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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
5/12/2014


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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.”


Details | Prose Poetry | |

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 cold....it 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 | |

REFLECTIONS ON A VIRGINIA SUMMER NIGHT








   REFLECTIONS ON A VIRGINIA SUMMER NIGHT

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."


Details | Prose Poetry | |

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'}




Details | Prose Poetry | |

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.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

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

                                                ~Yesterday~ 

                             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
                                                            2/5/2013
                                        


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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...

SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA


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Smile

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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Dreamer

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!


* If you enjoyed this piece, follow the link and share your thoughts
http://echoes19.wordpress.com/2013/01/22/dreamer-2/


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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 ..............


Details | Prose Poetry | |

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.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

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,
            thick,
                      coagulated,
                                           dirty.
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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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 | |

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.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

FOR ALL THE TIMES

 
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.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

ESCAPING INTO NIGHT

ESCAPING INTO THE NIGHT...

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 | |

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
http://poems.easybranches.com/


Details | Prose Poetry | |

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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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 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…
cold. 
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 | |

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 | |

SEASONS AND TIME TRAVEL


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.
Interesting.
Architectures of the most modern world.
Towering.
The skilled hands of God's artists.
Admiring.
As winter melted into spring
Sleepy flower beds, Slowly arising.
Tulips and peaches. Mums and daisies.
Smiling.
Sunkissed leaves on treetops
Rustling.
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.
 Feeling.
 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.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Hope You Know I'll Always Love You

I am what you call a hopeless 
romantic,
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 
me
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 
flame,
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 | |

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

SOMETHING IN A VOID


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 | |

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 | |

Nightlight

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.

Yet,

I wish the light would swallow me up as well.

Instead,

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.