"dreamcatchers" poems
Netted on the outside
Dreams pass through the inside.
The good dreams seep the center,
The bad dreams are caught: DO NOT ENTER!
The sleeper with eyes shut,
Protected by the dreamcatcher
And selected by the buy-snatcher,
Slumbers in peace
When all is at ease
Around the dreamcatcher police.
Reality is still
But the mind is awake
And sleep is at stake.
Eyes cannot detect
What the dreamcatcher does,
It only sways in the midst of a glance.
But the dreams that pass the glass dividing atmospheric gas
Cannot be seen, touched, heard.
Dreamcatchers have a radar
That no being does.
The dreams charge at once!
WOOOOSH.
Not a dream is heard
Caught in the dreamcatcher grid,
But the good ones
Keep clean the REM zones.
Native-American tradition
I will surely petition.
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 10:06 PM UTC
I want to be your dreamcatcher
And keep ahold of the insults meant for you.
Dreamcatchers don't catch dreams
They catch the things that keep you from having them.
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 8:07 PM UTC
There is a body floating in the water of Lake Michigan again, but no one is willing to fish it out. There is a body floating in the pond near my subdivision again, but everyone already knew that anyway.
I am sitting eighty miles away, overlooking a city that is not mine, thinking about how the moon outside my window is the same moon that you can see from down below in your partially frozen-over dirt bed. I am thinking about the vampire that sits in his apartment, chugging two-to-three bottles of blood a week, and wondering if he is haunted by the same ghosts as I am.
It’s taken me eighteen years to realize that I was infected with a different variation of his curse all along—I am less human and more lycanthrope than I would like to admit. I am not like you, I am not like him, I am my own breed and that terrifies me. (There are black cats prowling in my heart and fragments of mirrors in my liver and salt that bleeds from my heels when I walk.)
No matter how many rabbits’ feet I tie to my keys, how many dreamcatchers I put above my bed, how many cloves of garlic I hang over my door, I am never able to rid myself of the chill that goes hand in hand with the phantom you left here.
Mother, I think I killed a man two full moons ago and I haven’t been the same since. I threw his body into the lake and watched him drift out into the unknown, watched the kraken drag him down, watched the water spew him back up like a cork. And now I need you to make your way back to the land of the living to sit by my side. I want you to cut off my head and make me a trophy animal. Create a rug from my fur. Eat my organs and freeze the rest for winter. Use me for your own survival. I just want to be helpful.
I want to be everything the vampire was not but my fingers are breaking from holding on too tight.
I should let go.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 2:06 AM UTC
I'm a little disturbed by the implications
of dreamcatchers in cars.
Are we that prone to fall asleep
behind the wheel?
Are we that scared of our nightmares?
If life is a dream
does a person who dies near a dreamcatcher
get caught,
a fly in a web,
in the dreamcatcher and wait to be devoured
by the nightmares inside.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
I attempted to
ensnare my darkest desires
with the help of dreamcatchers.
Filter out all those
recycled thoughts to unveil
a pipe dream that is just mine.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
Some people are like
beautiful dreamcatchers,
absorbing the most terrible things
for those they love
and leaving them
only the softest, gentlest
thoughts behind.
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 7:56 PM UTC
His eyes are woven like dreamcatchers
within them lay my deepest desires
hidden messages and captivating images
The rythem of his heart
is like the ****** of my favorite song
The kind of note that leaves an impact
on the soul
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 3:12 PM UTC
I am cobwebs and smoke.
I am shards of a person who cannot decide
The difference between
Love
And god.
I am razorblades and thin air.
I am ink and shadows.
I am drowning in moonlight-
I am a spun web of starlight and wanting.
I am the wire frame of myself-
See through shape with nothing inside.
I am the wrong port in this storm,
Sending out beams of
Don't-ignore-me,
Blades of light that split the hazy fog of apathy.
You've sewn me with seeds of humanity
And I feel the life beneath my skin
Like it will sprout
Roots
Any day now.
I have a ribcage full of fireflies
That shine through the spaces when I breathe.
I have glimpsed dreamcatchers
In your eyes
And snagged my darkness in their dizzy thrall.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 3:56 PM UTC
Throughout our lives we've been told by these old souls
that dreamcatchers are to protect against
terrors.
It's a shame we believe this lie that something so beautiful collects evil,
what a sad misunderstanding,
just human error.
How unfortunate that even though the name of the thing spells out its nature,
we throw logic aside until the truth is
severed.
We use the term 'dream catcher,'
yet try to deny it's offering to catch all of the good dreams
forever.
They exist for you & I, so let's recognize the blessing they were sent to be;
if we learn to trust, they will become supporters of our
divine identity -
That is,
dreamers.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 3:35 PM UTC
I like people who don't
trust people
Like a locked bathroom door
Protected from their own
Self exposure
But I just want to develop them
in black & white
Sell their silhouettes on the black market
Seeing what they're really worth
These are the people
with lures hanging from their teeth
like wind chimes or dreamcatchers
Bodies of abandoned carnivals
And people become like trespassers
On their unholy grounds
Here to document
the decay
Caress the chipping paint
Hoping for tetanus
They wonder when they became
Archeology
Like the lost part of found
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
The dreamcatchers were full..
I finally opened them..
I let the dreams run wild..
And share them with you..
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 6:27 PM UTC
sweet jesus
life is outrageous
listless alligators
try to upstage this
drift from forms
to formless sages
residual wages
furnishing your cages
threadbare leather workers
raid our refrigerators
rage is impulsive
sullen lisps and swollen lips
frame our faceless daughters
in their water glasses
houses of hunted howling
hourglasses
dreamcatchers and dancers
humongous lanterns
burning pages
place-mats
on your dinner tables
why do they feel so out of place
is it the way we are made
have you any
doubts about your origins
what is the worst
thing you’ve ever faced
are you exposed
to typos regularly
tokens of penmanship
and fraternity hazings
hostelries and banquets
growth is dependent
only on intangible quotients
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 4:46 PM UTC
A dreamchaser
Is an chaser chasing his dreams while the nightmares chasing us
Have to be brave an blunt
Being a dreamcatcher
Cuz the dreams ahead of us
Then its a nightmare for those trying to catch up
A nightmare for the haters
Dreaming my dreams before i wake up
So I'm writing nightmares on paper
Scary stories
Its goin be scary when im in my glory
But i don't write fairytales
Ask my fairy Godmother
My story is the story all the fairies waiting to tell
Im with GOD ALMIGHTY BROTHER
SO just wait till you read the first page
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 12:43 PM UTC
My dreams have a Hollywood camera feel
I see myself standing giving a good yell, hell
No matter what I be doin', I know that camera never be sleepin'
On me, it has to stay creepin'
My mind state is always dreamin', imagine
A man whose lives in dreamland
Yea that’s me, believe it if you can.
Fantastical.
Adventures. Mr. Fox is dead, he left his head,
Or wait, the tail.
I use it as my vial,
Hidden are my coerced thoughts.
The camera pans right, watch me fight.
The camera pans left, watch the death,
Of reality, for it’s all a fallacy.
We are all lost
Following a Shepard, confused
Lost and mistaken.
This camera, promotes what has been taken,
Our souls.
Escaping through the peepholes of our consciousness, leaving behind only traces of our former glory, where personification was unthinkable and Natures laws included humans. Rain was not push button controlled, and you couldn’t tell snow to blow. Where water was free and not bottled for clarity.
yea,
this camera controls me.
stealing my memories, gee.
who would have thought.
a digital dream--catcher.
except this time it catches,
my happiness,
desires, and dreams, real
motivation is killed.
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 2:13 PM UTC
coyotes like
magenta-clad twentysomethings
screaming:
singing at the unearthly
hour when I
watched the desert
stars overhead and
now I wonder what else it is they’ve
killed
and maybe if I’d hung enough
dreamcatchers I would have
caught all the dreams that
pulled me past
you (step
into my parlor said the spider to the
fly
but what is it anyway that sticks between your eyelids when you
sleep when you
keep your eyes shut and your mouth
open does the sandman glue them
together to resign you to your own
blindness
be careful with your eyes sweetheart because
too many waterfalls leave
cataracts in their wake.
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 8:54 PM UTC
I thought dreamcatchers were supposed to catch your bad dreams,
and send them flying out your window.
But the only nightmares I have are once I wake up,
and realize that you were all just a dream.
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 8:44 PM UTC
in the fog of a cold summer,
you shivered like a seismograph
tremors assaulting your faultlines
and i took you in my arms,
zipped you into my ribcage to keep you warm -
you shivered to the rhythm of my pulse,
hot blood exiling
the summer chill.
from the fog of a cold summer,
i took you into my bed,
plucked your feathers
to keep you with me;
made dreamcatchers from your feathers
to keep the nightmares from your mind.
shivering seismograph,
can't fly with bare wings.
through the fog of a cold summer,
i walked with you,
held your hand
anchoring you to my side,
shackles between us
keeping you safe
[you can't fly in this fog
little seismograph:
the clouds will eat you up
the fog will wrap around you
and dash you against the rocks.
oh, you are beautiful,
but you won't be when you're
bleeding broken on the talus,
your bones escaping your skin.
blood breeds art
but what use is art when you're gone,
when you've found your feathers and flown]
in the fog of a cold summer,
you asked to leave.
i need to fly, you said,
*i need to become lost
in arms of mist
and fog.
your ****** arms aren't enough,
your ****** arms are staining me
corporeal.*
just keep your arms around me,
just remain in my ribs,
just close your eyes
and let me be your
air currents,
lifting you above the talus.
i can fill all your fault lines,
i can ossify
all your fissures.
i'll fill your hollow bones with my
hot
blood
and exile the summer chill.
in the fog of a cold summer,
in the wake of a muscle spasm,
you fell from the sky
and i caught you,
plucked your feathers
so you could never fall again.
little seismograph,
shivering to the rhythm of my pulse,
i will keep you
so warm.
i'll keep you safe
in my cage.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 5:48 PM UTC
Sigh with me...
Escape the sorrow of ire;
For a moments pause,
Delight in fiery breath,
In the Earth's white wasteland,
Catching snowflakes in the gale,
Evaporating nature's dreamcatchers,
Thoughts linger as mist.
Inhale the bitterness of reality...
The thirst of the dry air.
Notice the aches of the naked trees.
The numbness of a dying foot,
Cut off from the warmth,
Of a body struggling in the freeze.
It all builds,
Reinforcing the harshness of,
A withering world preserved.
Sigh,
Breath a little life into the world again.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 11:40 PM UTC
(glow in the dark stars)
A pack costs two dollars
But the joy it brings is worth manyfold.
They laugh,
Calling me immature, childish.
But have you ever been afraid of the darkness the way I am?
When the dark arrives, so does isolation,
and emptiness and hate and pain and self-loathing.
That's all I know of darkness,
so leave my packet of stars be,
they watch over me when no one else will.
(dreamcatchers)
A bit of string, a few feathers,
and perhaps a bead or two.
Call it superstition, but I believe.
Because nightmares aren't just bad dreams to me,
they are possible glimpses into the future, where desolation dominates,
where the monsters in my head are as real as you and me,
and they tower over and hunt me.
Be sure not to break the string,
for they say all the bad dreams
will be released into the real world.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 10:10 AM UTC
you and i, you and i
dreamcatchers blown by the wind
world maps crumpled full of
what it seems to be a trace of late-night roadtrips
laidbacks in sneakers and flannels nonchalantly strolled the road
you and i, you and i
never got tired of prose, whispering a life to handwritten mess
on our backs we feel heaved carrying dreams that seemed like forever
what a wanderlust soul that we both have
show me the limit of the sky
tell me about the universe inside us, and all the stars, and broken dreams
sing me a goodbye lullaby
run me a thousand miles to the top of the world
and we will scream our lungs out
this night is ours
life seems like at its fullest whenever we are together
writhed, we refused to fall back into
heartbroken poems we wrote on our once scarred wrists
small talks, ******** about our enemies, about light colored eyed boys
there's no mistake amidst
seven billion people on earth, seems like we got lucky with our fate
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 5:40 AM UTC
I would not want to
spend, a second away from
you against my chest.
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 5:13 PM UTC
the ones who chase the sunset
the ones who dream of dreaming on abandoned mattresses
the ones who never sleep
the ones who find homes in the passenger seat
the ones with endless wanderlust and bare feet
the ones who travel with journals on their sleeves
the ones with open minds and prying hands
the ones who finally learned how to speak
the ones with golden tongues and opalescent teeth
the ones with glowing green lights in their eyes
the ones with ticklish knees and bruised thighs
the ones with unheard symphonies in their eardrums
the ones who grow with the trees and bloom like chrysanthemums
the ones with ideas too big for the small town scene
the ones who perform silent spoken word for their television screens
the ones bubbling with spontaneity and sentimentality
the ones with broken dreamcatchers, lightbulbs, and families
the ones who are captivated by constellations and insanity
the ones who make snow angels on mountain peaks
the ones with freckles, curly hair, and rosy cheeks
and the one with olive skin and emerald split ends
the ones with tracing thumbs and laureled limbs
the ones who have taken each others flaws in
wrapped them in silk and blocked out the bitter wind
the ones who weave orbs with moth wings
the ones who still buzz with bee stings
the ones with the power and voodoo
the ones who don't think like you do
the earth, the fire, the water, the air
the ones who can't help but to stop and stare
the misfit poets;
the ones who dare to care.
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 12:15 AM UTC
Toast to the guinea pigs
for extinguishing my fear of being alone
Toast to the moon
for being the substitute of street lamps
Toast to the car parked on the driveway
for indicating the presence of my family
Toast to the guitars
for remembering the way they tune
Toast to the fridge in the kitchen
for keeping our food fresh
Toast to the walls of the house
for absorbing the noises I rather not hear
Toast to the paintings
for reminding me of what I’m artistically capable of
Toast to the bed in the room
for keeping my body comfortable at night
Toast to the lights
for providing my room personality
Toast to the tapestries hanging on the ceiling
for maintaining my privacy
Toast to the dreamcatchers
for giving me hope of a good night's dream
Toast to the pictures on the wall
for reminding me of who I am with people I love
Nov 12, 2019
Nov 12, 2019 at 1:48 AM UTC
i can slowly trace the changes-
the moment she picked up an almanac
and put structure around the future
she was a dead woman
now
assume she is you
her ideas threaded like dreamcatchers
embellished with feathers, beads
that sag their delicate threads
assume she is given bait
that she counts magpies
their cloud white throats a portent
that does not sit well around her neck
assume she will live her life
as these things expect
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 7:52 AM UTC
I am
a multitude of selves
determined to find
the one
that you wanted.
I am
more safe than sorry
and I
have always been
more sordid
than saintly.
The softness that resides in me
is scarce
but it's yours.
This softness is
the storm cloud over your head
and the ache
you've been drinking about.
This won't **** you
but it'll make you
bleed.
This is
the tiredness that sleep
can't fix,
this melancholy,
this melody,
the holes in butterfly nets.
We are
faulty dreamcatchers.
I can't tell
if this has been calculated
or careless
or which thought makes me more
sick of myself.
But there is something to be said
about a hope
that refuses to die
even after you've shown it
where it is to be buried.
Sometimes I'm not even sure
what I'm sorry for,
but I've learned to say it
just in case.
I was never your baby,
we were just
killing
time.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 11:58 PM UTC