Drifting off in mid-day
She is there in my parent's house
Where she should not be
She's never met them
been inside their home

...and besides
She's dead...

Don't know where I drop my brains off
or my heart
when sleeping
I so clearly know this
but I dismiss it
for the moment--
go along with joy
to have her with me once again

She looks so well!
Her pale skin flushed
below her ragged, reddish hair
Wearing peacock blue sateen
as always
dressed to ****
to go somewhere
anywhere
away
from loneliness
from cancer

...and she had included me
on her glorious outing
without title
without honor
I had been her teacher-friend
like an elder wedding guest
she had grown
beyond ...

She helps me dump my canvas bag of poems
on my parent's bed
Where I conceived them
or they conceived me

“What about this one?
Or this is a good one too!
I know you can do this!
You read so well!”
she says
I'm thinking, “This is not like Jenn,
so reversed
for her to give a thought...
and besides, it is not even my event!"

Now she's in my mother's place
in her 1950's closet
pushing hangers across the rail
She would find it--
something
I could wear

I am so transported by the smell
of memories
that I don't care
mothballs, lavender, perfume
I get distracted deep within
almost losing track in the euphoria
to have found my friend again
I lose a moment in the soft fur of mom's mink
clipped together mouth to tail
to form the stole
an ouroboros
With its beady eyes
on me
like death
would drape across my shoulders
given half a chance

When from its mouth of glamorous lies....
Jenn shoves me through life's opened door
She has found that dress!
I wore...

the one with hope, and future's
purple flowers
dropped waist and scalloped neck
Yes, It would do, “Yes!"

But now,
she makes excuse to leave
...of meeting Joe
...of going on ahead...

I know
she must

as this is all some clabbered past
a gift of dreams
Still, I want to hug her
just one last....

but she feels empty...

In embrace
she turns to ash

The orchid is flowering
Opening,
a living mandala
Next to my bed
I hear it in my dreams
It's telling me very strange things
About the chemistry between us
And what being a flower really is
And what it really means.

There's a lot to learn.

The orchid whispers in chemical symbols

I danced through the night one night
I drank water in the desert
The sweetest taste, I've ever known
I heard a sound I've never heard before
The buzzing of Chi
Blowing in
while the curtains fluttered
In the night time wind.

Our time I know is limited
Forever wilts away

But while the orchid is flowering
That's for another day

I find myself longing for the scent of the night and at least
One more dream to go.

This sleep is closing my eyes,
taking me away on this journey
into another place in another time,
that world only slightly beyond,
didn't seem far but as if it's
just in another room
in a different galaxy.
I feel as if I'm drunk with
the nectar of divine wine.
I'm so powerfully pulled over
the mountains inwardly
toward my home.
The glorious symphony music
beckons me.
Seemed million miles away
but yet so near.
Caught up in the third heaven,
in the company of angels
as they carried me away into
different mansions of the souls,
strata and spheres of the cathedral
to be healed and cleansed,
prepared and refreshed from
my earthly sojourn for yet another
day to be lived as I return.
But the inner view must be hidden
with veil upon veil as doors upon doors
are opened and closed for my consciousness to experience and learn the lessons offered,
and upon return to my earthly temple that the
secret knowledge of the visions shown
not to be fully revealed.
This experience is private and personal in nature.
Unwittingly forgetfulness and clouded  patterns within must persists in
this peculiar daily encounter,
but the spirit man within must
also vaguely remember
and not to totally allow it to rescind.
The consciousness of man
must be imprinted with a resonance of various types of vibration according to
the octaves within the wavelength
of the divine scale.
Sleep is sort of a near death experience,
a touch of heaven within the earth,
it carries with it the penalty
of a profound price depending on
the condition of the life essence
of the earth man.
The silver lining can be broken or strengthened,
and the spirit's stay or return is eminent.
I am fully awake and aware,
being conscious of the divine in my life through the unction of revealed truth that I received.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme.All Rights Reserved.

(After Edna St. Vincent Millay’s poem by the same title)                                    

Love is not all. It is not meat nor drink
nor slumber nor a roof against the rain.
In the beauty of sunlight falling on water,    
love is hardly a major factor.                                          
It cannot stop a bullet
or lift a crashing plane
-- or make a stopped heart beat again.
Yet people are killing themselves
even as we speak, for lack of love alone.
It may well be under pain of torture,
starving/dying of thirst,
tested by want past resolution's power,
I'd strike a bargain:
a cup of water for a different life,
a life without memory of you and our children;
I'd trade our love for food. It may well be.
I do not think I would.

My starless nights have transcended into your shadowless morn

My lost fireflies have transcended into your guiding stars upon the sky

My tears of dews and rain have transcended into your ocean of fulfillment and happiness

My scattered breadcrumbs of thoughts have transcended into your tome of love and life

My moments of a passing glance have transcended into your eternity of within my sight

My fear of everything have transcended into your love of all beings, earthly and otherwise

And I

My lonesome I have transcended into your ever-presence

As you hold me through every particle of my soul

I felt alive

Sharp twinges burst through my body like fireworks in the dead of the night

And finally

The blink of me transcended through time

It's such a pleasant morning
I'm not going to do a thing
I am sitting drinking coffee
I see a lovely display of wings.

I love these early mornings
My working days now done
Watching birds of every kind
They really are such fun .

The crows they are going crazy
There are thousands in the air
But the pigean on my bird stand
He isn't going anywhere.

Now a black bird he is gliding
In harmony with the breeze
He doesn't seem to worry much
He takes refuge in the trees.

What ever happened  to the sparrows
We don't see them anymore
They always used to be around
A little bird that I adore

Maybe there is a message
In the way that these birds sing
Take note of there morning chorus
And there lovely display of wings.

They say I'm away with the fairies
That's what they said  to me
Looking back in retrospect
It would be a lie to disagree.
My lawn is filled with garden gnomes
And rabbits that are made from clay
And children's books within my home
I have had them from my early days.
I hate to face reality a very sad place to be
I would rather read my Rupert book
With mad proffessers  And philosophy's.
So please come around  And take a look
You may like just what you see
A world with Alice in wonderland
Such a wonderful world off glee.
But this planet is not a fairy tale
And no place of make believe
When they say your away with the fairies
Take no notice then just agree.