John Anderson Poet Lyric

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Wily Whispers Before Waking

I recall thinking of the response,
when you murmured asleep in the night,
the bubble whirls, set to collapse,
where words shimmer with resonance.

Like a rolling, flip-roll calendar on desk,
days shuffle forward, then scatter away,
an unforgettable roll call in the dawning.
Stars sparkle reluctant; veiled in the hush of mist.

It's just a skipping stones throw of thinking.
Each circle a widening ripple that fades.
Glinting with shimmers sailing in iridescent seas.
In short preview dreams, quivering, breaking apart.

Soothing rivers sweep me along with the rain.
Currents tilt thought into fractured light,
Dappling the surface with trembling shadows,
Reflections murmur softly through dark glass.

Waiting for blessings from the stairs.
The bubble whirls, bursting into absurd words.
Unanswered questions bleed into sleep,
with the humdrum that never quite dissolves.

The rain drafts letters on the roof.
Each drop a secret word etched and undone.  
Yet the page tilts sideways, spilling,
the words back into the ocean pot of ink.

I chase a clock that swims like a fish.
Its scales like minutes, slither through my hands,
As the waters break open like swinging doors,
revealing staircases of spiraling white smoke.

In the half-light of sleep,
thoughts are like moths.
Fluttering at the edge
of a candle’s wavering glow.

This time between worlds,
full of subconscious whispers,
has truths arriving like chariots,
before scattering in the wake of dawn.

Half-light lingers still,
half-true, half-believed, half-known —
phantoms drift like mist,
their edges blur into breath,
then fold into the arms of dawn.

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