
“Me Darlin’ little princess so near and so dear to Me own little heart,”
“You must know I’m your Leprechaun always obedient from this very start,”
“At this moment most precious Me knows you’ve captured Me little heart,”
“And with this you’ve captured too Me overflown’ Pot of Gold now in part,”
“With Me undying love and devotion to you always carried in Me little heart.”

With this the Leprechaun and his little fairy princess danced a mystical old
Irish jig together while singin’ and laughin’ both so gently and contentedly;
All the while his soft green eyes and her sensual eyes azure locked in a 
Most romantic gaze and affection when they began kissing one another, 
And brushing inside and both sharing heartfelt fluttering emotions and a
Swelling with a deep beauty and a most passionate love in Heaven born.

With the genuine passion-felt affection and the romantic kisses exchanged,
The Leprechaun and his little fairy princess began to transform themselves
Right before each other’s very eyes, and Behold!!—in a quick moment, the
Leprechaun became a most handsome and sweet loving young prince, and 
His little fairy princess, in a flash of blinding light, lost her wings and changed 
Into a most radiant and quite beautiful young princess with long-flowing 
Beautiful black hair, and a very lovely smile as resplendent and sweet as any
Angel in Heaven above.

Now the handsome young prince and his beautiful young princess were an 
Elegant and most wonderful couple to behold and cherish—kind, smiling, and 
Deeply in love.
 
The young prince with his Irish blessings began sparklin’ and sprinklin’ star dust 
All over his young princess and they both lived happily ever after with pronounced
Passion and love, emotion and devotion, kindness and charity, vision and purpose, 
Forever to their end on Earth and later by the Lord God himself in Heaven. 

Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights 
Reserved (October 29, 2014) (Narrative poem poetic form)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative | |

A romantic dream

This world can be cruel 
and people unkind 
but love is a jewel 
Each of us can find 
Desperately lonely 
He's feeling alone 
The explorer is searching 
For someone of his own .

He'll search forever 
If that is what he must do 
To build a life together 
With the love he feels is true
Through disease and sickness
Heartbreak and pain 
Once his heart is given 
In love he'll remain.

So he travels the oceans 
Across borders and skies 
Following his heart 
For its there all truth lies
Time has no meaning 
Forever has no face 
Be it determination or dreaming
He roams place to place .

If his heart is to be sated 
He'll find what was meant to be 
So long fate has waited 
To find love eternally 
Then they'll build a new life 
Into the country they'll flee
A simple man and his new wife 
Escaping life's misery .

In the midst of a forest 
A new log cabin they erect 
Building a new life of beauty
Built on love and respect .
Families will grow strong here 
True love will thrive
They will work together
For the rest of their lives .
True friends are welcome 
To visit our idyllic scene 
We'll even help them 
If they wish to share in our dream.


For any poem#17
Sponsor Poet destroyer A

Copyright © DARREN WATSON | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative | |

Faraway Dream

Thorns tearing as a soul cries out 
For a magic star to appear in the Heavens
Lost in the silver of the moon face 
alone inside a chandelier 
star lighting crystals a rainbow of love
In each teardrop one star falls
Within thoughts dust a trail 
falling water sparkling over jewels glistening 
in each and every wish granted
Shimmering silver treasure 
falling in love you are so beautiful 
sweetly beyond this world and the next 
Twinkling behind dazzling sparkles
jewels of everlasting happiness
bliss will be the joy it brings 
in never ending beauty sings 
Each a warm fluttering inside wings
blushing ruby red lips kissing desire 
deeply turning keys passion hotly breathes
Warm with a fire burning bright
flames openly embracing you love
softly and tenderly sighs sweetly
Touching this dream a gentle warm glow
holding the heart open 
to one stunning beauty of a queen

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative | |

Awful Dreams

    In a small café, customers stream through the door. I jot down orders that pile up as I wonder what’s happening in the back kitchen. The patrons are looking more and  more displeased. I scurry table to table filling glasses running endlessly dry and simultaneously noticing the increasing number of empty napkin holders.  Where’s the manager? Why is there nobody here but me? The order slips are almost gone. And now plates of food begin appearing in the back so quickly that I cannot recall to which table each one goes. I’m running and running, the proverbial dumb chicken but with its head still attached and throbbing! I hear the clamor of “Where’s our meal?” and more people keep entering through the door.
    Now I find myself in a plain white-walled classroom of my school. The clock on the wall ticks on and on as students trickle through the door.  Students sit staring as I search a pile of papers for the attendance sheet. The papers fall and I just know my lesson plan is lost among the scattered sheets. I bend to pick them up and my brain is a fog. What am I to teach? I sift through the disarray as ticking seconds become minutes, and a silence pierces me as I view the stony faces before me. I try to mouth words, but they simply won’t come. I can almost feel the fidgeting of the students as my upper lip begins to twitch. I know they are thinking me an imbecile. As I stand dumb stricken, time is fleeing, and more students are entering the room. . . . . 
    I awaken to the loud incessant ticking of the clock beside my bed. I’ll rise to greet my day, get into my car and meld with a stream of other people driving to their everyday jobs. There will be days that I encounter the cheerless or dissatisfied faces of strangers or even of family and friends. There will be times that I hasten frantically, feeling all is futile as bills pile up or work overwhelms me, and there are sure to be times when I will feel at an utter loss as I live vicariously the nightmarish woes which sometimes my husband must confront.  How grateful I am for ordinary days whose hours of normalcy are heaven compared to the mind boggling misery endured throughout this world.  And how thankful I am for ordinary days that greatly outnumber a few awful dreams!

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative | |

The Meadow

I'm always there, in that place that doesn't mean a thing to anyone but me. A far away 
meadow where I don't have to hide all the happiness of a young girls heart. One that has 
been ripped apart, so many times. I stare at all the beautiful flowers and trees of my 
surroundings and let the wind gently rustle my hair. I close my eyes taking in all these 
wonderful things, as I lie on the cool grass. My body mixes in with the air, and I'm blowing 
past natures statues and creatures galore. I stop at the edge of a nearby pond, my body 
floating softly to the ground as an eagles feather. I look deep into the sparkling image that 
makes me who I am. I gracefully touch the water with my fingertips and let the water 
shimmer like the stars. A white unicorn grazing near the freshly harvested hay, called out to 
me. It approached me as I stood, and nuzzled my arm. I brushed its silk coat and burrowed 
my face against her cool cheek. This is the reason I come to this place. To interact with the 
things not known or believed in their world. Its just my own, my sound and the behind 
scenes of my eyes. It's calm and peaceful, which their world is far from. I'm the only one with 
the doorway to this meadow. I love going there, it's like a blanket that warms its comfort 
over me when I need it the most. And when I get there, my feelings are a boat sailing to 
sea, leaving me filled with perfect serenity. I'll always be there, till the end of all life, and I 
know this lovely meadow will never be replaced.

Copyright © Audrey Hays | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |

Playing Make-Believe


I have many happy dreams of my childhood life,
      Mother and father and grandma made it special;
Playing make-believe was something I really loved,
            I  could do that for hours and hours and hours.

Father made me a table and chairs for tea parties,
      I  even had a cabinet for dishes donated by mother;
Pretty dishes that I dreamt of having myself one day,
            And now I have lovely vintage dishes in my home.

                              (I like to set the table with mixed-up dishes)

Grandma provided some of her old clothes and jewels, 
      Now I have a passion for vintage clothing and jewelry;
I adored my dolls and still I have many of them on shelves,
            They used to sit on chairs listening to my stories.

Mother said, "that girl sure can tell stories and stories,"
      I could ramble on for hours and hours and hours;
And the bud of a writer was blooming in childhood play,
            And now I write poems and stories gossamer.

                                (I write of my childhood dreams and my life)

It soon became clear that I loved animals of all kinds,
      Carrying them home for repairs and tender loving care;
Father said, " she will either be a vet or work in a zoo,"
            I became an advocate for animal rights and protection.

Always I have loved cats and my first came at Christmas,
      Snowball was her name and I dreamt of owning all kinds;
A steady succession of cats have brought me happiness,
           My old fat cat reminds me of a childhood stuffed toy.

                              (My kitten needs to grow into her big ears)

Of couse I dreamt of meeting my prince charming,
      And I did,  the moment I saw him I knew love;
My heart and soul is his forever and for all eternity,
            Our love is like a stream that goes on and on.

I once had a good job with the welfare department,
      They sent me to Hudson Bay to help the Inuit;
That work was so rewarding and filled me with pride,
             But the child in me had dreamt of much more.

                           (I loved the beauty of the north not the poverty)

I never dreamt that I would ever become a nurse,
      But I am and this job brings me happiness;
Helping the elderly has become my mission in life,
            A frail hand in mine brings me tranquility. 

So much of the child who was me remains,
     That little child dreaming and rambling on and on;
She still exits in my soul and she still dreams,
            Even sometimes she plays make-believe.

                             (That girl dreaming , she now dreams poems)

____________________________
August 11, 2015

Narrative 

Submitted to the contest,  New or Old 5
Sponsor, Eve Roper

First Place 

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative | |

Heavy Footprints Of Love

the sorrow lies in the reverberation 
of wanting you ….always wanting you…..
it taunts me like a starving wretch
it echoes in the corners of my mind….
endless…..endless……endless…..

your name on my lips and soft on my tongue
red and raw and pulsing with such blatant desire
how could the whole world not feel this fire ?

love is much stronger than rampant lust alone….
(it could break through steel….this love I‘ve known)

it rides in silver wings of angels in the sky
stretching supplication toward the heart of weeping
pleading on pristine white clouds for respite 
as it plunges into the whirlpool of want 
                                              and on tiptoes
it came in….treading so delicately on this tattered heart
rose petal soft …..but completely destructive
battered in the need of needing you….

please….this love is much too powerful to withstand 
wrapped in want that leaves me naked in the rain….
and I want to hide from the stone pelts rising
the punch of gut hurt heat that comes (inevitably)
when its so far away that no cry on wind could catch it
oceans betwixt and blue is an enemy….

where are you my love as I wake in the night….
are you sleeping? do you dream of me? 
I dreamt of you….and I woke up weeping….
empty arms and solemn seconds ticking by in anguish

I want you….just in one kiss to your lips 
though one would never suffice
for I am greedy, my love and it cannot be quenched
with a single kiss….(could one kiss ever last a lifetime)

I am a beggar riding a pegasus
eager and white as muscles ripple against a black sky
her wings soar effortlessly
and I am flying toward you….yet…I never do reach you…
hijacked we were….in time and we are prisoners…

a little like the dream one has of running…
but standing motionless
frustration beseeches me and then consumes me
into a mass of messy “what do I do”

can you feel my need as it tears through me
raging and wanton….completely blatant

each day seems a thousand with your hands not about me
teasing my skin until I cannot breathe but to cry out your name
would it in some way repay you and describe this love….?

I am you…..you are me…..in a mirror its your eyes I see….

forgive me if I repeat myself….

the sorrow lies in the reverberation 
of wanting you ….always wanting you…..






 


Copyright © Christie Moses | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative | |

Shaken to the Core

Her sad eyes and tear stained face evoked such ambivalent feelings;
I could barely stand to look upon the half-naked child in front of me. 
She turned her face toward me with a pained look begging for help.
Maternal feelings welled up within for this pitiful tangled haired waif. 

Gaping in abject horror, I observed the orphan's frail arms wrapped 
tenaciously around a dead rat and held close to her dirt smeared body. 
I sensed this sewer 'pet rat' had been her only source of comfort in life. 
The one thing she turned to, when sad or hungry, would never again be.
 
While resisting the urge to gather her up in my arms and dry her tears, 
still I desired to sympathize... whispering, "Don't cry honey, it'll be OK". 
I lied, knowing it wouldn't.  Besides what could I do with so little to give. 
I turned and walked away not wanting to face my growing sense of lack.

I awoke with a start, shuddering, deeply disturbed and troubled to tears.
Sometimes the vivid images, like a horror movie returning to haunt me,
make me question, "Who is that wretched child so forlorn and dejected?
The memories shake my very soul, the hidden message still eluding me. 

Copyright © Charlene McCutcheon | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative | |

- The Old Dark House -


This tale of “The Old Dark House” is one that’s replete with a
most horrid sense of pure evil and macabre, and is worth being
retold each year during the deep-dark hours of All Hallows’ Eve
before the chime of midnight, when the thin veil separating the
land of the living and the dead momentarily dissolves, bringing
both worlds together until the break of dawn.

Beware of this house’s mythical and ethereal presence in the
shadow dreams of the innocent, and be forewarned to never
conjure its image in your unconscious mind. If so conjured,
The Old Dark House shall become an unending reality to the
innocent and uninformed, and on All Hallows’ Eve, the evil
“Demons of Hell” shall come for your very soul!  

The Old Dark House is one that is bathed and cursed in utter
hellfire and damnation by Lucifer himself. It’s one that creeps a
chill and frozen reminder into the very frame of its nasty, putrid
structure. It shall guarantee you the worst possible nightmares as
your very soul cries in agony and pleads unrelentingly for mercy!

Your nightmares are, in turn, amplified and born into the very
structure of this house with ivy creeping as you palpably sense
the wretched ice-cold fingers of Hell opening the doors to the
cavernous basement were evil shadows of goblins, ghosts,
ghouls, vampires, and werewolves parade openly from past lives.

Everyone suffering the curse of the damned was captured here
when they visited, becoming prisoners to the darkness of true evil,
far away from the light, goodness, and eternal mercy of Almighty
God Himself.

Six generations of my family actually dwelled beneath the rafters
of The Old Dark House where demonic forces were constantly in
play—as hot sparks burned the tongues of lost souls who cried in
agony, and their world would enter the vortex of darkness whilst
blood-curdling screams could be distinctly heard during the night
on All Hallows’ Eve. Ghostly images would appear out of nowhere
supported by the frightening ferocity of Lucifer who is the true dark
presence and ultimate tempter of mankind!

The horror I felt as a young boy trapped in this existence is truly
unimaginable. The image of The Old Dark House still haunts my
adult consciousness, even today, as I would shudder in the cold
night-sweat of sleep to purge its eternal presence from my mind!

Cruel pictures adorn the hell-hole hall of imagination as a gruesome
and unbelievable power underneath wields its vice-grip of hideous
words, whispering in the coldest of ice without the living being able
to breathe in a cloud of mercy and forgiveness, within an ancient
language of evil and evil-doings that twist the shape of words to
suit one’s human fears and cold shivers!

I still don’t understand the full measure of things being lost in this
dark pit of Hell in The Old Dark House. It’s a place that’s devoid
of human meaning and worth as shrunken heads are disembodied!
I hold on to what remains of a past shame, hovering high in the air
as unclean spirits of a crooked vision-circle wander aimlessly as a
Blind Sheppard leads our lost souls to the depressing Dark Land of
Nowhere and Nothingness!

Every October as the full moon rises high in the dark-sky evening,
a ritual fire is set by a local coven of witches to celebrate the advent
of All Hallows’ Eve. These witches know well the power and evil of
The Old Dark House. Their burnt offerings and black magic spells
echo hauntingly as Hell’s own fury is unearthed, challenging all
things virtuous in mankind’s existence and in God’s world of beauty,
hope, kindness, and light.

These evil images of black magic and witchcraft haunted my sleep
entire. I couldn’t sleep at all before dawn. I constantly sense now
an awakening madness in my soul, as if it comes from hidden graves
yet to be uncovered. Images and bad memories of The Old Dark House
push me now toward the opening of unknown tombs. I can actually
now smell Death’s Sulphur-burnt flesh!

Doors begin to rustle behind me as I hear loud footsteps of a pin
echoing deep in my mind. The echo shatters any illusions I have
of human sanity and forgiveness. I feel the sheer horror and begin
suffocating as the stale air is trapped in each breath I take!  

I sit up now—immediately confused, looking directly at a lonely
and empty Black Void that goes on and on and on—to infinity!

Cell doors in the house basement were always closed tight with
rusted iron links bound by heavy chains. As a poor child alone in
this house with other condemned children, there were nice rooms
upstairs that were always barred and shut to us as we suffered in
the filthy basement below. In Lucifer’s Hell!

I recall now too, in my memory, a gallery of special portraits in
The Old Dark House, which formed a ghastly mosaic of pure evil.
These portraits were of key human disciples of Lucifer who had served
him well through the ages. All of these images were grotesque and evil
when taken as a whole.

What did I learn? Evil is what Evil is! And Evil does what Evil does!

I’m free now from the eternal curse of The Old Dark House. I escaped
this mansion of the macabre as a young man and found my soul path
to Almighty God and stepped into His holy light of forgiveness and
redemption! 

As a very old man now, I sleep and dream a lot. Usually my dreams, 
thank goodness, are pleasant as I draw toward the end of my mortal
existence here on earth.

Yet, despite all the good things in my life now, during October of
each year, as All Hallows’ Eve cometh closer in the deep recesses
of my mind—I remember clearly that the ground floor of The Old
Dark House always had these frigid-cold wind gusts that spoke 
chillingly to one’s very soul. As young kids we would run upstairs
in this evil house to hear the “Demons of the Night” moan and cry!

Old Hob always had a way to speak to all of us as kids in His House!








Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid, and Gary Bateman
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 7, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

My Most Intimate Dream



Reality has surpassed my most intimate dream In intensity, in passion, in love No need ever to dream again Want to bask in the glow from above To drink in the pleasures of the mind Never wanting this feeling to desert me To vanish, to slip away To know this passion will never desert me Is the ultimate joy of my heart To feel the intensity of your love To know that we never will part My most intimate dream is you © Jack Ellison 2014

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative | |

In My Dream

In my dream,
I saw His face,
the peace so real,
His gift of Grace.

He asked me gently,
do you believe,
and are you ready,
when it's time to leave?

Do you take time,
to bless the poor,
do you sit and fuss,
or are you a doer?

Do you call my name,
am I your best friend,
and when others curse me,
my name do you defend?

Are you kind,
do you wear a smile,
and when someone is in need,
do you go that extra mile.

Do you love me,
from the bottom of your heart,
if the answer is yes,
then from your side, I will never part.

Copyright © Christy Hardy | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative | |

LIES

Oh, I'd seen the sea in many ways
I heard so many lies coming from he
darkness is a playground 
for the lost and never found,

Lies is in his eyes
Lies is in his soul
Lies is all he knows 
I'd seen better days 
but that was sometime ago ,

Dying is the place of grace 
dying is to rest your head 
dying is the grave 
that holds your name
its the history of who you are,

Life was slow and sad
but Dark Angel was always glad
when someone was made
I was crying alone 
but again this is his darken throne,

He is the angel of all lies
He loves to make me scream
and give me a life of darken dreams
He loves to tell me stories 
that will make me weep,

Dark Angel is so mean 
I watch the sea turn red
I seen so many painful things
but most of all 
I would hear the lies of the dark side.

Poetic Judy Emery (c)

Copyright © Judy Emery | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

My Mom

Dear God, how did You sleep.
I had a dream and it made me weep.
Did You see it, it was so real.
I think it might even help me heal.

Anyway that dream last night 
sure was kind of cool.
Except for the times  
I acted the fool.

I was a whole lot younger
then I am now.
I was talking with my mom
and I was wondering how?

We sat at the kitchen table
and she had on that grin. 
The one that always told me.
I know where you've been.

I could talk to her 
about anything I ever did.
Not only when I grew up
But since I was a little kid.

She was the only one
on this whole entire earth.
Who made me feel like I belonged.
Who gave me a sense of worth.

We talked for hours.
We laughed and we cried.
I didn't leave the table 
till the day that she died.

It was a roller coaster ride 
of every high and low I could feel.
Then Lord You got out the projector
and then You put on the reel.

We watched home movies
and most of it was good.
You would fast forward
those parts that you should.

There was this one scene
where Jesus had a part.
Remember when I asked for Him 
to come into my heart?

On a scale of 1 to 10
I would give it a ten.
But there was this one time 
I don't remember when??

When I asked for Jesus to come into my heart
He walked right in like He belonged.
But what I didn't know then 
was that He walked in with my mom.

Copyright © Allan Granstrom | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative | |

The Poetry of Hope

Every once in a while I lose myself
But I’m glad the dreams are coming back
I feel the thrill filling me
I feel my heartbeat rising
I see redemption rising in the days ahead
I still realise once again that I’ve earned another chance to begin anew
Still glad that it’s early in life
...and I can apply the lessons I’ve learnt before I’m twenty five

Phew! Boy, my heart’s beating fast
I shall no longer look at my past
For the past is just that
...opportunities gone with the wind, never to come back
I look towards the days ahead
I spend today to dream of the future I intend
For I know now tomorrow is bound to come
Today was but a dream ten years back
Had I realised then how soon today would come
I’d already be rich riding on the wings of independence
I pledge never to make that mistake again

Today I shall live like I plan
...and not like my neighbour Mr. Wright
For I know not how much he earns to spend the way he does
Today I shall not live like the society around me
For I don’t know whether they think ahead 
...of the days that are bound to be raining with storms of emergency
I pledge to live as befits me
I plan to live today in a way that enables me to save
For now I know I was right ten years ago
But I hadn’t the courage to follow a route of my own
Now I’m determined ten years to come...
I’ll be riding on the unicorn of delight

I pay no care for what those here and there may air
I wanna be happy today in my moderate ways
Knowing all too well I’m headed where
There, in the future where my heavy dreams will float in the air
I’m no hater so for the rest of the players here
I wish all the goodwill and good wishes my subconscious can air

Copyright © Wiseton Prins | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative | |

THE ART OF MY PAINS


The art of my pains 
is in the blood stain ink of me
while I write day and night 
to give insight of me that bleeds
while the world reads ,
 
this is my own battle cry's 
that are left in my mind 
I see all the dead souls around me
while I dream my darken pains
of the days of rain that hasn't gone away,
 
I was born in a painful storm
the memories stayed with me 
oh how the pains had cut me deep 
the words that hurt made bigger storms 
I hold my breath like I was dead
thinking it would all end ,
 
I now realize as I got older 
you cannot fix anyone 
that don't want the help 
so why in the hell did this life paint me
and put me down into a devastated storm 
the past has away to paint my life gray 
this is the art of me that bleeds .
 
Poetic Judy Emery (c)

Copyright © Judy Emery | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

Sweet Abiding Pets

I believe in Heaven, and I believe dogs, as well as humans, go there. I had my own dog 
once upon a time, a Miniature Eskimo named Ollyver. Each night I’d find him waiting on the 
other side of the door to jump up into my arms when I came home from work. When he got 
older, I was forced to give him up, and I’d always wondered what became of him.  

One night I dreamed I awoke to find him by my pillow, staring at me with his wistful brown 
eyes. So vivid was that dream that my soul flooded with joy as I gathered him up and felt 
his soft fur against my arms and face. It was the realest dream I’d ever experienced. He 
would have been quite old by then, so I like to believe he came back that night on his way to 
Heaven to tell me goodbye. 

I imagine Ollyver, as well as my other precious deceased pet, a cat named Callie, in that 
bright new place, sitting by its Pearly gates, biding their time, waiting just for me! I hope one 
day, in the Hereafter, to gather those sweet pets of mine up into my arms! 

* This is an excerpt from a longer work which included another animal I called Church Dog, 
but I could not fit the whole narrative onto this page, so this is the part that tells about two 
pets that I lost. Andrea Dietrich

For Constance - a Rambling Poet's mini-blog contest: All Creatures Great And Small

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative | |

The Dreamer

If I dream a dream tonight
 too withered with shades of light
worried i will die from fright
 but too weary to see the sun
to sleep I go till dawn has won.
 
As I dream this dream tonight
transforming bones to shape the bite
howling at moonlight rays from afar
to but a dream I sleep unharmed.

To slumber and shake I rage
 as I paint this fiend of knight
lacking strength and will to fight
 the only dreaming I hope tonight.

As i fall through sands that quakes
holes of madness take my place
for no more horror in my delight
as this dream ends soon 
or yields my life.

As lightning strikes eyes of glass
vengefulness at bitter last
monster, demons all the gore
conquering the fear is yet a war.

Until the sadness of rain I was dry
not cool,not warm like nothing inside
now broken only to find
new love, built by my side.

To a spewer of moment I lye awake
true or false unaware what to make
I stand from window cold touch to the floor
with the bitter taste of morning sores 
left me to wonder if…
was it it a dream or was it more.

Copyright © Nikodu Blue | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative | |

when you wish

my pen this night
is weak
my thoughts though
strong are meek
my dreams are dreams
and that's all that they are
but until i make them come to life
they are as far away as the stars
stars at night are so numerous
i can not count
also are my dreams 
an unset amount
the stars twinkle and move across
my sky
and my dreams they shine
and delight my mind
one star that is present
it is my sun
my dream ever present 
is the only one
the sun it warms me
on winters day
my dream warms me
in various other ways
when the world turns
and my sun appears to go away
my dream is scattered
across the milky way
i count the stars
and dreams alike
beautiful visions
of my delight
but dreams are all they are
until i bring them life
a dawning star 
and bright day light
my heart and mind 
wish with all their might
that i would bring my dream
into the light
"I wish I may, I wish I might
have this wish I make tonight."
and with the rising of the sun
dream and star become as one

Copyright © john loving iii | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative | |

Forever And A Dream

Forever hold these words I say,
let them sleep your heart so deep.
Be you constant at my side, let
not emotions or feelings hide. Be
my conscience of desire, be the 
beating of this heart. Let the days
be forever long, the evenings soft
and nights alluring. Let us be in 
rhyme with love, sate ourselves
of skins sweet glow, pass the kiss
in honesty, and to the heart bliss
bestow. Take these words, take
them deep, for in my soul you
shall sleep. Forever and a dream
you shall always be.

Copyright © Daniel Cheeseman | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative | |

The Demon's Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror

This tale of “The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror”
lives on in the mountain village of Gpeth Tor in the outlying 
region of the “Dark Forbidden Forest” known for evil, death,
and lost souls. This tale passeth from generation to generation,
to the present, and still frightens all people who hear its grim
message as it sends an icy-cold chill that stabs the heart of one’s
holy eternal soul!

A young boy who just turned six years heard this tale so told
by both of his parents who shivered with a great palpable fear.
Their story of the Devil’s Demon of the Dark Forbidden Forest
mesmerized this young lad, giving him gruesome nightmares,
whereby the Devil’s Demon whispers cruelly to him in the 
darkest corners of his mind and in his deepest moments of sleep!

The young boy’s recurring nightmares show him running each
night deep into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest while both 
shouting and screaming his desire to see and to serve this foul
Demon of the Wild, while forsaking Almighty God in his thoughts!
This ghastly dream world each night is like morphine to his brain,
as this young boy suffers, feeling the chains of its merciless torment!

But this story of the boy is now 22 years ago as he’s progressed on
to manhood—driven to the very depths of depravity and insanity
as he witnesses nightly in his padded cell the evil actions of both
Ghouls and Ghosts who’d open up the graves of past rotting souls.
This insane young man now sings paeans with a fulsome alacrity
as he celebrates the shrill and haughty cry of the Devil’s Demon!

Does anyone really believe in happy fairy tales when Hell itself
corrupts the mind and spirit of the young and unsuspecting?

Does anyone believe a young fairy princess who kisses a frog
and says that the frog is now a dashing, noble prince?

Does anyone really understand and believe there are real monsters
who roam the maze of one’s mind crying now into a dark abyss,
while Goblins and Ghosts float freely robbing the living of breath?

The Dark Forbidden Forest of this evil lore does indeed exist, and
it lives freely in the dreams of young village children so frightened 
and terrified by the dark-demonic-visage of a bile-black-blooded 
Bogeyman who resurrects himself nightly in their true dreams of a 
sweet innocence in the place where scars are born every waking day,
as the lid of terror is lifted open, spewing legends and tales of the
macabre stealing the very life-force of heartbeats leading to Death! 

The local people of this legend in the village of Gpeth Tor speaketh 
freely of shrunken heads in large glass jars deep in the bowels of the
Forbidden Forest, where the threshold of pain and absolute madness
knows no bounds of moderation, and tortured beings and lost souls
cry out loudly as the Dark One takes his due while the broken bones
of those who remain are crossed—weighted so heavy like an anchor!

Invisible and evil forces at the Devil’s command have taken control
of the Forbidden Forest, where nasty beasts with a rabid blood thirst
for torture live in the very cells of the chained and forgotten souls who 
have lost their way to Almighty God and His Angels in Heaven above.

Grotesque stories still abound to the present time in this century of the
perverse and maledictory nature of this dark forest that borders so close
to the ancient village of Gpeth Tor—of what can happen to those who
dare to speak of the unspeakable, as Specters of the Undead feast upon 
the heartbeats of innocent victims until they are fully consumed, and
their souls are condemned to an unending damnation and agony!

It’s been so many years since I graced my presence again in this ancient
“Village of the Damned.” Mea Culpa! Forgive me! A difficult journey!
I’ve now lost my way into the light and to the holy path to God Himself.

Gpeth Tor and its people live on into this twenty-first century as it is.
The frightful memories and presence of the Forbidden Forest are real,
and are still devouring the very living thoughts and ideals of the young.
Many moons later the sacrilege of this reality still lurks and crawls now
beneath one’s own human flesh as the divine answers to “God’s Truth”
lay, locked far away in the depths of Lucifer’s Kingdom here on Earth!

Gary Bateman, Anne-Lise Andresen, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 20, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2016

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INTO A DAYDREAM



Our lady cashier, Karen, daydreamed again right past me in a nearby grocery , her fingers fumbling over my selection of cold cuts, bagels,and lemon powder while a haze seemed to grasp her thoughts under some frozen moment of autistic innocence like a crystallized trance. So I followed her inside a dreamscape while Karen narrated this countless parade of jays hovering above a sea of orange dahlias . In a flash, she mumbled about Einstein, asking this man, " Oh, did your growth hormone intake work based on relativity's law?" Gently, from a distance , she relayed how Joplin wept, tending children in a monastery--- an abstract recording through Karen's uncut version of life's tinges. Faltering in her own universe, she lisped a melody, "If this were truly heaven, then death would be it's own reward." And this lady gently fixed her tidy uniform, then peered into my eyes ...unseen by anyone except myself in the din of late afternoon. " Oh it's you, "Will that be paid in cash, through coupons or credit card?" Smiling, I gave some money and walked away... moved by this rare instance of naturalnesss. 11/28/2016 The Best of James Tate Contest..Space Cadet

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016

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My Husband's Dream

Everything is so still as the morning slowly comes,
from afar, the sound of a babbling brook is heard.
Perched  high up, I wait for daylight to surround these peaceful woods,
as I sat listening to  the dew dripping from the trees.
What a beautiful place to be, on such a cold November morn,
the first day of Deer Season has finally come.
Shhh, listen, strange sounds coming from behind, as I turn to look,
I can't believe my eyes, he is big, so big, sniffing, and grunting
he comes closer.
Counting the points, yes, ten I see, trembling, I take my rifle
in hand, zero in,  he is mine, monstrous rack..
The echo rings through the woods, perfect shot, he is down,
shaking I climb to the ground to take a look at this BOSS of the Pines.
My first hunt of the season, and what a deer, one for the record.

I have two and a half months of this to listen to......
and this is his dream every night, and I hear it every day.

Copyright © Christy Hardy | Year Posted 2007