Best Repetitious Poems
Another repetitious dream – 3
The outsider look in, from within / looking at
Dreams come alive during the morning hours,
long after most of the world – on this side of the sun –
has risen from the fading light of moons glow and dreams.
My dreams ride the steps of escalators from deep down,
where – from the darkened cracks of the subconscious –
voices speak – in riddles and rhymes – to the conscious
mind, during those sleepy hours where depression takes hold
and binds, ties one down - in the light of day - to their bed.
My dreams are telling me - as I see myself – I am involved
in what is portrayed upon the screens that lay on the backside
of my, closed, eye lids that hide from the outside world
a true view of my soul and all that is whispered in secret.
Phrases depicting – as I, in states of lucidity – watch the play
unfold – from my balcony chair – as I become the actor,
and in this, a one man play, I am all the parts of all the characters
that have danced, strutted, pranced, crawled before these eyes.
Eyes that catch the essence of the story but not the subplots,
nor the beginning, the middle, the end, or what lies between
the lines set within the heart of all the prose, poetry and rhymes.
And so, as the outsider looking in, looking at the insider
looking out, comes from within, is the script writer, the actor,
preforming all the parts, with all the nuances projected,
that awake, never comes to light, except in small flakes,
specks and flecks upon the mirror he hold, reflecting
the images of the child, the boy, the youth, the man, the aged.
The strange world of dreams !!!
B. J. “A ” 2
June 19th 2005
Repetitious Dream – 1
No Controll !!!
Once upon a time – long ago – an entrepreneur, my forte.
Not today !, for that is not – in the heat of the night – what dreams say.
They tell me, – in their surreal repetition – I was but a pawn,
in games played by landlords, clients, friends – I was drawn,
pushed, manipulated and shoved from dusk till dawn.
I do wonder ?, about this wonderland reality, after the setting sun.
Truth ?, I drag it on and on – in dream – till night is done.
This is the stuff – today, yesterday – my dreams are of’
and it seems – years now – there is no end, even though above
all else, – these repetitious dreams – this should not represent the way
life truly was for me, – in another time – during another day.
Awake, reality is – from beginning to end – we all are but pawns,
played by the hands of our need and by the hands of greed
as the puppet masters look on with disdain and yawns
at all our efforts to grow from the simplest of planted seed
in hopes that life will blossom, flower and fill our need.
B. J. “A ” 2
June 9th 2005
Thru the eyes of a child where newness abounds,
the magical lure of the merry go round..
It's piped in repetitious sound entices
spectators all around..
"Choose your seat" says a ticketer at the gate.
Large steel poles anchor in the animals fate.
Painted horses methodically go up and down
with hoofs that never meet the ground..
Mermaids, tigers, and other beasts, co-exist
here, all in peace..
Thru the eyes of a child what a fantasy feast.
"Let's go one more time at least?"
Sunday Morning Quiet
David J Walker
It is in the Sunday morning quiet
A quiet noted in the whisperings
Of a house settled when
The sayings will begin
Later in the day
If at all
The sayings will be small
If at all
Rapacious prays
Repetitious fears
Religion ignored
Lucky them
It is a Sunday morning quiet
When nothing needed is noted
And understood
Suspicious of Being Repetitious
Some people started being suspicious,
And really had been rather repetitious;
We thought;
With brought;
What did turn out to be their wishes.
Jim Horn