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Lennox Trim Dec 2023
In this life of mine, it feels like I'm dreamin'
but the alarm clock are these demon deeds that I deem in.

I often ponder if I'm here for the wrong reasons,
or if I've squandered some chances in past seasons,
Quilted in the questions from my adolescence,
Blanket statements keep me warm but come fighting with a vengeance,
At most they provide my mind a light snooze.
I be trippin when my destiny is dangled in life's noose,
My thoughts tangled - cause life's a nuisance,
I've nuanced and now my fears are translucent,
My Dreams less lucid.
My Conscience more convoluted.
My Freedom more fluid.
My Scenery more secluded.
My Mind less polluted,
And my Roots more rooted.

In this life of mine it feels like I'm dreamin'
and the alarm clock are these demon deeds that I deem in.

You see I used to have nightmares I the daytime,
That the opportunist would slither in and take mine,
That Judas would come up behind me with a grapevine,
That Brutus would put his knife to my waistline,
To combat em - Had to resort to astral projection.
Cause my mind had had fragile protection.
Had to collect my recollections.
Had to reflect on my reflections.
Had to reconnect my connections.
Had to reject past rejections.
and perfect my imperfections.

In this life of mine it feels like I'm dreamin'
and the alarm clock are the demon deeds that I deem in.

I had a dream I had powerful powers,
and that time couldn't be spent -
so these hours, were ours.
I was the Blvck Clark Kent,
Flying through towering towers,
Dressed in all Blvck, I'm more like the colored cape crusader,
I'm Bruce Wayne on dark nights,
For the same reason that turned Anniken to Vader,
but always seem to get into the wrong fights,
Rumbling for my slumber, think the demons is winnin,
I cant wait for this to end - think I need new beginnings...
Odd Odyssey Poet Dec 2023
In the realm of dreams, where magic resides,
Lies a tale of love, where desire abides.
With purple wings, untouched by time's kiss,
A fairy's enchantment, a man couldn't resist.
Whispers of an enchanted forest, they say,
Tell the story of a love, so small yet so fey.

He succumbed to the enchantment of a fairy's charm,
As their love, though seemingly insignificant to the world,
Was a flame that burned brightly in their hearts.
It was a love so pure and genuine, yet confined
to the realms of fantasy.
Zywa Dec 2023
I wasn't there, but my

imagination sees it --


happening again.
Novel "Midnight's Children" (1981, Salman Rushdie), chapter 1-1 "The perforated sheet"

Collection "Low gear [2]"
Zywa Dec 2023
Dying means little

without fantasy, else it's --


about everything.
Novel "Voyage au bout de la nuit" ("Journey to the End of the Night", 1932, Louis-Ferdinand Céline) - "Quand on a pas d'imagination, mourir c'est peu de choses, quand on en a, mourir c'est trop."

Collection "Over"
Megan H Nov 2023
She gracefully walked into the ocean
Her dress flowing behind her
Welcoming the waves,
It seemed,
As an old friend.
She looked to the horizon-
Smiling,
As she dipped below the surface.

When she disappeared,
Some questioned whether she had drowned,
But no,
The Selkie had simply
Returned to her home
In the depths of the sea.
Graff1980 Nov 2023
A grin with thin rimmed glasses,
smiles with delight
as she speaks to her sprites,
whispering
with hands wide,
telling them to listen to
her tale of things that go
bump in the night.

“When I was very young
there was a crooked old tree
that sat savagely waving
down the road from me,
a mess of gnarled branches
that looked like they could
grab you up and take a bite.

One day I went out to play,
saw a small squirrel,
and chased it all the way.
Until, it climbed up that
wooden monstrosity.

Distracted,
I did not notice
how the grass reacted,
shrinking under my foot falls.
I failed to see
how far I had actually gone,
because to my little mind
the distance from my yard
to that tree was shorter,
but in reality, it seemed to be
approaching me rapidly
as what was behind
faded out of sight.

Daylight became night
quicker than expected,
and I suspected
that I should go home,
but when I turned around
I found that I was lost,
and all alone.

I heard a twig snap,
then felt a limb smack
me on my lower back.
My body seemed to contract
as I lost my breath,
and a fog of coldness
washed over my flesh.

The wind lifted
a small pile of leaves
revealing tiny
black shiny beings,
a nest of chittering beetles
that started skittering
ever closer.

I cried out. No sir,
and tried to hoof it out of there,
but I had lost my sense direction
and didn’t know where
my small house was.

A little bug
that looked like
a hairy brown spider
leaped up on my dress.
I quickly flicked it off,
then flinched when
I heard something
purring.

I turned in time to see
a small pair of glowing eyes
focused directly on me.

The feline
passed by
rubbing gently
against my thigh,
and then strutted away.

I followed that kitty,
and I thought we
were heading back to my city.

We passed a stone fence,
and a small wooden hut,
a little gas station
that didn’t have much,
plus a tiny graveyard
and a busted gray car.

I walked so far
that my feet got blisters,
saw a stranger,
and cried out, hey mister,
but he didn’t even turn around.

I kept going not knowing
if I would ever get back.
Nervously, I started to laugh.
I had probably snapped,
cause I was scared and starving.

It was dark and cold,
and I couldn’t find
anyone to help me.
People didn’t even
acknowledge my presence
unless I bumped into them.
I tried to speak,
but no one would listen.

I never got home,
just settled here
in this little cottage
for the last
seventy plus years.

No one has stopped by,
in such a long time
so thanks for listening
to this story of mine.

Now, come closer my little dears,
because I am soooo hungry.
I don’t want to be rude,
but you look like food.

Why are you running?

You see when you heard me calling,
you shouldn’t have listened,
like me,
you to are now missing,
but I know where
your new home will be.
There’s a place in my stomach
because it is so empty.”

The little old lady smiled,
chasing the last small child,
with a sharp tap on his neck
she laid him to rest
in a well-dressed bed
of greens and liquid red.
Graff1980 Nov 2023
Sometimes we slip through the cracks
fall down a hole or trip into the looking glass
and never manage to find our way back.

Innocence is betrayed as it is parlayed into
the whole growing up thing that
we don’t want to do.

Playmates fade away as we lose yesterday.
Their faces blur then just disintegrate,
along with the games and stories we made.

Time becomes the anchor that weighs us down
as we struggle and drown in deadlines.
Playful pixies dust fantasies are lost to these
important and emerging responsibilities.

Teddy Bear hugs and fairytale love
become the stuff of forgotten hopes,
and with each romantic advance rejected
the dreamer dejected retreats to
the safety of a stale and scheduled reality.

Till the mirror reflects the inner sadness.
Our shoulders slump, skin sags, and wrinkles,
as our eyes lose that sly Peter Pan twinkle.

-2023
Zywa Nov 2023
In the dark I can

see what I want, like a book --


a bed, my mother.
Novel "Lighthousekeeping" (2004, Jeanette Winterson), chapter Two Atlantics

Collection "Within the walls"
Zywa Nov 2023
Under the bottom

the star clusters angrily --


stare at the people.
Painting "Jesus is boos" ("Jesus is crossed", 1983, Marlene Dumas)

Collection "Ifless"
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