Lucid dreaming is the doorway
        to the unconscious.
So dream.
Do not stay closed
        behind cement barricades
        blocking the moon
        from shining.
Live.
Each second is for you.
The tumbling of life
         does not promise
            anything.
In one breath
you can have
        a time table
        handed to you.
A distinct framework
        of how much
        longer you shall be.
Stay in illusion.
Keep in mind
that very little
is worthy of
being screamed about.
Politics
        and
people games
        are not
         the substance
        of existing.
Picture colourful images
         that flutter
          playfully
            across the
           mental horizon.
A traffic light
      will
       blink
red, yellow, green.
A noise
        will dominate
         the shading sky.
These mean nothing.
Moments of distraction
        soon
         gone away.
Focus on fantasy.
Allow yourself
the freedom to
         celebrate
        the essence
        of harmony.
When you die,
       it will be
         your dreams
         that are
          remembered.
Breathe.
It's just
      a bad day,
      not a bad life.

how i have ached to walk amongst the evergreens
encased by dazzling quaking aspen
in my rocky mountain home

i yearn to fall again while skiing
and catch a wisp of icy sky blue
snow powder crystals
on my tongue
******* feelings
rise and fall
as they melt
and disappear

i long to breathe in your scent
sitting on the peak of wooded ridges
amidst slate colored boulders
sea salt combined with cinnamon
laced with wildflowers
crisply filling my lungs

i hunger to once again
behold again your red rock formations
creating tender hollows
through which timid coral sunsets peer

i crave hiking at dusk
into your jagged emerald forests
and sit wistfully mid the columbine
while darkened sunflowers juxtapose
against the jet black emptiness
enticing the stars
to etch enchanting paintings
on inky cobalt skies

hankering to be at the sundance film festival
coyly peeking into restaurants
covertly spying on the movie stars
on old park city main

itching to experience waiting patiently
for a moose to cross the street
its majesty splashing gingerly
sending chills throughout the galaxy
magnificence abounds

i pine to have memories gently cradle me
like worn out patchwork quilts
warmed by incandescent fires
wrapping me in soft colored canvas
the past craving transformation
by an echo that’s now dim

faintly crying out for
an old familiar artist’s brush
that still lingers
to snag times gone by
and paint the future in

amalgamating the antiquated
with the present
luring in
my destiny

i dream to don my fringed leather jacket
and hear my cowboy boots
fiercely clicking
against charcoal shadowed midnight sidewalks
while i watch the harvest moon

i’m parched too see your autumn chestnut leaves
against the bloodshot auburn sky
as cardinal hues give way to glistening winter
melding into tender spring

your summertime birthing
tingles down my spine
as chartreus aspen leaves
morph to golden bisque
enticing ute country
to blow in
copper colored indian summers
with cherry fragrant wind

yutaahih you were called
by the apaches
their historic essence
somehow ingrained within
my every cell
thirsty to lie enveloped
like a long lost lover
in your rugged western terrain

once having left your presence
i return to you now
my heart flutters
with wild anticipation
to see your precious face again
utah

©2016janetaylor

is such that  it is popularity ,
or meaning or tone.....

can it be both?
or one if not the other

can one word said alone
to one who never hears

be more important
than all those yelled

35 people in a row
and 2 that go where no one knows
upon a beach of golden sands
with elderly grandmas holding hands

and giant birds
and ferocious sharks
and dogs that leave their golden marks

in vicious depths
dead children play
never to see
another day

and I with you at the very top
floating 'til we never stop
opening eyes to look at stars
forgetting all the mangy cars

and the bars
and the bars

Cut down the borders
                             Of your
Mind
        
          Release the enemy who

Resides
                                                  Op­en

Waters bonded                      Free

       Truth in love                    Flickers

Free

       Televisions on and buzzing
Now                 on to
                  Souls Crushing
                                                  Mental­
      Bonds         direct
                                                  Heaven
I­nside
                will correct their jibes

Come to those who know your

                                                 Name

And to those who hate their game.

In the wasteland of my mind
an idea like a tumbleweed
interrupts the landscape.

space folds around its pointed form

time scatters like mice before its untethered gait

as it makes its way
to the bright center of the barren mound it was born to,
leaving no stretch of its path unchanged,
intruding upon the atmosphere's stubborn scarcity
                  with the fullness of a growl
darting from the mouth of a shapeless traveler
forced upon the world through birth.

Howling with the bittersweet memory of the womb, calling out for its home in the stars.

Reaching the mound
it lights up with the flame of intention
and seizing its grasp on action,
finds its way to the mouth

and in telling you how I love you

       the silence swallows it whole

                  when you don't say a thing.