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Prose Poetry Dream Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Dream

These Prose Poetry Dream poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Dream. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry Dream poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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A Dream

Strands of thick strawberry lace
Cascade and kindle together over a
Serene and still, velvety muse;
Soft sensations of quiet breath
Brush against every line within the frame;
A luminous comma poses
In an eternal gilt about her face;
Every flicker of her unseen candlelight 
Reflects a somnolent kiss
Upon the gazer's nodding lids.
Magically, the mind reacquaints
A taste and scent of red and yellow ocher, 
Along with the sound of a swoosh,
That permeates a freshly painted room;
Soon, the eyes open to a distant, familiar recall,
When two sleepwalking, kingly eras became one;
Every step blending each image
With a different pallet in time,
And while touching overlapping 
Textures, the mixed mediums are forever
Imprinted upon the memories of the two
Motionless figures;
The connoisseur, while he slumbers
And the sleeper, as she awakens 
From her symbiotic dream.

Contest: "A Dream"
Theme: Based on the painting: "Resting", by Victor Gabriel Gilbert

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My Chance

	High coffered ceilings, 
	an odd filtered light, 
	mote constellations adrift,
	rooms enfilade... 

	In the room at the far end
	— the kitchen, it was — 
	I met my dead grandmother,
	her crooked corpse 
	bothering a hot stove, 
	boiling up a pot of her 
	awful, brown, sticky soup.
	She turned to me, as if to ask,
	“Do you want a bowl?” 

	Startled, I turned to leave
	(She was a ghost, after all...).
	Her boney hand, 
	still holding a soup ladle,
	brushed my right shoulder. 
	I turned. She whispered, 
	“You had your chance.”

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I Like to Walk Alone

I like to walk alone

I like to walk alone
In the desert...
By the light of
The stars....
And the moon......
A man.......being a man...
Alone...and comfortable
In his own skin....

I dig a hip hole....
Yes, the sand is doesn't remember me...
And that's as it should be....
Laying down and looking up
At all the gems and jewels
God has given us.....
To dream that dream again
Of you.....
And the day you wore that
Empire dress...
When we were just kids...
Funny what a man
Thinks about as
He closes his eye's
To sleep.

Details | Prose Poetry | |



At the entrance of evening, the melting sun slowly drips
     over the tree top horizon;
Beckoning the moon to peak through the opaque shades
     As lazy winds play tag with the heated night.

The staccato symphony of horny crickets pervade the scene
     Piercing the stoical still silence with melodic sounds.
Weighed eyes and muffled ears grow weary…
     Retreating the scene and its sounds.

Sleep, the stranger of the day, threatens familiarity:
     None can avoid her acquaintance.
Unable to complete, I slip into the twilight of dreams
     Knowing not if I shall greet tomorrow here.

God willing and Earth’s water baptize my eyes, maybe,
     Just maybe, I will rise to fight another day.

So in this twilight dim, I pray my childhood
     Prayer to Him:

   " Now I lay me down to sleep.
    I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
    If I should die before I wake;
   I pray the Lord my soul to take."

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Mocking The Raven

When I was young, I would mock the raven,
Never dreaming her harsh call was a cry
Across the water to the castle of her brother
King Bram, the Raven, ruler of the British Isles.
Never did I dream of the destruction 
That would follow this desperate plea
Sent upon the wings of a blackened crow.

When I was young, I thought childhood
Would last forever; secure in my father's care,
Content in the loving arms of my mother,
Never did I dream of the devastating war
That would follow this messenger of our doom
Carried across the seas to inflict upon our land
A war of vengeful purpose and contempt.

When I was young, peace prevailed in our land;
Our King was just and beloved by his people.
Then came a marriage, an alliance between
Ireland and England.  Queen Branwen;
Discontent, lonely, hungry for power,
Hated by her court for the intrigue
And bloody sanctions imposed upon all
Who did not obey her sanctimonious whim;
Queen Branwen, beautiful daughter of England.

When I was young, I stood beneath
The blasted pine, looking up at the black bird
As she screamed out her litany of wrongs,
Watching as she lifted her wings to soar across the water.
My father, general of Ireland, fell upon the shores
Fighting to repel Bran's vengeful warriors;
My mother, condemned by her beauty
Fell among the vanquished women.

When I was young, I did not fear the raven;
Now I live in the court of the Raven King,
He, who conquered my people for naught as his sister
Queen Branwen, the White Raven, took her life
And walks now, shriven and pale, among the graves
Of the fallen warriors; forever singing her lament
Of sorrow and regret; far too late, far too late.

When I was young, I believed in the goodness of men.
Now I am old; my raven hair is streaked with silver.
The voice of Bran echoes through this palace
As he cries out exhortations to his conquering soldiers;
As he cries for peace and fellowship in his land.
When I was young, I would mock the raven;
Now I am old and have harnessed the power
Of the raven's call.  I cry to my people for vengeance;
I wait for their rescue, as I haunt the halls of the Raven King.

[Loosely based on the legend of Bran, the Raven King of England 
and Branwen, his sister, who was married to the king of Ireland.  
It is said that King Bran speaks still in England through the cries of the raven.]

{by Deb Radke -- written for the contest 'Among the Dead'}

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Hunting for Spring

We’re so tired, of winter’s, snow and ice,
For too long, we have been, within our house, winter’s price.
Why won’t you come, to visit us, and sing?
Where we’ll be touched, by your sun, so heartily, beaming.
Oh where! Oh where! Are you, our sweet Spring?
We need you, so very longingly!

We saw you peak out, for just one day.
Then you quickly, and suddenly, ran so very far away.
So we did a Rain Dance, and danced in the cold.
Without your shinning brightness, all we got, was cold snow!
Oh where! Oh where! Did you go, our sweet Spring?
Why did you run, so very far, with your blessing!

We sought the Groundhog, that he ask you, to come back.
But he was burrowed, deep beneath, all the snow, and ice pack.
He wouldn’t open his door, as we knocked, true and hard.
He refused, to even come out, as he denied the pleas, of this bard!
Oh where! Oh where! Are you, our precious, sweet Spring?
We beseech thee, to please come back, to me!

The trees want to bloom; their sprouts are ready, to collect.
Our hearts are there beside them, under this winter, and it’s effects.
We’ll sit here, dreaming of the beauty, only you can affect.
We’re hopeful, can’t wait, but now at March’s mercy, and redirect.
Oh where! Oh where! Did you go, our sweet Spring?
Our hearts and souls want to be warmed by thee!

What? Dragon and I see you! We rejoice my friend!
Our hearts, like the trees, are beginning, to warm again.
The snow is leaving; all is greening, before our eyes.
We beg you, to please stay here, solidly, close by our side.
Oh where! Oh where! Did you go, our sweet Spring?
At last! It doesn’t matter! We have you back, and all that you bring!

Written for my good Friend Jack Ellison.

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Here is a story about myself

My mind went on a trip one sunny day
In that trance I was president
Papa was proud of me
Mama felt pleased too
“You are a natural leader” said my neighbor
“I knew you would make it, it’s not a fluke” commented another
Frenemies surfaced in haste

My face was on TV
I was a president on the move 
Ain’t nobody stood in my way
I travelled far and wide
My term was short
I had to make an impact
Etch my name in the hall of fame
History had to have my name

Time is a march and the powerful are drummers
He who drums loudest leads the song
His life is lavish and his abode magnificent
Look who is drumming
Would they be drumming if I weren’t president?
Are they friends or foes?
Only time will tell
Then there was a reality check.
The chimera was over

I am just who I am
The same old nobody

Details | Prose Poetry | |



                             Yesterday`s dream his thoughts were here
                                       Today his thoughts are there.
                               Yesterday`s dream my legs could hold me
                                         Today my legs sold me.
                                    Yesterday`s dream I was in pain
                                           Today I`m living again. 
                                   Yesterday`s dream I thought I knew
                                           Today my thoughts flew.
                                  Yesterday`s dream his love was about me
                                          Today his love is about them.
                                       Yesterday`s dream I had hope
                                          Today was what I thought.
                                     Yesterday`s dream I was wrong
                                              Today I am strong.
                                     Yesterday`s dream I opened the door
                                             Today I closed that door.
                                     Yesterday I did not dream I was tired
                                               Today I am very tired.
                                   Yesterday I did not dream I did not dare 
                                               Today I don't care.

                                                        Therese Bacha

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Only For You

Only For You

Known, nothing will be written about me
In any poem, story or essay

Known, will not receive any co-operation from Governments
Any honest or dishonest award...

Nobody will burn incense on the day of my death
Except my wife!

Nobody will celebrate my birthday
My birthday celebration will not happen...

Although I am walking...thinking...creating...

Only for You....Only for You...
Only for You...My dream future...


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Kill a smile with a kiss
The demise of it will visit you in your dreams
Never will I let you
Drown in a pool of angry thoughts
I will be your unexpected smile
Every time I bring u roses b4 valentine
A wet poem I would recite for you

I would make you my 1st rhyme
your heart-beat will rhyme
Twist my beat box
Into a love song
A cartoon I would paint in your heart to keep you smiling
Your twin smiles I would define in vernacular
Though I speak no language from Peninsula
My parents will define your beauty as African splendor
Black mother nation
Smile please smile

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Murphys' Law

               Murphy wished for a Prince who rode a White horse...
               So she went back to college and took a new course...
               She met a man who drove a green pinto...
               Although he had no idea where his life would go...
               His wants and needs he wanted for free...           
               As he had no intentions of working you see...
               So they moved in together...and she paid the bills...
               He played online games and took many pills...
               While she worked two jobs, and going to school...
               Her friends told her often she was a fool...
               This wasn’t a relationship...this was just bizarre...
               And to make matters worse, he drove her sports car...
               But she explained, he needs me and I don’t want to be alone...
               Besides I have created a most beautiful home...
               The years flew by and no changes were made..
               She graduated with honors, and now had a trade..
               At the firm of Morgan White Esquire at Law...
               This was just the beginning and the last straw...
               She finally came to her senses you see...
               Of her dreams and wishes that were meant to be...
               She now had her “ Morgan “ and her “Prince” you see... 
              A Morgan is a breed of horse...and the rest is history

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Close your eyes for awhile my friend, I heard there lies a moon far behind the black sky, I heard lovers were dancing beneath, can you hear them singing? I can feel their tipsy steps making rhymes on floor, and smell of perfumes filling the air, I heard a sun rises to brighten up their world, and birds do sing them charming melodies at morning, they say they have roses in colors and beautiful trees in the streets, and have they told you about the sea yet? They say it smells so wonderful and the delicate air of seas caresses their cheeks with soft wet breezes, oh my friend, what have we seen in the dark but the fragile ghosts that we are!

“Hush” whispered to me, “I lighted up a moon inside my heart and I smell lilies and jasmine in my nose, my dreams play tunes my heart dance on, they speak to me all night and there I see a starry night floats above, I feel the warmth of a sun in my soul as it hugs tight, whispering to me hymns of love and joy, lightening candles for hopes which had accompanied me amongst the dark, why have you closed your eyes my friend? Look through the colorful roses I painted for you with eyes wide open, let the lights off so you would see clearer, let the lights off so you can brighten up the world that hides with you, for my friend, what have we seen in the dark but the free spirits that we have become!

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Through my Glare

My face in these eyes;
Shining towards the sky all the time
My shape is a novel with thousands of chapters.
My hair is a forest of thoughts.
My eyes are decades of worry.
My lips are opened door. 
My ears receive the howls of the wind.
My nose is a statue looking for lost spirit.
My body is too weak as Hercules was not,
My heart is arrested there searching for freedom.
My back is affected by the past as an ancient wall.
My hands are wings of bird have just escaped from a trap.
My feet are quickly driving me towards the future.
To nowhere I’m running without fixed level. 
I’m sentient enough with my semblance.
My face on the mirror;
I watch a tidy man’s scene with many interpretations.
Have a gaze at; it is deep and brightening.
Realize the motivation:
What really goes on with this reflection?
There would be no disturbance;
Just give that white pen.
I will write about your beauty.
I would show some reality about this mood.
How mysterious are the man and I?
Do not take us with you in this heat time,
Do not push us inside your dreams.
You will see such dusk,
Due to the night is so dark.
And I’m just a night bird.
My face on the murmuring stream;
Wet and dry, it is alternative all the time.
Do you like this race?
All this vitality is carelessly being wiped away,
Looking forward the oblivious chair
Who has the key of stopping the tragedy?
It is forevermore, a simple destiny-
Not imagination but messy
It causes a bit horror inside the iron core.
What is beyond the mountains?
The needles in the smooth path are confusing the soul.
The soul is still running wild under lovely trees.
Trees are inside scary jungle.
Though, there is an exit.
I’m fixed in my way,
And I’m fixed in my way.

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Is it a dream

A dream is never just a dream        Fractured lies and untold truths         Fear of 
the unknown        Infantile thoughts         Progressing through hostile 
youths        A clouded vision of many       Every night to be seen       This 
nightmare that we all call a dream       Before we know it        In the blink of an 
eye         Father time is upon us       Hearing our pleas of one more        One 
more        Before we ..............

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Blood on the Mirror

You prod at the sores of your heart
with a hemorrhaging pen, wishing it was 
a scalpel; so you could carve 
out the disease that keeps 
your rage alive. 
Basic instinct, I suppose.
To slay the demons,
that made you who you are. 
You thank them for your posture,
but scold the obsidian eyes in the 
mirror. What you have become:
Callous, and engulfed in the 
rotting theater you thought 
you controlled. The reigns 
have broken loose, your 
skull whips in the wind of 
chaos. It’s not really your 
sort of dance, you know…
                                      You don’t know the steps
              …you don’t even know the song. 
It drums against your flesh
as if you were already stripped 
and tanned, spread across 
the hallowed instruments 
                             of reckoning.
But you can’t hear the chant,
only the distant hum of the
butcher who said you could
call him “friend”.
That you were safe,
if only you would show him
what you promised you would
never show anyone.
It drips,
Just like every part of you,
you wish you could burn;
As you dig the covenant,
into the flesh of your enemy;
                                          Your only true, enemy. 
The mirror cracks…
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.

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FOR ALL THE TIMES You want to say so much, but you’re afraid to get hurt again. You find it hard to explain where to begin, All you have is yourself that keeps you Protected in your silence and pain. Too much struggle has left you with so many scares, That it has become difficult for you to know Which one is deeper from the other to measure in life? You want to say so much, but you’re afraid to get hurt again. So many sacrifices in life you’ve had to give, All that you have left is nothing to surrender too, But to believe in what fate has given you in return. Love was once a dream you thought you had, But now it has become an empty space With darkness all around you. You want to say so much, but you’re afraid to get hurt again. You try to pretend to yourself that there’s hope, But it has become a stranger in your deepest thoughts, And it blinds you from the truth around you. You shed your fears in tears filled with moments of sadness, But all your Life has been to you is a big disappointment, And still you hold on to your dreams. You want to say so much, but you’re afraid to get hurt again. There are so many beautiful moments to share Where there is more to life then wondering alone in the dark, All you have to do is disapprear into the wild and look For that one dream you have been searching for so long. Maybe one day God will make your dreams come true, For all the wonderful things he has created you for.

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Being Me at Last

We met at a time when we were young…
And believed in the words of love….
You wined me and dined me with your words..
I actually believed what you said…
I changed so much in those early years…
That I didn’t even know myself…
My friends and family became strangers as I put them on a shelf..
Only seeing them when you allowed me and gave permission to myself…
I had dreams of my own, to write and publish a book.. 
However you said..” what have you got to say ?” you’re not all that great anyway..
I put my dreams on hold, cause you told me mine were boring….
Although yours  were all talk, as you did nothing to progress....
You never even sought or tried to take a chance much less…
Your life became stagnant…and you blamed everyone else..
I gave you permission to run my life, so there’s no one to blame but myself…
You were like a person playing chess with themselves, never letting the other advance.
My life became so devoted to thee…
That I became no longer me…
The years slipped by, you became bored with me.
So you moved on to destroy another I see…..
But now I am happy as can be, and no longer bound by your words you see…
You left me with so much to say…that now I can write and publish  every single day….

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Key for Happiness is Making Our Dream comes True

The Key for Happiness is Making Our Dream comes True
The beauty of life is that there is so much variation and we want always to perform better.
Most start learning a particular interest and then to dream what they can do so in the future or goes all along this way to reach their dream.
That’s a healthy thing and can be a good start for a planned future with a progression of our life.
We all want joy and happiness in life and always looking for it.
Everyone has their wishes and dreams , its important to have it and not only think about but also take action wherefore our dream can become a reality.
If we could realize in our life then it would be a lot more comfortable and happier, because we dream about something and take the opportunity to set it as our goal and that has come true.
Give us such inner mood that makes us feel good with joy and pride by openly displayed in a joyful appearance.
And we have the expression “dreams are deception” defeated by showing that not all dreams do not come to reality, because the one from us is coming true.
So we have surpassed our own and manage to get the key for happiness used with our dream to come true and we can reap its fruits by being happy.
Truth will always make us happy and pleased us with good thoughts without worry.
I wish you a healthy life.
Kindly Regards,
Author Jan Jansen

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What do you do with your DAY and NIGHT

I live the day to dream the night
As I dream the night to live the day
I work the day to rest the night
As I rest the night to work the day
I pay the day to gain the night
As I gain the night to pay the day
I give the day to earn the night
As I earn the night to give the day
Life is all about time
As time is all about day and night...

(c) 2011

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Distant Thoughts

Distant Thoughts

If I had only took the time
Such subtle thoughts run through my mind
If I had planted seeds of hope
If I had listen to each word you spoke
If I had thrown caution to the wind
If I had my life to live again

Would seeds bloom dreams into reality
Would words give wisdom and inspire me
Would winds shift my path to a new destiny
The life I live what would it be

If I nourish my garden, is there still time
For things you’ve said are clear in my mind
Blow wind and reveal what I need to see
Lead me to the place designed for me
I sit and wonder I stare and gaze
Just how to escape this cloudy maze
If I had only lived as I was taught
These things would not be just a Distant Thought.

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Seasons and Time Travel

The whirring sound travelled again
I always hear it
From afar or just close by
Jarring my senses
Way above I can see the tiny wings
   the blinkers, they seem to tell
I'm flying!
Places I dream of.
Peoples and cultures.
unfamiliar faces I behold.
Architectures of the most modern world.
The skilled hands of God's artists.
As winter melted into spring
Sleepy flower beds, Slowly arising.
Tulips and peaches. Mums and daisies.
Sunkissed leaves on treetops
Then, standing in the valley, amongst unfamiliar greens
I smell mint and fresh nature of the Spring.
Ah, The perfumes of the Gods, lingering..
 To find myself dwelling and blossoming.
I see the beautiful winged flies swirling by
After sometime, slipping yet to another time
I climb and reach the peak
of some snowcapped mountain.
Feeling and listening to the sharp coldness.
Lying down,
 I curl up.
 The first time,
like making love.
 Thump! Thump!
Echoes against the valley's bosom.
The heart beating fast.
Then I stretch to the vastness and expanse
   of gods' creation before me.
Incomprehensible joy!
I bring home with me.

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I Hope You Know I'll Always Love You

I am what you call a hopeless 
But im also a lost lovers cause, my 
heart belongs to another
Yet in my head a love triangle starts 
to form, the girl I love doesn’t love 
She holds the heart to another and 
mine caged to the floor,
She isn’t afraid to fight for what she 
wants, not even when it comes to 
leaving another man torn
Trust me she’s happy, as that boy 
holds her heart ever so close
Seeing what I shouldn’t I smile as I 
wear my blind fold,
Blind to everything around, lifeless 
staring into air
My train of thought running so fast, 
the second I stop you’ll hear a crash
Derailing my hope, for ever finding a 
love so pure & rare
Wishing I could hold the hand of the 
lover who stole my flame,
Wish I could change the last days in 
which we parted ways,
Realizing now that we can never be 
the same
Finally saying it out loud as tears run 
down my face
You stole my happiness, as I walked 
away that day
But it’s because as of what you said 
I guessed I changed,
Now every relationship has just be 
the same,
No one can seem to bring back that 
Because a love likes ours comes 
once in a lifetime
Well at least it does to me,
But I mean you’re happy with who 
your with 
I mean I only wrote this as I heard 
exchanging “I love you” flow from 
each of your lips.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


For we perceive beyond the rainbow,
Beyond the shadow of gravity holding ISS.
Caught not in a void
But like bees wading in their own honey,
Pollinating space with thoughts …

Our tent did blow from on high
Exposing this nakedness.
They, uncomprehending,
A soul did incarcerate; 
Feeding barest morsels shared with rats;
Though famished eyed her fleeting skirt.
So did she infiltrate his racked dreams?
Spittle healing cuts; kisses soothing bruises,
Milk nourishing hunger … 
Tears washing away grimy sorrow.

Such comfort in the bounds of direst misery …

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Moment of Hope The Invisible Man 30

Sometimes I have the courage to think of the things that made me what I am today,
My memory takes me back to terrible things far away far off into my bitter past,
My mind like a maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste, loss and disgust,
The losses, the drink ripped away, not happy until it was all gone respect as well.

Invisible thinks of a garden where roses clustered with lilies scent on the breeze,
Bees found stores of honey in the petals of a thousand and one different flowers,
Lovers walked hand in hand along its winding path a beautiful dream of the man,
Bright with the embroidery of nature where children played in new myrtle flowers,

As Invisible thinks of this garden it is neglected but flowers can grow with weeds,
It could put a smile upon his face, a face that had never known any joy recently,
He hopes a gardener can covert this garden get rid of ruined waste, back into Eden,
Tending all the beautiful flowers that spring up with the weeds and smell gladness.

If he helped the gardener in his quest a hand might hold his and guide him through,
Maybe a hand would go around his waist to support him as well as guide his hand,
Dare he wish that the guiding hand and the support would be his angel from heaven,
A dear person to help him clear his garden and walk down the winding path as lovers.

An angel that would smile at him maybe hold his hand and squeeze it so very gently,
Would the angel talk to him and tell him that one day they would be together again,
Her beautiful grace shining warmly as she looks up to him, to her he is her hero,
Not a drunken mess that cannot cope, not a dirty vagrant, but her knight her love.

The tenderness of this beautiful scene in his poisoned mind became real he smiled,
He grinned as she sat down next to him as close a she could get then wriggled closer,
Warmth from her body not only warmed him but gave hope this what he has waited for,
She whispered sweetly she loved him and would be waiting for him and they kissed.

Invisible woke with a start and was she not by his side, was she ever with him,
A dream another heart wrenching let down and how could he have dreamed the dream,
It was so real he still felt the warmth, the impression of her hand holding his,
But it must have been a dream his own mind conspired to deliver the hardest blow.

Lost in a grief so deep, his loneliness complete he talks to Sam his imaginary friend.

These days get worse Sam they really do please help me,
I need to change but I need my drink more what can I do,
But I need to change so desperately Sam can you help?
My world has cracked and I've fallen into the crack,
But what I don't understand Sam that I was once good,
If I had any courage Sam I would be laying in my coffin,
Why does life drag you along with it I don't want to go,
Just a bit of icing on my cake Sam it is freezing cold,
Did you know this is where I was brought up my friend,
Did you know that most of the people that walk past I knew,
Sam! I know many of there people but they don't know me,
Why do they all walk past I wish somebody would help,
Maybe when I have drunk more cider I might feel better Sam,
I can remember being happy but not what being happy is like,

As Invisible sits drinking shoppers give him a wide berth and they look at him with hate.

These people Sam they look at me as if I have hurt them,
The people they are not our sort of people they hate me,
Has the world changed like I have but in opposite ways,
My life is full of sorrow drunkenness and dreams Sam,
Old sorrows wont go away new sorrows should take over,
So we have to face both the old and the new that's bad,
At night I try to close my drunken eyes it all returns,
Sam is that the same as you can you close your eyes,
Can you remember the valleys Sam the ones we used to play,
When we ran about all day Sam in the sun rolling in grass,
The old stream that twisted and turned, it had lost its way,
Floating lolly sticks watching them bounce away on ripples,
Buying bangers in November and throwing them into the water,
What I wouldn't do to go back for just a couple of hours Sam,
Just to feel the innocence and try to bring it back to now,
To enjoy what there is to enjoy and maybe get better Sam,
But that will never happen Sam we are lost on an island,
A well populated island but an island all the same Sam,
People are not like ships they don't bother to rescue people,
They just walk around or just walk away all the nice ones gone,
I remember my school Sam it's now been knocked down and left,
It has all gone, all gone no primroses in spring or bluebells,
Do you remember Sam the bluebells used to nod in the wind,
But they have all been built on, whats the use in talking,
Nothing changes from bad to good Sam remember that, eh Sam,

Still drinking his cider tears well into his eyes his nose runs and begins to quietly
to sob. He sits on the shopping parade seat, shaking as he sobs. His throat has a lump
in it so he stops talking to Sam. Invisible sinks his wet face into his overcoat
hides his misery from the people that walk past he just sat there lost and confused. His
greatest sadness an angel paid a visit to the maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste,
loss and disgust,

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Gray Prince of Romance

I set my foot on the saddle of heart
But all were shaded, blurred, and scratched meaningless
I heard a whisper and tempted
Who was wandering within the fog?

This world seemed to be collapse ...
Or was it hiding?
Would it be stated in the relevant of logic and a conscience?

The heart says yes
The cavity of mind says no

A contradiction which fails to take the truth as the end of a fact

Lips say yes
Eyes say no

Will you be able to break through the hypocrisy which was anesthetized in it?

This must be a dream ...
And I hoped it would be ended as a dream ...
A dream which described about a big whirl
An endlessly linear which revolved upon a life

Which I hoped I would never be involved 

But it was too late ...
I am here, standing as the pivot of a dilemma ...
For a moment I stood on my silence
Try to analyze the situations ...

For a sudden I speak to an empty room
What are you searching for?
Is it a black or white instead?
And the breeze of wisdom back whispered

"You're looking for an obsolete"

"You're looking for the gray prince of romance"

Author's Note:
You may see the other version of "Grey Prince" by Richard Lamoureux

Details | Prose Poetry | |


I just want to dream a little more,

before the sun dries up this stream of thought;

before my tongue begins to search for words

faded by the choke of night.

The sky screams in the hands of a harsh turn,

neither of us wants our darkness unveiled.


I wish the light would swallow me up as well.


the broken slumber of day creeps into my bed,

and shakes my tomb.

I watch it stumble through the blinds,

sloshing, lazily polished, and promising.

Like it always does. 

And I try my damnedest to pull my eyes away

from the hope that is stitched to my shadow,

but no matter how hard I writhe in this place,

I cannot escape the artificiality of this world

 that I can’t seem to wake up from. 

-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

No Return

It was not a dream
Moments before waking she heard herself weep
When she woke up, touched her cheek
With lump in her throat she felt her pillow
Damp with weeping sleep
Her being floating to the depth of despair
Feeling herself letting go 
The light a flicker of her past
Her body limp, slipping fast
As she head dived
Her core consumes, embracing the darkness
Feathers from her black wings
Floating above
As she free fall
Spiralling to the depth of nowhere
Into the abyss of her deep dark despair
Trapped within herself

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Nightmare

I dreamed I was on board a ship; the night was absolute darkness, I could only hear the massive body of water than engulfed this visitor.  On board the ship there were many rooms; the diner was full of old friends from my past sitting in the deepest corners of the room beckoning to me, I run through the room.

The next room is small and welcoming, there is the sound of an all too familiar hypnotic music playing, there is a couch with a human figure facing away from me wrapped almost entirely in a blanket looking at the dead fireplace, I walk up to the figure, the face is still and life-less, I recognize the person of that of an old loved one who passed away many years ago. In the corner of the room I see my Father grinning at me, my body and soul tremble, then he starts to chase me, I run through the room.

I am lead to a small empty cathedral, I am tempted to walk up and peer inside the casket in the center of the chapel, but I feel my Father close behind me, I run through the room and I am back in the small welcoming room with the dead fireplace, but now my dear lost loved one is turned, and looking me right in the eyes, grinning. The music is very loud now, and my father is very near, I run through the room.
I enter a new room and slam the door shut behind me, the sound of my Father’s footsteps and panting fades away, the music stops.  I am in a long dimly light hallway, that seems infinitely empty, near the end, to the right, there is an entrance that leads to a glow of red with chanting emanating from it, I take a step forward…

Details | Prose Poetry | |

We Ain't Got That Kind-a Shine

ladies of the night 
are dressed in finest lace 
while hiding in the shadows 
where they never leave a trace 
on barren - broken - bastard streets 
these ladies have no face 
with tarnished tassels in their hair 
they stand like statues there and stare 

the ladies of the night 
now lean in darkened doorways while 
they sip selected wine 
and watch two lovers writhe entwined 
upon the floor where bleeding whores 
are losing life from open sores 
where punctured veins and death remains 
inside a fantasy that reigns 
with bitter dreams of better things 
that lost tomorrows never bring 

now lovers covered - soiled and stained 
with bursting leaks from wounded veins 
where needles of inclusion 
can create and make illusion 
last beyond the degradation 
as they stride in "sharp" persuasion 
unto death of one whole nation 
in complete discreet oblation 

can't find a lot of pity 
in a dark and dirty city 
as the waste is placed in alleyways 
and vagrants void themselves 
on steamin' streets at dawn 
while new commuters stop to yawn 
as night concerns now fade to gone 

all is lost at higher cost 
inside a pride that has been tossed 
onto the gutter - 
where machismo men just shudder 
as they lose their life-time rudder 
leaving all directions and erections 
on the street's abstract inflections 
just before they lose connection 
with their soul 

forgetting obligations 
where unique configurations 
seem to supplement and compliment 
the pain 
the mutual - conceptual - PAIN 

who is the dreamer and who owns the dream? 
who is the screamer in the scream? 
it's you and I dear friend of mine 
we dream the dream and scream the scream 
as part of Eden's Garden Scene 
but we don't ever cross the line 
cause we ain't got that kind-a shine 

Details | Prose Poetry | |


I awoke from a dream I was Dreaming; into a Dream I was  Dreaming
About  “ Barbara Jean “ , the Centre of my Soul, twinkling Stars ; Above
Calling my name; holding my heart, bringing Truth to unknown “ Reality “
This ; Mr. HGarvey Daniel Esquire ; is a Love you can not Escape
Hold Her, Caress Her, LOVE Her  Forever : Each Eon of ETERNITY
Together as One “ Entwined , as One “; to the FOREVER and ALWAYS
                      “ Barbara Jean : “  I LOVE YOU “

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Break the Clouds

Thrust up from the firmament and break the clouds.

Wring from the world the Water of Life in its crystalline perpetuity as raiment.

Bend the wind around your back and send to me the most undeniable of siren songs.

Send your mirage of eternity to these eye-blink lives longing for forever and I will bear my bones with feather-light heart to the sight of your object eye.

For only there can I see how tiny and fleeting are all my fears.
And all my triumphs.

Show me the illusion and may I know it for Smoke before the mirror.

The dreams of the Mountain haunt the step of every day.

Memories of freedom to those in chains.

What are they worth?

Nothing at all.
And Life itself.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


  I have a dream
 A dream to be
 To be me as free
  I have a dream
 I don’t want to see a dream
 I want to live a dream
Can a dream be more in me
Than in my eyes
 I have a dream
 I don’t want to be wise
 I just want to be
I have a dream
I want to live in freedom
Rather than in wisdom
 I have a dream
 I want to breathe
 Breathe fresh and scented
 Every moment
I want to be a rose
Did I say, I just want to be?

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Doorway

I’ve cut my hands on the broken screen door
of dreams meant to be deserted;
I can feel the rush of inclusion in a state of decay
as it gasps open against tucked in eyelids.
Smiles caught in dim headlights,
before the empty sway of drunken iron
drips from my palms as
inertia drives it all to fruition,
abstract revelations come to life.
My eyes stutter, fighting to 
keep them alive. 
I press reddened palms against 
the dusty doorway, count in
cadence meant for a heartbeat,
and breath in harmonic patience 
with something I wish I could understand,
but my sort of muscles are too weak to make an 
impact, my palms have become imprinted with the wake 
of trembling foundation’s sorrow.
               ….I look at them
pruned by the sour chaste of possibility;
rivers of emptiness run through my 
own imperfections. 
I’ve mended nothing.
they’re still…
These dreams are stone,
and I am only flesh;
Pounding my fists against a doorway
that has long forgotten I am here. 
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

What have I Seen

 have seen bright-eyed daises open and baby yellow buttercups unfold,
I have seen these spreading across water-mead’s a cloth of purest gold,
I have seen white clouds scud across blue skies changing shape as they go,
I have seen storms from a distance rain, lightning thunder, hail and snow,
I have seen pure white sheep graze and lap water beside a crystal stream,
I have seen swallows playing games over mountains in my beautiful dreams,
I have seen wretchedness far from home my longing for peace haunts my mind,
I have seen deepest sadness and search for deep and good memories to find,
I have seen in my dreams I am leaning on an old gate down in a spring lane,
I have seen may time in England and lush green fields turning to gold again,
I have seen yellow pastures where tiny silver waters flow like a silver thread,
I have seen a skylark gently flying high singing sweet songs over my head,
I have seen a dream that in my future I am free to return to my home some day,
I have seen the truth it is all just a pipe dream and I can never find a way.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


they are born
in a world thats torn
its not mabe
these are babies
has a cry sound
tell you too

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dreams and Obessions

What is the difference between a dream and an obsession? Or can they be the same? They seem to blend in some areas. Dreams can be held inside, while others guess if there's any dream inside the person at all. While shifting to obsession, people see, people know. The dream becomes more obvious, more known, more vulnerable, seen by others and by critiques who gesticulate with all their tiny sharp fingers and knobby knuckles making sounds behind the ear like the cracks of a crunch of an insect's exoskeleton, feeding off the juicy life of the known dream, licking and smiling with all their teeth and flare a perfectly sharp nose because they have never been in a fight. Maybe that's the difference.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


I dreamt you
in golden threads of sunlight;
streaming, dancing, mingling with
azure waters...

dreamt you calling,
singing out my name in your regal orcan tongue...

dreamt you in each face that peered
from liquid silver seas...

dreamt your body's etheric touch
amidst cool tranquil waters...

dreamt our souls as one;
bound together; two spirit dreamers...

dream you now a foggy memory
since the whalers came...

but, as all dreams do;
you too soon…fade.

I awaken from this abysmal, astral realm…
reaching, stretching for your spirit.

Alone again, I will touch you again…
in another time.

Copyright, 2-20-14

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Dreamer

They say it's not good to be a dreamer...

They say your sick, messed-up...

"Think like him," they say or "think like her."

But for gosh-sake...don't think like you!

Don't have an opinion...

Don't love in open...

Don't question ideas...

And for christ-sake...

Don't believe in God and the four seasons (especially if your young)...

That make's us uncomfortable...

Conventional, plain, soft-spoken, money-making...

"That's what we want"...

Didn't you learn that, son...

Money controls the world!

So give us your ideas, your talent, your creativity...

And we will give you bread...

And if you're good enough, obedient enough, live in fear enough...

A badge and lots of money...

Ain't that a deal, son?

Ain't you old enough to see?

Aren't you livin' the dream?

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dead White Things and Recurring Dreams

‘Although she forever tried, never once had any scenes from this recurring dream 
differ with even a slightest of variance from each original beginning. The only things 
that changed was its outcome ending and the never ever still - wanderings of the 
sea ice! 
It always began with her looking out into the vastness of a cold Arctic Ocean while 
standing on the weather darkening coastline somewhere on Nova Scotia. There and 
then is when heard are these far off windblown cries:
 Suddenly, it is her eyes that can now spy from new heights above to see a likeness 
of her same person being physically swept up and taken captive by a storm’s ocean 
going gales.  
To her horror, instantly realized is that she had been herself carried off, and now 
wind bound on an emotional heading with an aim toward a certain point in time. 
Incapable, is the power of her mind to stop this meeting, its draw demands her 
rushed presence! 
What will prove to be laying in wait will have an effect on her soul that initiates the 
loosing of a fifth year of welled up tears.  Somewhere out there on this desolate sea 
ice there is a new place and new time of another true motherhood loss. - And now 
as always, being nightly reborn to face her life’s tragic turn of unwarranted 
consequence, she sleeps…?
Ever the survivor, she would now dream the dreamt dreams of a lonely orphaned 
seal pup and the last outcome of yet another nightmare confrontation coming from 
out of a traumatic childhood era belonged of her past…
These hurts were placed upon them through no fault of their own! As such, there 
was nothing new to balance except an even greater weight pinned on two helpless 
souls. Wearily, both shared the burden of pain that came tethered to each of their 
world’s constant of nightmare...’
And now, to save the future of a stark white seal pup, her thoughts echoed of both 
their loneliness. Only now, those once far and away heard cries had grown louder…
As for her nights of continually repeated visions of this ghostly Harp Seal pup, 
recognized, was that it hadn’t hailed from a performing circus act. Moreover, and 
unlike any of the other identical looking orphaned seal pups on the Arctic ice, for this 
one, appeal came not from knowing of its at-one-time snow-white fur. – Instead, it 
was the two sad eyes that never looked away from her that had always drawn the 
little girl’s unwilling attention...

Details | Prose Poetry | |


 I saw you Mom!

I have passed through the thin silvery mist. 
Scattering the letters, like feathers.

Watched it fly over hills ,and then disappeared. 
Ah _ how young I was in the dream!

Too young to know, 
how death would take your smile like wings, 

How would made of it strange heavenly birds,
In strange unearthly place,

Where nothing withholds the sun! But fog.  

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Hope Lost

Wanting all
Getting none
All this before the day is even done

Lost hope and burnt dreams
Have now but a shell to inhabit
Now reality has sunk in
And expectations
Are residing in the bin

Hope is a blender of emotions
Hope is longing
Wanting more
Needing much
Hope grinds away at your conscience
Contorting your psyche
Wrecking your inner peace

Despair follows hope
A multiplier of sorrows
An architect of self-imposed doom
Despair hope’s inner skin
Wraps a wanting man in darkness
Numbing him

When hope leaves
It stains a man
Whose abandoned dreams reek his environment
A stench most unbearable
We often wish to run away
From this contagious misery

Nowhere out is the theme of his day
Of him that let hope fly away
Misery gnaws flesh long since deadened
By constant doom
He only lives to see is misfortunes mushroom

His ever present pain is his only comfort
Brooding with resentment
He plot his own downfall
Sinking deeper into a mire of self-pity
A shattered man is he

With No care for the world or himself
Life is but a brutal regime
Of outcomes imposed on him
Him who has now become a non-entity
An unseen man he is forever going to be

Sometimes the shackles of living
Won’t release you
No matter how much you wish
That death would consume you

Grinning and bearing it is no use
If woe and suffering always comes in twos
You often wish you were in anothers’ shoes
For this life is not the one you would choose     

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Reality coming true

Reality coming true is my dream
As one day I hope to achieve big
Courage eager makes me work like steam
Once I lose a chance I will sit like a pig

I hope to be a neurosurgeon
So that I help a lot of needy people
As I never want to others dreams fall in a dungeon
Since I don’t want problems to stick on them like a pimple

My dream to travel over seas
To see how other people live
I will never want it to be crushed like peas
Since I always work hard so that I will jive

I always dream no fighting war
As we lose a lot of innocent women and men
We will result into family of the lost to fall
As they have no where to write with a pen

I dream a world of no hunger
As most children are suffering a lot
We result into the locals anger
The anger grows until it red hot

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Childhood Dreams

Childhood Dreams

I dream about the time
When being a child
Was so simple.
Dreams about an old home flow--
Bringing back Christmases,
While trying to play
An innocent child again
In my dream a red-nose reindeer
Takes me back home
Where my mother and father,
Long dead,
Are waiting for me
At the Christmas tree
With gifts of happy 
Childhood memories.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

I dream

To kill the viper
To slay the dragon, 
To show his/her unmasked face
To show that damn face to all human race
To pierce the serpent
To feed every hungry kid in the world
To give him/her a clean pure water.

Details | Prose Poetry | |



   On Monday March 14th 2011, at 1:05 PM, I believe I was looking into the face and eyes of Death, as we drove to Her, school .

   I think I heard the voice and sounds of Death, on Monday March 14th 2011 at 1:15 PM as She tried to direct me past the entrance to Her class. 

   I felt the hands of Death, touch me as She turned away, leaving me standing there, heart in hand, bleeding profusely, no response, as she turned Her, back and walked away, not looking back . 

   3:40 PM and as I sat in the Henderson Mall, heart broken, feeling the pangs of regret, the Grim Reaper, cut into my chest, as I watched Lady Death, walk towards me with a look that said " die ", " go to hell " but the words that came out of Lady Death's, mouth were " such a serious look ! " and Her, response to my gift of apology ( flowers and a poem ) and my offer to give Her, a ride home where met with a curt response " I have something else to do " and She, was gone like the lights had been turned out, and then the Grim Reaper, plunged his scythe deep into my heart, twisting his blade with such aggression I could hardly breath as my lungs tightened up, my throat closed, my heart would not beat and my soul cried out in vain . 

   For eleven days I sat in the silences, looking into the casket, at this old fool, who, by his own hands, was killed, killed by his stupidity and thoughtless words. The evening of the eleventh day of my wake, a sweet, voice, from my memory, sang out to my dead ears, but the tones where sugarless and the lyrics where that of a dirge ringing out a death blow, as Lady Death, responded to " will I get to see you sometime ?" with a " maybe " and then " I have to go, I have things to do " and then the coffin lid came crashing down on my state of reverie, the dream shattered like a mirror struck by a meteor, shards, splinters, fragments fused together in twisted, distorted images of what once was ?, is ?, my dream, a dream that was not, is not Hers, and like Alice in Wonder Land, slipping through the looking glass, reality was not as it seemed, for one's reality, on the other side, may not be the reality of another. The visions, the desires, the dreams, one's perception, all, are but splinters of the holographic universe we inhabit, but have no control of. FATE ?, KARMA ?, THE GRAND DESIGN ?, BLIND CHOICES ? 

   Now I spend every hour of every day hanging on to the edges of my funeral, the wake, my spirit attends faithfully and from these, my mind will not let me escape . 

   I wonder if I will be able to step out from behind the looking glass ?, awake from my beautiful dream ?, face reality ?, reality reflected in those exotic, dark brown mirrors, the windows to your soul .

   My Lotus Blossom, my Oriental Dream, my China Doll, my Exquisite Vision of Loveliness, my Exotic Beauty, - she has left me with my own death mask to reflect upon as I look into the mirrors ( images of what I once experienced with Her, ) and see only ghostly figures ( She and me and all that we shared, all we experienced ) haunting all the moments that lie among the ashes of all the beautiful experiences we shared, experience I believe She, has placed upon a funeral pyre, set them on fire, no longer having a desire to even remember we once lived them, them that gave my life some purpose, gave me meaning, put a sparkle in these tired old eyes and a spring to the shuffle of this old mans step. For   Her, ????????????? 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

These Salty Waves Pt 1

What am I supposed to think? What am I supposed to say? All these lies you bottled up come sweeping, crashing with the tides. My footing's gone, the ocean real, but how am I supposed to feel? And here I am, a drowning mess, a loveless lie, I do protest. And here I am a drowning mess. So all those things you said to me? Where they just lies out of pity? So all those things you said to me? Or am I lost in salty waves? Yes I know my future's grave. Or am I lost in salty waves?And now the panic in my head, when I should be tucked up in your bed, reels and reels right here instead.I'm going down, a sinking ship, funny what name drips off my lips. It is not God, or Angles plenty, or even that I'm just damn ready To let go of the hell and the lies. I'm wishing for your gentle eyes. Or at least the way they always seemed, but perhaps that's just this salty dream. I have no clue what I'm to do! A drowning hopeless mess, for you-- think it's cute, and oh so funny, but here's the bitter truth now honey. I'm going down. There is no help. I can't be saved by God himself. I put my life, my whole world of trust, and you've thrown it away for lust. Well what the hell's a girl to do? I'm just so entranced by you!

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Sometimes, I used to feel,
like the Lord 
had forgotten about me.
Like, me and my stuff
had been put on the back burner,
until I could figure out,
whatever it was...
whatever it was...
whatever it was,
that HE wanted me to see.
And, sometimes it felt like...
whatever lesson that 
was meant for me to learn,
I couldn't learn it.
And, whatever points 
in this life game,
that I needed,
I didn't have what it took,
to earn it.
Like, the devil had time,
to snatch up my list of dreams,
set it on fire,
and just burn it.
So that all I could do, 
would be, to think of my dream,
and with tears in my eyes,
just yearn it.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


It’s been 22years now; and I look upon those hills
The twin hills; that stand facing each other
The great towers that rise in full distinct of each other
The great book says I was born a sinner; man says I was born a saint
With no blemish; a little child dressed in white
Who landed all naked with a cry; a cry into an immoral world
I grew in innocence and grace; till I became eve
Yearning for a forbidden fruit
It drew me to it; it told me it was the sweetest
I believed it; I tasted it
Indeed, it had the sweetest taste
I feel bad for Adam; he didn’t taste as much as I tasted
Yet he suffers a great deal
My eyes beseech these unlike hills that towers up to the heavens
The first a dump for sinners and its twin a heap for saints
I’ve seen Christ; I’ve seen the devil
I know them both; I try to belong to one
I try to be a saint; but my thoughts wouldn’t allow me
Is it my thoughts that cause me to sin? Or my body
Sin is sweet; sin is pain…It is a sweet evil
Being a saint is hard…and glorious
I dream of white robes; the songs of saints
I live in the joys of the world
The loud banging music; the clubs of men and stench of beer
I dream of showing the woman I can be; and having the praises of Adam
Don’t blame me Jesus…
Don’t blame me devil…
I was born a sinner; I was born a saint!

©Naa Takia, All Rights Reserved 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Last Embrace

Last Embrace
Arabic Poem by: Mohanna Al-Khikani *
Translated by:
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)

I only want
A hat
To hide my memory,
A shirt coming out of the night with ample
Saturated with the fragrant smell of makeup.
A new step has not yet come out
I enshroud my bewilderment with a last embrace 
And get ready to die, leaving behind
All this nonsense! 
Translated by: Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi
 USA / September 2013
 * Muhannad Al-Khikani is an Iraqi poet

Details | Prose Poetry | |


i miss you
so much you do
miss you everyday
if only words could say
how i cry
as time pass by
losing you i have fears

Details | Prose Poetry | |


look around
from city to town
you see whats going down
people of corlor
loving one anuther
not like before
everyone buy at the store
it was pass pain
for us to gain

Details | Prose Poetry | |

An Endless Time

Wish upon a falling star
And pray within a dream
For what your heart desires
To become the truest reality

Touch the clouds embracing heaven
Flying like a bird high in the sky
Cast a coin into a wishing well
Praying a loyal love you will find

Search the farthest horizons
Go to the most distant shores
Pray that you will find the one
Whose amazing love will endure

Be very patient in your Odyssey
And one day you will surely find
That love which was once elusive
Will be yours for an endless time.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


How glorious is Love ?
How magnificent it's depth ? 
How bright are it's visions ?
How true are it's directions ?
What can compare to it's shear delight ?
Where walking in it's sight
gives clarity to every living thing .
How bold are it's promises ?
It's paths hold wonder 
for every step taken upon it.
Vibrancy is it's assignation.
It beacons the heart ,
and whispers treasures in it's future.
It speaks of grand designs 
and builds it's dreams
into realities here to fore unknown.
In it the soul with happiness is filled .
Men have penned it's words
sang it's songs
and dreamed it's dreams .
It is desired above all other things . 
It's breadth is exquisite 
and vast are the many who
would sell all , to possess it
only to find it cannot be purchased .
It is a gift given freely 
it cannot be coerced 
No building can house it 
You cannot cage it 
It has no chains that can bind it
no prison can hold it , 
but within are  the floodgates of 
of heaven that waters all of life .
It is a fire that burns
all lies to ash
that purifies all intentions
and refines , polishes , and reflects truth .
Men have sought it's face
in every crack of his existence .
Men have apprenticed at it's feet
journey-manned in it's instruction
but few have mastered it 
and certainly only one has become it's Grand-Master .
But we run to reach for it's crown
we strive to bow our wills before it
to learn it  , receive it
then release it and set it free .
This the Rulers of this world 
would steal if they could  !

1 John 4
16 And so we know and rely on the love God has for us.
God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them. 17 This is how love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment: In this world we are like Jesus. 18 There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.
19 We love because he first loved us. 20 Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar. For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen,cannot love God, whom they have not seen. 21 And he has given us this command: Anyone who loves God must also love their brother and sister.

COPYRIGHT © 2013 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Vision In A Dream

( vision in a dream )

Always moaning,
In the last gasp! the vision.

Moaning, so! I decamp;
lonely,far and away
Amid - smoggy haze.
Sharpen a pulse
by sorrow.

Moaning, then weakly!
In the midst of
the adjacent tide of certainty,
I taste the bitterness of grief.

Ah _ O uncertainty _
If you only protecting me
from doubting insanity, 
of my dream !

Details | Prose Poetry | |


I am looking. Seriously, I am looking for a number of poems I wrote. I once lost a green Saab just like these poems. I parked them somewhere. The Saab was parked in New Jersey. The poems are in a dream. Parked. Somewhere. I never did find the Saab.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dream Keys

Dream Keys
      by Odin Roark

A NY mantra
Rent the rentable
Move the movable
Key the keyable


Four-wall-guardian of yesterday’s youth
Vacuous cellmates of old age loneliness
All part of a cyclic maze
All having a key
Urban life’s Rubik’s Cube turnover

Today’s the day

“Two rooms”
“New paint”
“Clean window”
“No-squeaky floorboards”
Superintendent loves to present

Move in

Entrance door
Laundry room

All yours

A windowsill vase of plastic roses
Your welcome of faded memories
The window to the people below
Your traveled city as roommate
Through another glass darkly

Gotta love it

Pea green layering
Over cracked and peeling bygones
Your very own chipped-paint scrapbook
A giant shoebox of ghostly images
Once possessing your castle-keys

Settle in

Stand at your window
Watch canyon updrafts
Swirl your make-believe snowflakes
Carrying them skyward
Mixing with sparkling darkness
Where every star is yours

Count the days

Where light to see 
Will be owned by neighboring towers
Where former tenants came young
Left old
Where thrown cups and china
Christened walls
And confinement’s anger and tears 
Found solace in an ever inviting empty bathtub

Where pounding fists
Rattled bathroom door hinges
While a child hid beneath a bed
Smiling tearful thanks 
A wanderlust roach
His ever-faithful friend

All yours

Where a Sammy Glick got started
And an undergrad
An engineer
A Radical leftist
A piano teacher
All touched
All turned 
All once secured your keys


Add your imprint
Become tomorrow’s remembered page
The scrapbook knows no end
This is Manhattan
Scenes will erupt
Hysterics will rebirth
Life will live
Maybe live some more


Your turn to pass the keys
Your turn to pile worn memories at the curb
Mattresses always appreciated
Stand across the street
Watch the ever-smiling Super
Hand the keys to the next habitant
And then…


Never to forget your contribution
Leaving behind another preparatory memory
Allowing the coming year
Your next season of imaginings
To dream of another home

Gifted with keyless entry?
Loneliness gone?

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Lost Confessions

Lost between Heaven and Hell, battlements of my spirit and mind, Raptures me into 
the new day, but delivers me in the darkness of night. I argue within my mind, that 
shall wither it blind, randomly I search for the meaning that enhances the light. I 
wander through the ailment that haunts me so. Small amounts of peace keep me 
driving onward, though I feel no glow. In-between both I am haunted with one 
sight, Glimpse of the dream I hold so dear, with massive amounts of fear, my 
menacing fantasy keeps me on my fight. Each week that passes seems as everyone 
that fell before.
My soul knows my end is of a different kind, knowing the sin that I carry each night 
and the penance that I must endure. My destiny is not what I see, But is what I 
deeply ignore. Lost between Heaven and Hell, My soul cannot sell, this torment, I 
speak is a different form I break, Not just any ordinary sin, I have no-where to begin.
No end to reach, my darkness seeks light, though there is no realization to teach. I 
am haunted by the past that lonely night that seizes, though it pleases me ,but no 
other can live in the desire that I speak here and now, Others have traveled this 
road without any dark temptation, though I would lose all interpretation, with great 
litigation. Lost now and forever my dream, forgotten almost it may seem. Distant 
calls engorge my thoughts, memories chase my spirit, and lust envelops my soul, 
into the realm betwixt Heaven and Hell. My dream I shall bury, my destiny, I shall 
marry within my mind and spirit. These darkened nights shall grab the bright days 
down into the mishap of grace. I will council each cheerful day and plant a smile on 
my face. However, the agony shall drive my heart to a stainless hollowness of 
discomfort my continued dream shall live on and inhabit this shell. This shell 
someday shall wither away; there will be nothing left to tell.

Written for

Sponsor Catie Lindsey 
Contest Name Dark Prose 

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Rush

the fantastic night is such a rush
cars moving along the highway
with their lights streaming forwards
I go to dinner and have Chinese food
I get into bed early and play solitaire
the weekend is finally here
and no work tomorrow
I can sleep in late
maybe do my laundry
think of the girl who sits next to me at the office
and try to not go crazy
with the idea that I'm in love with her

anyways it wouldn't be such a bad thing
to fall in love again

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we can do this
let not miss
do calls plans
pull hands
make a stand
make this a better land
for all wall to wall
boys a girls

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Why you are listening to the wind so!
This night is no longer going to maze,
so you'll survive!

Forty years of dreams,
You were lost and fell asleep,
Now! the wind pulled you here.

Where are you, from prophecy days!
While those shadows,still stand,
in front of your memory's mirrors!

Oh brother _ who closer to death!
Your status the same 
status of darkness night,

Vainly ,opened your hands,
Since you became,
Owned to whom in the dream.
Oh _ how submissive and vanquished,
You were!

Details | Prose Poetry | |


You are as soft as wedding cake,
You’re as warm, dear, as new-baked bread.
You are a blossoming apple grove,
And a sandalwood treasure trove…
There are many ladies, but you’re a special one,
Fierce and passionate woman, kindest princess!

Your smile, dear, steals away the rain,
And melts the hearts of the strongest of men,
The fragrance of your beauty takes men to war,
And splits the hearts of the greatest,
Making them forget how to breathe…
How I wish I was the master of your beauty….!

Don’t let my heart sleep on your beauty,
And dream of your smile!
I need to sing of your beauty,
And feel the melody in your voice,
I have been in slumber for so long!
When will your love flow into my pool?
And flood the garden of my love?

Wake me up when dawn comes,
And when the morning breaks,
Wake me up when the morning sun
Streaks across my room,
Wake me up from another dream of you!
And let my eyes see the fragrance of your smile…!

Details | Prose Poetry | |


I have a method of making poems. Poems from letters, conversation recorded, from almost anything.  A number of these poems are misplaced. I only have “L6” with which to construct a poem. This must be poem the mystery story. What is “L6”? A shoe size? A measure of skin dryness? A locker at a train or bus station somewhere?  A name—a code name for a secret organization? Stupid dream. My skin is dry alligator. I must apply cream. Excuse me—Aaah! My arms are greasy now—soothed now. Still I am stymied. What is “L6” Why did my sure fire ways pick it? Were all my methods a dream?

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dance Poetry In Motion

Dance…Poetry In Motion

A body in motion,
a river flowing…?
connected, never far apart.
?A figure swaying to her inner rhythm,?
a trickling stream rushing toward the open sea.
?Silence gives way to a single note,
?the body awakens; the hint of a dance?.
The chord has been struck, 
there is no turning back.
?Hear the music, breathe in the melody,
?linger there, let it guide you freely,?
Can you feel it?
?Take the first step, never regret it…?
A promise never failed…live your dream,
?Become it!

Details | Prose Poetry | |



Lingering in the spaces of time, standing
On the muddy banks of reality, wandering souls
Chase the dream of Moses: the gleamed glory
From the mountain top veiled by the inept web
Of deceptive policies of the word-weavers . 

Dew-clawed changes have lost their mesmerizing       
Magic; reality having waved its wand of truth
Revealing the smiling facades of justice.

Yes we have overcome cowering iniquities
And have reached the valley of the promise land;
But Aaron’s reprieve does not abide here: its asphalt
Altars soaked and stained with the dried blood of our children. 

Here in the shadow of the valley of death, we continue 
Marching and singing anew; our feet wearily worn
With the mud of deceit; vague chants mimic lost
Freedom songs blowing in whispering winds.

Today, the Movement is just a passing scene
Played out on the roller coaster stages of history: 
Praising maids, butlers, buses, bridges…ghost cities…

And the nation mocks the birthday of its Prince of Peace
With black sales days; stirring the painful blood flow
Of memory of buyers feuding at the auction block.

But steadfast we must stand; our audacious God cannot be mocked.
The Dreamer lies dead but the spirit of the dream soars higher
Than the fist of clutched hope; and Sartre’s are still ringing
And their resounding echoes cannot ever be undone! 

This is still the land of the free and the home of the brave;
Sweet land of liberty; and where love and peace abide
Evil injustice cannot hide; the dream is everywhere: 

May we forever be worthy lamplighters of the trust in the Dream.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

White Wolf

When dark of night comes to call,
I listen for the Gray Wolf’s howl.
He is calling me to come and run,
cavort and explore till night is done.
Just out of sight I begin to morph
into what reality has written on me.
Daytime I must be this shy, winsome
creature who no one pays attention to...
I hate the visage in my mirror.
Gray Wolf sees a sleek coat of white,
yellow eyes and teeth straight and strong.
I can run forever through the forest,
but when daylight comes I ride 
in a wheelchair, bound by iron.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Winters Magic Wand

What dreams of beauty or wildest imagination could ever match these wonderful ageless scenes,
Of a fairy tale forest glittering and sparkling in an evergreen mead showing off its silvery pines,
A blue diamond frost bathed in the whitest moonlight, backed by a trillion bright twinkling stars.
The foliage of the trees touched by winter’s magic wand, from an ice queen on a cold January night,

As a boy I saw these nights in the clear sky and it looked like a dome with blue lighted candles,
Reflecting off a frosted carpet that glinted and dazzled sometimes catching a roe deer’s wide eyes
In those long gone days I felt no cold watching a fairy tale wonder of a cold clear, sharp night,
But these moments have misted in my older years, my wiser years, but never completely forgotten.

Speeding to old age wisdom is my gift I was uncluttered and so very much wiser back in those days,
I sometimes try to think hard about my boyhood memory but it needs a clear mind for clear sight,
Taking me back to the meadows in time staring in wonder at those silvery sparkly evergreen trees,
Again I think as a young boy who does not feel the cold, smelling scents from frozen pine needles.

My future is written and I understand why the memory of this night must be so very vivid today,
Because I know when those final moment arrive my eyes gently cloud, and close for the last time,
I will dream a twilight dream between both of my worlds' then soar back upon the winds of time,
To stand again in evergreen woods reliving my moonlit scenes, again still not feeling the cold.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

In My Dreams

I didn’t think we’d ever meet
But today, it was our day
The moment when you crossed my path
And not smile and walk away
But you stood still and took a glance
Our eyes so gentle greet
A smile erupts from down inside
To hear you softly speak
Have we ever met before?
I know I’ve seen your face
I would never forget your eyes
Perhaps in this very place
I smile because we had met before
Each night when I fall asleep
You are the one who comes to me
Each night in my dreams.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Witness The Dream

Stand Up witness your dream!
Where everything around,
Flowing into you  

Stand up testify 
How standing sleeping trees,
Dreamy in the murmurs air,
While swims in the beam 
Of your ethereal soul!

Stand up and look at sea
While herds of the waves, 
Creat in thy dozy heart  
echo _ will never return. 

Stand up and listen to poetry sighs
Weep, in the cave of darkest thought
For several hours,
Then flowing away 
Through your serenity majestic 

Stand Up and testify your dream
While ascends towards east. 
As a dearly beam, wreathed by stars 
Oh dreamer of god's light.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Dreamless Tree Dweller

Swaying. Dancing. Let me carry you.
Dance for me. Dance for me. Dance for me.
It's beautiful how you hold on so tight, but reach so far.

Up and Up and Up.
Begging sunshine and starlight and moon beams to fill your cupped palm.
We' can sip from it together but we both know you'll never be satisfied
Until your silver leaves can dance to the symphonies of singing constellations.

The diamonds sprinkling down your face would look like tears.
But you, and I? We both know this isn't real. Put away your fears
And dream for me. Dream for me. Dream for me

And please darling, Let us never wake.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Story Of The Lonely Princess

The Story Of The Lonely Princess I sat here from the start of the golden waves to the leaving of the darken blues skies.I often dream of what away from the tower I seat in everyday,I often wish for someone to come and save me and show me the world with no fear of death around the corner.To feel the grass under my toes and the wind in my hair could you believe that everything is harmonize in one with that dream.Me as the princess am only allowed to dream and not leave this place with only one window and one door.I sing to the skies and the animals that run and fly freely.Take me with I would say.I'm placing my dreams away for the are all that I have left.farewell world of the free and brave.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Orphans and Angels

In dells and great glens groups of happy orphan children run and pick bunches of flowers,
They smell them, weave them into posies and garlands, they are blessed by angels in heaven,
And all these children are where they are, because a catastrophe has ruined their sad little lives,
Each kneel by their beds at night and they pray to God for someone to love and take them home,
To have real families and to know love not sorrow, to sleep in peace and not fear tomorrow.

Trees are bright green and the grass is long and warm the children run fast over the glens,
They whip their legs or graze their knees but say nothing, they may be told to sit in the bus,
Little girls making daisy chains under a June sun with their red rosy cheeks and red gingham frocks,
The boys fly past pretending to be airplanes, all have grey shirts, grey trousers and grey socks,
All are happy, but their happiness is never complete, as later it's back to the children's home.

It's picnic time they sit in deep green grass each is given a neat folded brown paper parcel,
There's apples and oranges, some bread and cheese and a few penny sweets in a twisted bag,
Nobody speaks, they hold tight to their parcel as they eat lunch and they must eat all the crusts,
Then the lady in charge reads the register and shouts out names each say 'yes miss' then carry on,
But the very best of all is munching on Black Jacks and the fruit salad chews, what a great day,

The angels watch these sad little people and kneel with them at night saying their prayers,
They kneel by each child in the rows of beds and listen to the tiny sobs and see the tears,
Some speak to Jesus asking for a mum and dad, maybe their best friend could come along too,
And as the sobs quieten and tears dry on small faces the angels smile and hold their hands,
Falling into a deep sleep they dream the dream of dreams a new mum kissing away their pain.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


loves from above
sex when you get
you can bet
there's a difference beweet
as bad it my seen
both make passion eyes wet

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Me and The Zimmer Man

•to zimmer (v.t.) – to flash brilliantly with apparent blinding insightfulness, suggestive almost of a certain numinosity.**
•** numinous (adj) – of or pertaining to a numen***; arousing elevated or religious feelings.
•*** numen (n) – a deity; a divine**** power or spirit.
•**** divine (adj) – of superhuman ***** or surpassing excellence.
•*****superhuman (adj) – exceeding ordinary****** human achievement.
•******ordinary (adj) – you, perhaps, and I, most definitely.


Me and Bob Dylan ( that is, the person sitting next to me
 who I had every reason to believe was he 
who possessed THAT reluctant voice of a generation,
 and the person I had no reason to believe wasn’t me)
 were cruising in a beaten-up FE Holden down Dictionary Highway, a nexus of beaten 
tracks, without a number,  but known by all numbers between zero and infinity,
 simultaneously stretching in all directions at once past everywhere and nowhere,
 taking in along the way such memorable places as The Black Stump, Billyo,
 Woop Woop, Buggery and **** Creek, and, in a kind of lexical alchemy,
 bringing you right back to where you thought you were 
thus producing near-stichometrical tales such as this.
We were on a rhyme-spree.
“Bob, ” I asked, “to what now do you aspire?”
To which he replied, in a drawl slow as a  wet week,
 ”A spire? A place no man can dwell”.
This was going to be a long ride, I could tell.

…to be continued, or, TO END WITH, THIS IS NOWHERE  NEAR THE ENDING...


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Untitled 26

O Moon God
Prisms of White
Sell me your dreams.

Those crystal visions
From high above that
nourish this void existence.

O Moon God
I want to see
through your spyhole

To feel what you feel
To catch you
Is like to burn.

I am your prisoner
Your prince and princess
your price is my shadow.

Hunt me.

O Moon God
The stars, your
Former skin powdered

Tremble blindly.
I want to redream myself
to mould myself

In your ashen image.
Your afterglow masks
my dreams entirely.

O Moon God
You lighten the life
We could have had

Haunted shades
Child silhouettes
All erased in day.
The comfort of darkness.

My opal pearl
My Samson
My God.

He’s as cold as you
A beacon of tragedy
Bone rays of regret.

O  Moon God
Sell me your dreams
For I have none.

Details | Prose Poetry | |



If only the sun could warm my aching soul
shivering within my inner being---immovable---
anchored stilled like frozen stones in the winter's cold.

Strange---the weather of human life
has no predictions to forecast coming tragedies
nor the coming of calming times---
separating reality from orchestrated fiction.

Ah, sundown will come and the moon will rise;
the sandman will go about his chores;
and I shall sink into comforting dreams;
where the wandering soul of sorrow is swallowed up
and fantasy and reality play joyfully together.

Details | Prose Poetry | |



In cosmic dreams,
I’ve waded the Nile
In golden Nubian sunsets;

Felt the warm breath
Of Sahara breeze
Kiss my cheeks;

Made my bed in tall savanna grass
And cooled my soul
In rain forest dew;

I’ve crouched beneath Gold Coast palms:
A palm wine drunkard…
Arms flung wide;

My soul
Has soared 
Atop Uhuru Peak:

I too,
Dream of Africa.

Details | Prose Poetry | |



How long 
must we still march
and sing---
our feet grown weary
and facades of justice
quietly silencing our voices?

we remain footnotes
to his story---
our story 
a cocooned legacy
of a pregnant dream
in the tangled web of time.

of pseudo gains
to tease un-ripened minds
with scams of liberty.

in due time
in due season
we will rise up
from the pit we’re in---
rise up 
and catch the fallen dream
laying it in the warm nest
of the bosom of liberation---
and incubate the waiting vision
of our destined realities
singing songs of redemption---
ringing bells of freedom
dancing to the beat of liberty:

the flame of determination
burns eternally
and the love-journey
of the unshackled 
continues toward the trysting place.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Winter Rose

I lay here in the stillness of night
Like last night, the night before 
Alone with no one to hear my voice
Echoing in the silence against these walls
That slowly close in each night, tonight, every night

I watch these winds outside my window
Brushing the cold snow across the valleys between trees
And I cannot help myself from wondering 
If the cold chill scratches at your window
Whispering in shivers across your shoulders of our pain

Does it echo my love instead?
Does it dream of you like I do?
Does it hold our love like a rose?
Does it breathe across your neck?
Like I do, have done, will do again

I watch the languid snows falling to the ground
Down through the canopy of remembered leaves
A many folded memory they cup fast within
Of you, of me when in these arms you bathed
Inside the rhythms of our hearts beating like one

I shiver within the memory of your body next to mine
Of the way you fit beside me as we two slept to dream
Until dawn broke with pastel shadows across our bed
To fall upon you the Rose of lush and vibrant life
In each moment cast of whispering light from dawning day

I remember watching you in those moments
As if it were this morning, yesterday, the day before
And this memory fills the bed that yawns beside me
Of your waking eyes and smile beneath the first ray of light
When you looked so fragile with a foreshadow of strength

I see you my love everywhere these eyes do fall
In the roses of winter only these eyes can see
I see you smiling in the falling snow bathed in moonlight
In the wind billowing across the twilight earth
I remember you in every shiver to touch my shoulders

Each an echo of your love
Each a dream touching my skin
Holding your soul as if it were a rose in bloom
For this heart still singing of your embrace
And I do, every night, each night, this night

I think of you
And of the day, the morning when . . . 
My Winter Rose
I see you smiling

Details | Prose Poetry | |

In the March of Dreams this way . . . once more, never before

I’m marching in the dream 
It’s raining heavily and the sky is dark and flashed with electric white
Silver shards gleam down from the sky
To shatter the still and calm I love so of the rain
In the dream I am young as I am now
Full of life
Strong and full of grace like never before this moment
When I dream within dream of you standing there in the sunlight
Of the sighing of day light waning beneath the whisper of night cascading 
Like the dreams of yesteryear come once more to pass this way

Dreaming in the dream of another dream born of memories long and old
Lost again am I amid the rains pelting my skin briskly, warmly
Like your voice in my ear of when we spoke to clutch each other fast
To hold one another close within the span of memories
Needing to feel alive and whole and with one another
For the space between us still of the yawning days and nights falling softly
Lingering here and then as we lay spent, smiling, laughing in the echoes of pleasure
And I march on; I march on toward the East where I see you standing 
With your head held high and arms holding out to me
A bright smile somehow shyly kept across your beautiful face like a river
Fresh from the mountain of days reborn in the fullness of spring

And so I dream as I march under the raining sky and shatter spikes of silver gleaming
Of when and where I stand before you with a quiet smile of wars fought and won
When across these shoulders I carried the sum of world’s worries, 
Pains and lamentations deep and plenty folded 
Like the crystal I gazed within your eyes
When whisper of meaning deep as the sky unfolded within the stars above us now
Did you from across the chasm between 
And still under the thunder of time and when I hear you so close
I dare to reach out and stroke your face with a feather light breath
From jaw line to lips so sweet I weep in the pleasure of knowing you deeply
But I am marching, still marching and into the East I find myself cast
In dream and still more I dream as I dreamed and dreamt never of you before this
For never having dared to dream such as you, 
Could not for never seen such before have I . . .

I am marching in the dream
Under the raining sky that kisses my body briskly
Like the dream of your voice in my ear in the birth of day
When wrapped within you I did, was, and will be, I am to be once more
For the first

I am dreaming and in the dream I am marching
Marching under the silver gleaming sky I march

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Invisible Man 16

I wrote the Invisible man poems many years ago. These poems, and I have not submitted them all, was for a little girl who died in a road accident. They are a tribute to her memory. It was a dark and very sad time and I miss her so much. The Invisible Man poems are supposed to to show the the darkness of my world, the way I felt. They are very precious to me. Thank you for reading.

The Invisible Man sits on his bench in the shopping parade it is a windy day but the sun shows itself every now and then. He feels hung over today as he was drunk last evening and his mind wanders off in different directions. Again his defence mechanisms start to work and he reflects about his past.

I have seen bright-eyed daises open and golden yellow buttercups across huge meadows unfold,
A delicate golden shining carpet spreading across water-mead’s the finest a cloth of purest gold,
White clouds scudding across watery blue skies, puffs of cotton changing their shapes as they go,
Storms at a distance rumbling and rolling peels of thunder and lightning both with hail and snow,
Pure white spring lambs grazing beside a crystal brook looking around and dancing in their stream,
Swallows playing games flying fast and low singing with joy while the brown cows give cream,
But now I have no home and this beautiful land stays in my head like a picture painted in my mind,
Even in my desperate loneliness I still dream longing and searching for more dear memories to find,
In my daydream there is an old road winding its way to nowhere I lean on an old gate in the lane,
I dream of May time everything is being reborn the glades and the fields turn back to gold again,
In my daydream I am listening to a skylark singing sweetly joined by a nightingale over my head,
In my dream I am respected and good company I have friends talking and laughing enjoying life,
But it is just a dream and my dreams never come true they end in tragedy and cruelty why is this?

Invisible is brought back to reality when he realises someone is shouting at him for sitting on the seat he is told that the seat is for old people to sit on. Invisible tells the man there is plenty of room on the seat. The reply to that is ‘ who in their right mind wants to sit next to a smelly old dosser move now!’

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Lighting The Road Back Home

Through the old screen door 
Her tired eyes widened 
As she watched the familiar figure 
Drawing closer to the house 

Even from a great distance 
It was easy to see 
The way he meandered 
Was a walk that was his alone 

Years before a pledge was made 
That someday he would return 
And now… after the war was over 
His home grew larger with each step 

It was like a dream she had many times 
During the days, months and years 
That had passed without a word 
A dream that she knew would come true 

And though she could not see his face 
Or hear his voice from so far away 
She could feel his smile 
Lighting the road back home 

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Navriss in the still

I closed my eyes to dream and my dreams were empty
The Angel, the stairway, the stars, the star
They were all gone
It’s been so long since I felt her presence in my life
In dream where once I liked to go for solace
I find a void

In the face of such silence
What am I supposed to do?
I reach out into the wellspring and find it empty
There’s nothing left and still
Still I know something secret
Something sweet

Silence has fallen across my dreams like a blanket of snow
Somehow cold and desolate in the quiet
I know that I am supposed to feel despair
Because I am alone
Bereft of my guide, has fled me
But there is no despair
There is nothing

I am alone in the silence of my dreams

I know

I guess in the absence of despair
I am just left to wonder
Just left to wonder

How come I know it is silent at all? 

Details | Prose Poetry | |



The arid winds steal
     Our tears.
The sterile dust tease
     Cystic hopes
Of dreams deferred.

At shrines of Lazarus
Beckon the faithful
 The wailing discontent:

Only the dreamer dies; the dream
     Lives on.
Only the dreamer dies; the dream 
     Lives on.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


I found myself, a lifeless corpse, finally, at the end of the line ~ mocking humanity
The warmth of the sun drawing my days to a close, once more ~ from, such, this great length of TIME
I perceived in some distance, far off from this naked human eye ~ the girl i loved
it simply must be
There was, indeed, little doubt of the presence of this ingenue’
No other way, but that, she, this daughter of aristotle had taken to form
And from the vestige of seas foam risen to shore ~ if only, so that I might believe
The sinking of my heart sang that i had dreamt this nymph before, up from the ocean’s floor, earlier upon that perfect morn
and She would have born of this prescience left upon humanity, her own sacred mark, by Horus’ primal witness
I felt as the falling petal of this saddened flower of life , now fallen to the blinding wind 
and some supreme voice opened her song, alongside the lilt of this setting sun  ~ and she smiled her dream down blessing me 
and The full release of the tides of her love  washed me clean
my body tempered for the rush of her beauteous breath, for it was my search to find this gift in each of these passing days, i savored the joy ~ and wished no more
even as her dream now found me, here, the fisherman upon this edge of this sacred shore