the colour of the money stained my fingers
they’re no mere vignettes
but rather a cryptic cipher on a worn codex
the coin of acceptance amongst gilded sybarites
as the shades of the tenor of royalty beguile
then fade on labour-worn backs
preordained moves by shadow hands upon a chessboard
the influential players pandering to my wishful delusions
in ever incongruous shades of deceit
purple haze all in my brain*
while I try to kiss the sky
the reality flickers
ephemeral like the tint of reels of film
romantic views of life bathed in purple hues
anecdotes
clutched like a life raft
however, their veracity wasn’t challenged
but nevertheless
still a hypnopompic dream
Categories:
hypnopompic, analogy,
Form: Suzette Prime
X
X
X
the moving shadow
a daddy with longest legs -
hypnopompic web
X
X
////\\\\
Categories:
hypnopompic, dream, sleep,
Form: Haiku
hypnopompic hues
multifaceted jewels
confetti luminaries
a gift from mother?
i’m cosseted in
its incalescence
its wind chime colors
my mind’s fixed upon
rubies, sapphires, emeralds
even if i fall
into somnambulant sleep
i cannot chase dreams
chimerical blooms
cut gems of rain-and-moon-bows
that unfurl as i awake
1/17/2022
Categories:
hypnopompic, color, dream, imagery,
Form: Choka
Reading Shakespeare, I used to smoke Ophelia’s garland for a better understanding: crow-flowers, nettles, daisies and long purples that liberal shepherds give a grosser name, but our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them. Fingers caused hypnogogic hallucinations, daisies – hypnopompic ones. Alas, crow-flowers and nettles didn’t work, but on the plus side, it got me thinking whether predetermination is predetermined. Hamlet is just in time to throw drowning Ophelia an inflatable crocodile and they live long and happily together, having left Shakespeare holding the bag.
is there a free will
in a predetermined world -
that is the question
Categories:
hypnopompic, literature,
Form: Haibun
Paralyzed and half sleep
I can't move as I try to wake
I struggle to rise from my slumber and stand on my feet
Trickery from sleep hypnopompic
Wish I could wake,
this experience is atrophic
Vivid was the dream
Battling a sleep spell
Disturbing was its theme
I awake questioning reality
Is this real?
Is this a duality?
Categories:
hypnopompic, confusion, dream, sleep,
Form: Lyric
Snapped into a block.
Feet planted in cool, grey cement at the deepest part of a cul-de-sac.
Homes of others stretch on, their lights sadistically feeding the darkness.
A silver horn firmly grasped, a music stand facing me.
A book smothered with ink sits upon the stand.
Time begins to slow...
Pulses begins to haste...
I interpret the music with the silver horn,
stumbling at each line with difficulty.
A potent storm begins to burst,
atmospheric aquifers have cracked!
Light, water! Wind!
The ink begins to transfigure before my eyes,
what was an eloquent phrase of 24 notes is now a clobber of 113.
The Wind Bellows:
"No moon nor sun to light the way,
But clashing winds to fuel the fray!
Expect to hear the things you fear,
Expect to lose the things most near!"
In the distance!
The lights are dimming down the street...!
And suddenly...
They are off.
Red screeching pain fills my heart...
every light has gone black, darkness has eaten its last course.
Blood begins to flood my eyes like an ocean drowning a dune.
I fall.
Snapped into a cool stasis.
Categories:
hypnopompic, dream, psychological,
Form: I do not know?