Without Us

The echo of a dream still sounds,

I stand alone, the world turns round,

Without us.

There’s no one left

But me, bereft,

Without us.

The sky so blue with height astounding,

Sweet clean air, green grass, surrounding,

Without us.

Silence deafens, no birds in flight,

An emptiness as cold as night,

Without us.

And I’m stood there, quite all alone,

A lonely beauty now my home

Without us.

A hellish dream, to be apart

Amid such glory, there’s no heart

Without us.

Such hollow sight though stunning seen,

Nightmarish, really, sort of scene,

Without us.

I chose life when sound was heard,

Arise, it said, an awesome word,

We’re here. 

Unsleep The Night

Unsleep the night, 

DiSTuRb,

repress fallacious feasibility,

DiSTorT,

awake the dreamer to all probability,

Forsake the hours spent in cloud drifts, ghosted shadows

of the lives we meant to see,

all possibilities.

Day’s disambiguation

BrOKeN,

Remembered fantasies.

Trail the highways of insomnia,

where bridges solid

link illusion to reality,

Unsleep the night.

A Real State

Every time I closed my eyes I saw people, 

Strangers in my midst with tools in hand,

And every time I saw them I dismissed them,

They shrugged and left but returned when I turned round.

My husband couldn’t see them though I told him,

My children couldn’t see, they raised their brows,

I felt crazy with myself and with the whole crowd,

Who were these men and why were they here now.

I entered rooms and there they were dismantling

Everything they found and deemed demised,

I argued, shouted, waved my hands before them,

They shrugged again and, though gone, were still inside.

I hurried to the rooms that they were haunting,

Not spectres, no, but quite determined still

That all my protestations, all my anguish,

Could be ignored while on they went about their will.

My eyes were opened in their closed state, I knew this,

A dreamer’s state but wakened yet withal,

I’d wake for real, return and there they were still present,

A nightmare to a sleeper when sleep calls.

I had to write this down upon my waking,

Or did I write it while still in my dream

Or was the dream and all the fears and terrors

An illustration of my mind and world for real.

 

Pillowcase Presence

Memory in the touch that calls to reason,

Abstraction just a place where stars collide,

Disjointed dreams, some fraught with lesions,

Others merely shelter deep inside.

Some there are as pivot, giving warning,

Advancing cause, regulating mood,

Semblance of the real restored in morning,

Sonorous with wonder at all good.

Sleep adrift, in darkness, searching moonlight,

Inner eye to sky bestowed, in reach,

Rested in the present, gifted new sight,

How dreams in darkness touch, to lovers teach.

Elegance purveyed amid the chaos,

Confusion unconfessed so sweet absolved,

Bartered dreams, reality with no loss,

Unravelled theories, string unwound, life solved

On pillowcase near perfumed by your presence,

A touch to mind, to heart, to memories,

Kaleidoscope of visions void by essence

Of you beside, inside all drowned out tears.

Different Dreams

I haven’t a clue where this appeared from but, driving home from Yoga class, I started singing the first few lines of this and it sort of finished itself after dinner. With a melody that you’ll just have to imagine. 🙂

It’s a diff’rent time,

Dreamin’ in my mind,

Images of you near, my dear

In another time.

It’s a diff’rent way

To make it through the day,

Whiling time in dreams of you

In another way.

It’s a different place,

Visions of your face,

Captured on the screen of mind

In another place.

It’s a diff’rent life,

Dreams, they must suffice,

Night times end too soon for me

In the other life.

It’s the strangest dream,

Nothing what it seems

In the waking hours all spent

Waiting for the dream.

It’s another way

To travel through the day,

Closing eyes to dream of you

By night and endless day.

It’s a special time,

Stolen in my mind,

Dreams of diff’rent landscapes

In another place and time.

 

Art of the Possible

From the dreams inside, without, about, all over,

Sensibilities subserve to something else,

A notion of a happy ever after,

Token’d, broken lives replaced on shelves.

Voiceless dreams where nameless heroes muster,

Vanguards to the vetoed daylight hours,

Suppressing fatalistic flawed of futures,

Adjusting life in possible detours.

Probable imbalances all equations,

Unfeatured in the changes that we make,

Possibilities thrive in sleep and waking

When willing spirits dream and undertake.

Field of Dreams

There’s a clearing in my mind where I can wander,

Like a field of dreams was planted long ago,

Sown by whom I’ve met and all I’ve felt there,

Waiting for the crops that had to grow.

 

There’s a feeling that I’ve been this way before then,

Like someone gave me glimpse then left my side,

Notional directions then abandoned,

But – not really – more as if they ran away to hide

 

To see if I could unearth in the threshing

Or the harvest, whenever it should come to pass,

If teasing, in a tempting sort of measure,

Should balance books bet or if I’d come in last.

 

I feel I’ve failed the test before I started,

Like the race was rigged before I left the block,

Like someone changed the rules and I, as usual,

Was writing or just reading some strange book.

 

There’s a field of dreams I guess we all get lost in, when

In a semblance of a future once glimpsed past,

We entered name and limbered for the race and

Hoped against all hope we’d not come last.

 

Strength to muster, this was all we asked for

Strength sufficient and a well-kept pace,

Sweat and toil, all that work notwithstanding,

We thought, believed that we could maybe win this race.

 

I never was a runner in my dreamings,

Nor in life – I’ve always walked with ease –

Sauntered through, feet always planted firmly

Though my mind has gone its own way as it pleased.

 

I s’pose, like most, I’m just some kind of farmer,

I trudge through day and work and fret and always feed my sheep,

I sow and reap and gather where I can do,

I rest my head and pray for easy sleep.

 

But the voice inside my head that keeps on saying,

‘Arise, awake, you’re sleeping when it’s dawn,

Get up and move, the day is almost over,’

Urges me to seek a brand new morn.

 

One where fields are harvested with fairness

And work’s a task we gladly take in team,

Singing, laughing all the while with gladness

That this is real and not another dream.

 

I guess I’m dreaming even while I write this,

The status quo exists for world and also me,

The race is almost over, I’m exhausted

And weeping for we all who just won’t see.

 

I wish I didn’t care and love was easy,

The way it was when dads and mums were glad,

Once upon a time, in some strange dream land,

In field of dreams where none are ever sad.

 

I can’t believe I’m writing and not hoping,

It’s the news, you see, I really shouldn’t hear,

All that goes around and races onwards

Fills my dreams and field with crop of fear.

 

But, listen, I know I can’t leave this foray

Into dreams and fields and races and this life

Without one, at least just one, little seed sown.

In love and light, the work is cleaved with sharpest knife.

 

I guess that what I’m saying is I love you,

Bizarre, I know, when all of you are figments of the light

Cast across my screen like all the seeds sown

Filling field of dreams in day and night

 

 I wish that I could write in brief, a haiku,

Syllables all counted and best said,

Time being of the essence, that would serve well,

But, alas, that knack in me, bypassed my dreams and head.

 

I’ll go on dreaming just because I have to,

I know no other way to make things real.

Arise, awake, enact, forgive my earnest ramblings.

I call it, tell it, dream it as I feel.

Voyeured Charm

I love connections – might have mentioned that before. 😉 In my blog reading this morning – long overdue – I wrote of a dream on waking, read of a dream then, inspired by Simon’s lovely poem, wrote this.

forgotten times, alternate rhymes,

dreams within the dreams,

suspended reality, sweet illusion,

nothing as it seems.

escapists’ art, all words impart,

dreams returned to dust,

daytime serves frugality

to dreamers, as it must.

but, come the day, the sleep it holds,

serving all our need,

our nightly visions, voyeured charm,

providence will feed.

Born of a Dream

I awoke from a strange dream around 5 a.m. this morning where Voldemort was telling an assembly that the treaty was broken, the Horcrux had been created and the parts sent to seven corners of the globe. Who knew the globe was heptagonal? So God told him that he couldn’t go back on his word not to destroy mankind again after the last flood but he had something else in mind.

I gave in trying to get back to sleep and got up to write. Did that then read a few blog posts. Just going to link them now. Dream related I think. Well, at least in my mind. 🙂

http://shaunynews.com/2014/11/29/the-10-commandments/

http://shaunynews.com/2014/11/29/the-image-that-defines-westminster/

What Noah Built Next

 

Time to build something new for all the shit around. Just a thought. Born of a dream. 

I’d include my poem in that clean up act btw. 😉

passing in the night

I have awakened from a dream of you at this ungodly hour

With words upon my lips and in my mind,

Declarations pending, liminal in style

But yours to me and these are what I find.

Words upon the surface with a core that runs below,

Unhallowed, but hollowed from a mine,

Checked for flaws and riddled

But diamond in their worth,

Hesitant but sight-giving to one blind.

In darkness of the pits and night,

Stars call to the soul,

Dazzle first, cause disarray

Then guide as days of old.

Sought among the heavens

Above, seven plough’d beneath,

Expressed in words that sigh with guilt,

Extend such brief relief.

Buried deep in grounds around

And painted in the skies

The words are writ in diamond dust,

Sparkled in the eyes.

Such are those that woke my sleep

And furnish here you see

But spoken not from my lips,

Such were yours to me.

Passed along from in my dreams,

That caused a smile to reach

For instrument that tortures yet

Brings to words thoughts breached.

Pivotal this hour of night

On unsuspecting soul.

Dismiss as fit but know, while dreamt,

Yours words made my heart whole.