The Lucid Dream

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The lucid dream…

…that becomes real,

when once my nights were bleak,

as shown by my heart’s muted appeal,

memories of your beauty entice me to rise,

then speak with dedication as I put words to paper that seem alive

and upon my chest rests loves enduring legacy which will never be denied.

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The Dream That Is You

The Dream That Is You

I have waited too for you to
embrace me my friend.

I have visited you, every
evening and covered you
with my love.

I have opened doors for
your friends and to my
chagrin also enemies that
use me to do their nefarious
business.

Twilight, while neither friend
nor enemy does witness their
actions and have overheard their
plans, plots, and even treachery;
as they seek only profit or pleasure.

I do not believe any of them has right
to mock you, or raise a hand against
you in any way.

Think on the bee, who while bearing
a formidable weapon, his or her task
is to faithfully serve their queen.

What manner of love, dedication,
and faith does one carry in mind
and heart. Who but for the
passionate few will risk all and
remain in loves stead for
years over years.

Why is this singleness of
purpose not marked in the
pages of a great book.
Is it because, it is marked on
the ribbon of time that stands
as a silent testimony to reason.

For no other than this, often
the enemies are bewildered
and frustrated in their attempts
to castigate or stifle what they
themselves do not really control.

I move rapidly upon them to
thwart and stymie their most
detailed plans.

Look upon them quietly and intently
seeing them stumble about and lose
coordinated time for their deeds,
is sometimes pleasurable to
witness–mind, I do not wish the
innocent ill, and I go out of my way
to see that help is not hampered
nor denied.

But, those who have plotted
and I have witnessed them at
your door and they do well to
not make you unhappy, cause
should they do so and to them
I say only this:

Fear not my love, they will pay,
least they raise a hand against you,
because —

My love for you will not falter…ever.

Signed: The Night

Wishing and Taste Her Name: Andrea

Wishing…

that sleep will gather like your hair
falling over your eyes and make you
drowsy drowsy…

feel the boat rocking on a warm
summers day…rocking gently rocking…

feel your lovers tender touch body
warmth as that of a gentle spring sun…

kissing you gently like the light
touch of a butterfly…

here there on your eyes, cheeks,
caressing your nose, chin, ears…

soft lips brushing slowly, tenderly
across your face carefully to slowly
grant you the truth of self…

your desire ebbs and builds with the
boat gently bobbing on the water…

still air allowing the sounds of nature
and distant play of children to add to
the serenity of the body…

your mind seems to be adrift on a sea
of motion…

floating, warm, secure and at peace
for the time with life, nature, self.

I love you.

Signed

T. H. E. Sun

*
*
*
*
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Taste Her Name: Andrea

Wine has ever enriched the lives of
those that partake of its delicious
quality. The struggle continues to
put a name to its wondrous appeal.

Andrea – her name softly vocalized
conjures a vision of trees shedding
the willowy down of spring.

Just as the grape plants are tended,
nurtured, and appreciated; so are
the vines that will bear the precious
fruit are prepared for growth.

Inspired by trees that release new
growth the arboriculturist is lovingly
there when a vine needs attention.

Andrea has hair that tangles, and
eyes of serenity where a soul might
find peace.

Skin that identifies a life lived,
not patronizing; she is totally
unapologetic and honest for she
is the gift.

Gives not ground, asks not for relief.
Passionate and understanding as she
knows fully that one day does not a
lifetime make.

She is tender, strong, gentle and
merciful where it is required. Yet,
valiant and ruthless when threatened;
but loving.

Like a Merlot, smooth when mature,
yet, crisp and haughty when young.

All accepted with equal measure, while
understanding that life may not always
have happy endings; it is the journey
from here to there that is most memorable.

Towards Slumber

Towards Slumber

Ah, to gather ones self towards the
welcome relief of slumber, matters
not if the day is still present or
one hears the approaching dusk by
the softening of days activity.

Even the birds commence with
sometimes a furious din, as though
arguing for spaces owned before
night becomes inn; thus spaced and
balanced by families do preen before
bed and cry “nini” to new found
friends.

What of the creatures that walk up
on the ground, is nightly peace of
any be found. Where may a gentle place
act as safe haven, while enemies
search and scour the night to devour
even friend Raven.

Ah, fear not for them for clustering
in numbers when alarmed sends
lurkers scurrying for safer plunders
as through the inn; pecks and
buffeting upon them rain from
stranger and friend.

Safely away our lurker is safe to
contend with a drink of milk from a
doorway tin.

Then what of the people who work
the night, no rest for them as they
slumbered by day; many by choice
per se would likely choose nights
stabilized din than daytimes bray.

Rush rush hustle bustle not a
moment to share, time is money
money the seduction is there
breath to spare.

Dizzy delirium added drama, what
say you on the wheel as you run,
employment is sluggish, sequester is
booming, summer used to be about
fun.

Look at the young humans living in
their beautiful worlds, while all about
life tumbles headlong as the endless
cycle continues of boys chasing
girls.

When tired both sexes stop and rest
as they feel the riptide of summer;
lay upon the grass lose not the
sweet lass who lay beside you for
this would be a bummer.

Don’t forget the chores whether
outside or indoors – so much in
so short a time; Pop then Mom
would scream (at least in my mind
they did) which was not a positive
thing for day passed to night and
look still not finished, you’re
grounded – sure fine.

Moon Burst

image-33Day touches your face even through the
night sky, lonely though you must be
from so much time passing by.

Beacon of hope to travelers upon the sea,
for land travelers you might be loathed
for making their paths seen.

Darkness rules the mane of your hair,
inky black a carpet of beauty upon
which you rest your head.

From a distance you seem clean
shaven, while close reveals stubble
and craggy the face that’s adored.

Many have desired to touch your
face, only few have done so and
returned unscathed.

Long is the fascination regarding
your beauty, foolishly marred as
though it is a duty, to poke, blast,
or drill as if its a right; not
protesting seen as if its alright.

Who stands with you to determine
what is good what is right, should not
your land belong to all citizens, and
should we as a whole determine who
jabs this or sinks that into your face
so old.

When

When;

 words not spoken are most

profound when life expects

more, hears not a sound.

 

 Would we speak as neighbors,

I believe so – yes, true.

I would eventually say hello

to you.

 

 Perhaps though today, would

my words tickle as does the

feather escaping its pillowcase.

 

 We have yet to regain the

wonderful union of words, when as

early writers struggled, debated

poetry or verse, with the strike

of a key answers to questions

appear instantly, at times making

things worse.

 

 World literary giants might nod

or poke, while searching for a

reason as to why everything works.

 

 Waver not in your passion for words,

by the same strength of heart and

values one can feel through your

mind a suffering.

 

 Perhaps today this is required of

all to resemble a buffering.

 

 Wishing upon the dreams or

expectations of others was a focus,

perhaps a mainstay of the culture

of times past.

 Saloon, campus or home was a place

to study, think or debate styles,

merits or even the principles of

literature.

 

 Whether the World notices many

blogged words is of little consequence,

words pour from your heart and in this,

it’s all that matters.

Poetry Thursday

Captured Beauty: Melancholy

Captured Beauty: Melancholy

Eyes of the largest pools of innocent
charm reflecting back to the viewer
exactly what they want you to see.

Life’s questions motives, hears only
silence.

The eyes stare, not with hate
as some imagine. Easier to claim
disgust, a shake of the head or shrug
of the shoulders than to look inside
self.

You see me in the places where you
have walked – I was the loner, whom
all claimed was unapproachable,
while I wore my jeans that never
seemed washed, hair long and
sometimes unwashed for days,
adorned in a black leather jacket
when cold over an ever-present
T-Shirt that was underwear during
winter and outerwear during summer
while upon my face the scowl was
ever present.

Perhaps I was the hip nonconformist
priding themselves on keeping sane
while a World tore itself apart.

Am I the tender beauty whose eyes
have observed enough of the
injustice in my time to flee inside
mind and save that small place
where I might cower or relax without
the unfairness that seems the
established norm today. My hair I
need to cover all or most of my face
because there are villains that are
walking about in plain sight and
working to destroy youths futures
behind closed doors.

I could be the class clown who while
making people laugh at my antics,
was observing all and trying to see
the truth within people.

Was I the ner’ do well whom, most
grownups gave up as lost, dense,
radical – not seeing the true beauty
before them bearing up under pain.

What now when even our society is
split amongst right, wrong, kinda.

You wish for me to leave the safety
of an environment I can control and
move all out into your ideological
self-realized “myscape” then accept
that as the status quo,
pppllleeaassee – hello any active
brain cells moving about in there.

Who decided a few people should
determine the course for millions,
that should scream loudly about our
system of living being flawed.

So I have constructed a wall inside of
my mind where brick by brick I built
over time, upon hurt after hurt and
I shelter there, against pain, injustice
and unfairness practiced as the
norm today, against theft and
mocking those who are the victims.

I do not stare to offend, only while
behind my wall I do not wish to speak
to anyone. Not, rude just please a
little space to hide from this World
and it’s angry at times persistent
demands on my time.

I share this with you, I use my hair as
a shield and a shout out to others
that you are not alone, we are not
any better than other people, just
different. Shielding my eyes from
stares and smirks or even ridicule
is not unheard of, being abused or
bullied because I do not look like
some politician, or hair cut like the
military is no ones business but my
own.

I like me as I am, please try liking
yourself – it works.

So you look into my eyes of guarded
resentment and you think I blame
you, I don’t even know you.

I can see every finger of resentment
pointing inward from my brick wall,
straight towards me. I do not need
to be constantly reminded. The status
quo is doing fine admonishing
me in my own head with droning
droning droning – yesssch.
Sometimes I want to ralf.

Hey, haters of my hair or perhaps that
I wear mascara as a guy, or too much as a
girl, so what.

I love, too. There is a cute guy at
work that I am ga-ga about, though it
would not show on my face; or that
there is a woman who I am love with
whom I would hug her forever, if she
acknowledged that she even had feelings
for me.

I have a heart, it can be hurt.
I have feelings, they can be abused.
I have opinions, they can be debated.
I have choices, I have made one.

I stay veiled behind my hair and
I build my wall a little higher, seems
safer and the pain is mine to carry
alone.

Poetry “building my wall” Thursday