the day before yesterday.
Grieved by it, personally,
Reputation: few or no friends
Suggested art - lost its erratic stars
A dreamer! Dwelling in ideal realms
Indistinct curses with eyes upturned, already damned.
Happiness wit hglances introverted, shrouded in gloom,
arms wildly beating spirits - sought to forget
open to the doom of death
now, unlike my usually trenchant literary librettos, I regale the unknown (tum me) reader for savoir-faire articulation, elocution, and indomitable tour de force proffered by a spectrum of bounteous expropriated hegemony rightful to Mother Nature.
A Place Revisited Within The Mind
(an illusory escape during dead of winter).
The shafts of a golden veil, spring sun at noon
break through the heavily coated
overgrowth of leafy foliage
and cause shadows spar upon the forest floor.
In a field of wild
a mosaic of crystalline color
from the prismatic play of sunshine
upon the silently talking heads
of the swaying stalks.
the scintillating and sparkling rays
in unison with the weft
(and warp across an invisible loom)
weaves a delicious tasting warm breeze,
(which sways the boughs of treetops to and fro,
akin to an unseen baby being cradled)
brings a ladled spate of cool freshness
from the map-cap world (webbed wide)
of a manmade existence.
The grandeur of the fallow spring meadow
a pageant of exquisite dignity
by the graceful movements
from the un-choreographed fall and rise
of the unplowed acres
eyes orbit, ear re Canal,
and twitching nostrils of sensate beings
to the mellifluous sounds
and sweet smelling aromas
that gently teasingly assault the senses
beguiling the sight,
and lulling ears into a transcendent state.
A buoyant airy tonal plume
rises into the surrounding heights
touches the breadth of cerulean sky
and scythe lent lee gently tumbles back down
like a merry widow waltzing flowery waterfall.
In quiet circumspection
the antics sans plethora of BuzzFeed ding
busily buzzing foraging insects,
which contentedly hum and alight nearby
flitting to and fro
oblivious to plaudits encore
within the living laboratory
of Mother Nature,
sans, Insects or Insecta are by far
count as the largest group of
within the arthropod phylum,
underneath the earthen surface
the ground this abustle with
of one micro universe
comprising architects, builders, and weavers
engage in all manner
of natural devices for a livelihood.
This brilliant splendor tantamount
with top-notch operatic performance,
a sensational visual and audiological feast
hypnotizing one humble human (me)
into an inebriated state of bliss.
I am a philosophic dreamer,
moving on fields of open mind.
I dance and steps vibrate
in patterns of sacred geometry.
I sing and music echoes
causing heart to expand with grace.
I breath deep and lungs fill
with air infused wisdom.
I love and the universe matches my essence
so miracles occur.
I dream and all fits into place
inside divine timing.
I am a philosophic dreamer,
blessed inside the celebration of life.
you yearn for freedom
then you crush it
you ask for time
yet you rush it
you preach equality
then ban all others
you look for knowledge
yet hide under covers
you want perfection
then you complain
you ask for sanity
yet behave insane
you say this is home
then tear down the flag
your heritage unknown
yet willing to brag
you ask for no lies
then don't believe truth
you ask for more money
our debt's through the roof
you look for happiness
and you long for peace
you hold onto a grudge
but you need release
you say you're a dreamer
but you don't believe
that we can do anything
that we can perceive
Watch the birth of a new day
It's been ages since I slept right through the night
It's almost like the days have become better than the dreams my head creates
The grass has become greener on the other side
But my eyes have never been opened so wide
Creep inside my head
Experience what it's like spending years fighting with yourself
Just to get out of bed
Trapped inside walls built so hign
Lego brick booby traps stationed like mines
But it's fine
I've decided to make my days better than my nights
I've gained the sight to see I'd rather live in a daydream
He has little sense of sorrow,
He thinks of fond tomorrows.
He’s a fabulist, a dreamer.
Not quite a true schemer
That would be too hard.
More like a half-awake bard
Making up poetic outcomes
For a reality that never comes.
Mostly he’s a bum.
He’s a moonbeamer,
Sliding down colorless rainbows
That he paints himself daily
Proclaiming about how gaily
The emptiness of his canvas
Has so sadly missed us
And somehow we are to blame
For not managing to be the same
As he is by appreciating
That which is not there.
He has daydreams to spare.
He shares his hopeful possibilities
That are not always practicalities
Made of unborn actualities
And fanciful surrealities
Painted over his shortcomings
Hoping nobody will see them
And talk too badly against them
Ahem-ing and coughing phlegm
When he orates and pontificates
On his latest boilerplate stories
Of his imagined future glories.
Lost in his own thought stream,
He’s a totally hopeless dreamer.