Seventeen candles on her cake
the world awaits with all it offers
~ a bouquet of budding dreams
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AUTUMN REVERIE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
autumn comes as a
chariot of nature’s flame
woodland golds and browns
breathe in gold; feel it extend
deep into your very soul
autumn’s leaves will soon
rest upon the forest floor
my heart is drifting
like the gentle autumn winds
explores nature’s mysteries
Written: August 06, 2025
*********
The traffic roars as wounded gulls.
metal beats skated over the asphalt waves,
each honk a fractured prayer,
fleeing the city, restless breath.
I sit beneath a twisted jacaranda tree.
Its lavender flowers unfurl as the sun dips low
Parrots squabble in the canopy—
boisterous, unrepentant, and singing,
stirring the dawn with their raucous cries,
a beauty entwined with longing.
Their melody exists beyond,
concrete and clocks,
I sip coffee—malnourished warmth—
Its bitter essence wedged between my ribs,
where comfort once thrived.
The chipped cup, a reflection of lost trust.
Each face that passes me
is a silent question,
I have forgotten how to answer.
Once I skated these streets
hungry for names,
for the echo of someone to cram my void,
But identity remains a fog
caught between chain-link fences
and fragrant jasmine vines.
Yet still,
I listen for that singular voice
amid the clamorous parrots,
the one that might beckon me back
into the wholeness of myself.
On dark, cold soil,
atop the soaring green turf,
lay cold, rusty, nostalgic houses.
The path that led to them
was faded and shallow,
with the feeling
it could cave in
at any moment.
Scattered along that path
were derelict vehicles
from different eras
each one different heaps of life.
Fog filled the houses.
It filled the cars too,
like a raging campfire,
too sinister
to be put out.
And yet here I am,
wandering through this old-world neighborhood,
yearning into reverie
this faded memory
feels like the perfect remedy.
Smiling down on the speckles of sand,
already the warmth is fading.
Dreaming of brilliant
stars to appear
as their mother rested on waves.
At the height of graceful magnificence
her soft chrome glow diminishing.
One last show
she would provide
before she went to bed.
She reached her arms to the skies
and bid her children "good night."
Sinking slowly,
hesitantly,
into the darkness,
she painted the heavens with hues,
magenta, tangerine, and cyan she had bestowed.
A tinge of violet creeping softly in,
bleeding unnoticeably, one into the other
until a rich ocean blue had been made.
Movements of life
slowed, blurred,
dreams wriggled deep into minds,
darkness blanketed
the land with its quilts.
And Earth slumbered once more.
"A spoonful of fantasy is often the best medicine for reality." - CayCay
Life bounces my emotions around at its whimsy.
On many a day, a reverie is a savior to me.
Relief awaits inside the fondling of a good fantasy.
My imagination travels mind breezes easily
to unravel my dark in a visualization spree.
Sometimes I cannot force my face to even fake smile,
cannot elevate emotions above my bleak stockpile,
or take depression out of my character profile.
Escaping through my imagination's creative style
may lead to a dream worthy of keeping on speed dial.
In youth, loves kindles, ignites flames bold
While two hearts dance beneath a cloudless sky
With soft gentle hands, in a "whimsy" he did mold
Two young bodies close in his last good-bye
In my "imagination, I can feel
And "dream" in "reverie" of our lost youth
Now at times, I cry about the raw deal
The fervent winds of passion gone, in truth
In aged eyes though not in "hallucination"
A steady warmth still flows from each sweet soul
Not from youth's passion nor middle-age station
Lows have made our life's love completely whole
At times "visualization" brings back youth
When fantasy and "dream" sometimes hid truth
Sitting in the sunshine
streaming through the window
my catnap's long overdue
it's way past time I drifted off
to the land of milk
(and honey) ah Shangri-La
a return to déjà vu
and my reverie
it's no hallucination
merely visualisation
of a fertile imagination
and when all is said and done
no I'm not the one
(but, 'Wish I were,' hear me purr)
the cat who ate the canary
or that got the cream
but until I do I'll catch some z's
lose myself in whimsy drift away and dream
"Sometimes the softest dreams unravel into ash."
My mind walks landscapes made of ash,
where stars collapse in whimsy’s flash.
I reach for light, but it turns to dust—
a mirror cracking from broken trust.
A hallucination holds my hand
and leads me through this haunted land.
Here, love once bloomed in endless spring,
now silence grows in everything.
The bones of joy lie at my feet,
while reverie weeps down the street.
I build my hope with shattered clay,
a dream that fades at break of day.
My imagination carves the sky—
with wings no real bird learns to fly.
Visualization paints a place
where I exist without a face.
Fantasy kissed me in the dark,
then vanished—
like the last cold spark.
The soliloquy of a late-night train whistle in the distance
Calls out to me like past voices, and the insistence
Of God’s voice is echoed in Pastor David's sermon
(Growth? the Holy Spirit will determine)
As if God were speaking directly to me, germane
To the haunting of my past, it has been whispering of late
Getting me to focus and to contemplate about
The people I’ve wronged and the sin-filled reveries shout
Out things once hid (and forgotten) brought into the light
And on these undulating seas that I traverse late at night
I am brought back again to the whistle of the train
As it fades into the distance in refrain
(I have often crossed the trestle (in
Young America) with these thoughts I wrestle
Give me peace dear Lord
As I walk on t'ward, Amen)
An old Mallard dines alone
A memory on the edge of the flock
A weaker yet still viable member
An inattentive sentry
Sifting grey mud
Chasing soggy bread crumbs
The sun warms his weary wings
As the river draws him away
A Great Blue Heron nods G’Day
I watch as the days go by,
I can’t help but wonder why,
why was I the one chosen to live in silent pain, as the days by, they leave me alone in my everlasting pain
every day goes faster than the last slowly eradicating my conciseness,
I gradually go insane more and more every day,
I can’t tell the difference between reality and my reverie anymore,
I can’t tell real from wrong so I indulge in my dreams knowing they take me nowhere in my reality.
the days just keep passing by leaving me alone in the darkness of the night,
I stare at the stars dreaming of a life that differs from mine,
it’s a far-off dream that I know will never become trustworthy but I can’t help but dream,
for my reverie is the only thing keeping me sane, in this horrible little reality.
Sapphyric sunbeams whisper roseate daydreams,
Bioluminescent spectrum serenade neon-lit streams.
i could feel your touch even though you are miles away
lost in the thoughts of you and suddenly it’s 4 in the morning
“cigarettes smoke and my black jacket hold,
holds your aroma and our clothes on the floor”
hysterical of me to be this close
i opened my eyes and it’s 12 on the clock
it was a dream, a reverie never to be disclosed
of who it is about but one reader will know for sure
layers deep as midnight’s hush
a crimson dream, a lover’s blush
velvet soft beneath the light
wrapped in cream, a sweet delight
cocoa whispers, sugar sighs
rich as love in longing eyes
each bite lingers, melts, remains
a kiss of silk, a sweet refrain
fork in hand, a stolen taste
lips are stained, no crumb to waste
one more slice, just one more bite
a cake of passion, pure and right
would you dare to take it slow?
or surrender to its glow?
red as longing, red as sin
taste it once—be lost within
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