A Spectral Existence

… my dreams…

The wind barely sweeps o’er the grass
And only slightly ripples the puddles
Moonlight slouches out from behind the clouds
As I drift through the yard unseen

Darkness holds the earth
Daylight memories of this place break in
Like bursts of static
Only to be swallowed up by the night

And lonely I am as only one can be
Whose dreams pull him back to the scene
Of his biggest mistakes, his secret sorrows
Turned now into
An almost-silent movie

maybe dreams of emerald water

just maybe.

maybe dreams of emerald water
will afford me peace and rest;
maybe hope’s fair ocean daughter
will my willingness attest

that i hope is several fathoms
fathoming my heart’s desire;
emerald waves united anthem
to retire or
expire

Revenant Planet

I woke up to this other world
Of dreams and phantoms, distant suns;
The watered wastes surrounded me
In reticence both cold and gray
The eerie, haunted day

I felt your ghost beside me there
The terror cold within my chest;
Infinity, directionless —
To row although there was no shore
Just row for evermore

A revenant back from the dead
Among the lifeless planet there;
An alien without a home,
An endless ache of wanting –
With only me
For haunting

School, Bike, and Dugout

We learn, we play, we join a team;
We work, we laugh, we live the dream

The dream of being more – and less –
Than simple lives of
Blessedness


Photo credit (and poem idea from) © Fiskness | Dreamstime.com – Old school, bike, and dugout

nuclear solitude v2

dreams of the wind in the ice and the snow,
carnivals taciturn, wheels that don’t go,
echoes that cannot reach kin, friend or foe,
these are the dreams i’ve been keeping —

nuclear solitude, Chernobyl field,
habits of thought and the snow that they yield,
faltering canopies, senses all reeled —
my sorry self should be sleeping

my sorry self should be sleeping

A Gypsy Dream

My friend, the gypsy, shared a dream
Of how she’d found a carnival,
A type of old tradition where
The best of their technology
Was brought to bear to try to make
A wonderland of lights and sorcery.

Where lovers could walk hand-in-hand
And feel excitement from the crowd,
As she did; with some unknown he
Whose face was handsome, though unseen.
But still the glow of love was there,
Among the scents of summer on the pier.

But love, she said, is not her way:
At least, the way that many think
That love should be: just one for good –
A night, a day, a month, a year,
That’s fine, but even in a dream,
She knew the carnival must have
An end – a letting go – a final turn.

She stared away, in shadows, then
She said, “I’m built for wandering.
The hands I hold are many, as
I make my way across this life.
I’m sure that dream was just my truth
As written on my neurons in the night.”

I watched her kiss the sunset, and
The gleaming colors in her eyes
As she arose to meet the night,
And leave me in a cafe seat
To ponder what a gypsy thing
That lives and hearts are in the very end,

That lives and hearts are in the very end.