Dream's Mysterium

Tag: poets

  • I Damn Near Thought I Loved Her…

    She damn near robbed me blind. She wanted less than I could give Our spirits weren’t aligned. Though some would call me crazy, I realized even then That she just did not challenge me. A surface love of skin— And though I gave and gave and gave All that I had to give, She drained…

  • Worth Doing

    That person Who told you it was easy Was lying to you Nothing Worth doing Is ever easy And this Is very much Worth doing

  • Who am i kidding i won’t become less prolific

    When (it’s coming soon) I’ve gone through all my docs.

  • The Banjo was Black…

    (West African Origins) Until they stole it, Told Blacks they can’t use it. And then they stole Country Would not let them in. This is how Rhythm and Blues was born.

  • Wings Attached

    by wax Attacks Born of the Sun Son Flew  too high.

  • Thoughts

    Winter is coming much later these days. All our unending in so many ways. Our time on Earth’s fleeting — just flitting about Survival’s a razorblade’s width from without. In so many ways I am cooler than most Hanging around with Shakespeare and Poe’s ghosts. If money is not life’s conditional prize, Then beauty is…

  • August

    Wish I could be nude — as nude as can be And running around living most of life free. Wish I were a taller, more elegant man But I’ll use what I got as well as I can Wish I were a bird who could fly through the sky I’d wish I were you but…

  • When Hope is Gone

    What is there left when hope is gone? How do we go on? When knowledge enlightens, The horror is revealed. Then one must live with the sins of the rest.  And somehow try to sleep. Fellowship is what we have. Love is left when hope is gone. Togetherness. We don’t need All the things  They…

  • What is it to Write?

    To etch feelings  Into semi permanence in some vain attempt at capturing them? What purpose do words serve? Can you place them in an order That will evoke the feeling That spawned them? No, and what does writing do to our stories? First the scribes which was only slightly less abrasive  Than the printing press…

  • Why then, rose, so sharp thy thorns?

    A defensive pose assumed ? When all that’s on my mind is to Gently pluck thy blooms? Why is red your hue of choice When yellow’d do as well? Do you, when coy bees visit you, To them, your secrets, tell? And when is a rose surely a rose And not a dandelion? My nose…

  • With the World on Fire…

    And my dreams on hold Can’t help but wish  I had you to hold. You are the longing I feel in my arms You are the loving That keeps me from harm If ever our lives  Would bring you to me, Let Fate interrupt us Then leave us to be.

  • Hell’s Hounds

    We summoned demons in the dark of night. We danced around the fire with delight. We brought the blessed scapegoat. It’s a fawn. We sacrificed to Eden, demons spawn. The hounds of Hell are hot on evil’s trail They tested God already and he failed.

  • Movies are Proof it’s Not What You Say it’s How You Say It

    What a curious universe we are you and I   What a curious place it may be. Astounding coincidences — evidence nigh. A feature with eyes that can see. Still limited so are our senses albeit We can’t even seem to agree. We perceive little that truly exists There’s so much around we can’t see! Reality…

  • Bonds

    We know each other well And we have always said We’d tell the truth to one another Cross hearts and hope for death But I have a secret, dear— One so crucial and so true— You’ve grown so dear to me, I fear That I’m in love with you.

  • There’s Not an Apparent Title

    We should love Like lovers due— Sail the moon Then paint the hue Of the sky Upon the moon. Setting sun— We’ll be there soon.