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Vexren4000 Aug 2018
A country of people,
Reaching for castles in the sky,
Breaking their arms on high,
Breaking bones and bodies in the process,
Dreamers sacrificing lives,
For dreams that smolder in their souls,
Even after men die,
Those dreams and embers,
Burn on, for all of history.

©BAS
Chelsea Primera Sep 2017
The city spearheads the futures we sincerely sold,
As it pluckers your pennies and your coins of gold.

I felt poor amid the auras of their fearsome metals,
Cowering in the clothes of our daily struggles.

I am destitute enough
To bleach out the interests of my cards,
To shatter your savings for a disabled future,
To rummage the stock markets for apertures.

Yet within you exhales tentacles of the color Yellow.

Yellow as in,
The scattered stars that scorch the injured sky,
The mellowing voices of neon artificial lights,
The apex of fire alight in frostbitten nights,
And the yolk of hope my cheers rely.

So while you chase the sun
with your copper-clad hands,
remember but this:

all that glitters is not gold,
It’s the color Yellow in these eyes I behold.
CK Baker Oct 2017
dust cloud heavy
in an apricot sky
cottonwood mucker
under ambrose pale
whippet and shepherd
mill at the earth patch
yellow birch hangs
over red bench park

combine shavings
in ***** rust brown
scissors chips
fall to the back stop
whiskey jack looters
sing patented chords
siblings (and 2 wheel enthusiasts)
give thanks

joyous retrievers
master the criss cross
bare maples stand
at settlers way
barred owl and blue jay
whistle the fore-wind
ghosts
and goblins
pull at the seeds

wind gusts belt
over the west gulch
blood rush churns
in a chilling fall morn
hallowed grounds still
at the midday
quiet reflections
of the afghan
and hound

jumpers unite
at the oxbow
route runners bend
(on a sultry foray!)
meadows exposed
in the framework
ball park empty
with pennants past

barrel dirt favors
the brew house
crimson and copper
find bracken ridge gate
harvest hands savor
the honey and hops
blankets of color
for a winter's hatch

brush fire kept
under steady peruse
bark bites fly
and embers glow
pine cones drop
from timber tops
3 wick candles
set the dinner place

shiver and ******
at the piper's call
cob web dew
on shadowy gates
a chilled mist mellows
the season's return;
poets and artists
and dreamers awake
Cné Jul 2018

Ebony
silhouettes
inked
by a dying sun,
portray
lovers embraced
in
the synergy of one.

Inseparable
dreams
slowly
morph into one …
subservient
to the
whims
of the compliant
heart’s
drum.

And
azure pools reflect
a
tie-dyed denim sky,
as
enchanted dreamers
seal
their love with a kiss nearby.

Twinkling
stars confetti
the
emptiness of space.
And
as darkness descends,
shadows
swallow all of the light’s trace.

Reality
pauses …
as
time seems to stand so still
to
the depths of their very souls,
motionless
they swim.

CK Baker Dec 2016
six lanes
in a sight line
past the cedar shims
and trim tempered insert
past the washed murals
and water stained tiles

covered eyes
fight for focus
over cork strung ties
and dark, distant bridges
foot crawlers on lemon pegs
teaming
under clouded halogen light  

dreamers contend
in a variation of chant
(thrown off in a
complex drawl sequence)
a glimpse of the guard
and warm towel assignment
forge comforting relief
in a task filled day
K H Krause Mar 2018
It was Marica first, but now
it's this ******* Cafe in Nambia.
No extradition nohow.
Stormy all night.  They say I'm all wet.
I let out my belt.  The wind ***** with my pelt.

Me, my africunmaricun, Sergei, Sean, Mickey D, Lil' Don
with small hands, we quaff cold covfefe
that primes my dotard pump as we
twitter of glory in the time of Maga and my Bigger Red Button
until Our Heritage spurs me to the bone.

A confederation of dreamers, forced to migrate
to this failing bistro for short sessions, having been
banished by snowflakes (cruel proof there's no warming) so
we sulk in a deep state where all is denied yet all is fake, until
I am jared back to the now by a mooch sycophanting,
"Genius!  Dealmaker!"  (I palm him a ruble.)

That Nambian ***** aids us.  Nasty and ******, an apprentice loser
with crooked tongue she taunts me.  Not nice!
"You wan more alago?  You wanna roi cone?"
She should be locked up, but I know words too. I have the best words,
"I vana nuther cup - with ICE, you crone!"

Back in my hut, unstable, I shutdown
in fading torchlight, lapsing into executive time.
I dogwhistle, but a cat slithers in.  I grab it.  It pees.
Alternative *****, but OK by me.

I reclaimed a yuge hate wall (that had always stood by)
using bricks of suspicion, mortared with lies.
That I can tell you.  Believe me, Ingrates!
The greatest show ever.   So bigly am I.

But there arose a resistance, hunting a witch.
I hate dem all.  So Sad.  So Unfair!
Best school.  Highest ratings.  It was rigged by that *****!
(And yes, by the way, this is really my hair.)

They shoulda won, thus my havoc's begun.  My deplorables remain
outFoxed, intolerant, shunning all unmaricun, preying
and praying you'll drop your guard yet again
for hate begets hate and poised bigots await
reruns of their dear leader's braying.
My first attempt at poetry since early grade school is a "Beat Generation" acid trip fantasy of a corrupt sociopath in exile who will learn the true meaning of "*******" when he lands in a penitentiary.
december grunge Nov 2018
we are dreamers of dreams
dancing in our minds and singing
with our hearts to a melancholy song
o'melody
speak to me
sweet works and put me to dream sweet dreams
not my particular style of writing but just an old poem from a long time ago i wrote about a song i heard.
Skyler M Sep 2018
How does the sun shine so bright when your smile shines brighter,
The days are longer again but all for the right reasons,
I don't know how all the things we say end up being the same,
I'm not one to fall in love so soon but I guess I'm just another one of those fools,
How do you understand me so well?

Let's both dream, shall we?
On a couch- in a room with no roof,
Got a view of the stars and there's rockets flying overhead,
That's where we could be, you just gotta believe me.

How does the moon fly so high when you fly higher,
We laugh and keep on walking while the colors keep changing,
Well, I really hope that you're still here,
When I'm alone at night and the shadows grow longer,
And pieces of my skull start falling out,
You're my hope and my dream,
So I'll never leave you alone.

Let's both dream shall we?
On a couch, in a room with no roof,
Got a view of the stars and there's rockets flying overhead,
That's where we could be, you just gotta believe me.

The eyes I need to see are like sapphire stones,
I don't know where they came from,
But they captivated me,
My own soul shivered and put it's hands together in prayer,
Hoping that you'd stay by me for as long as you like,
I don't mind, no, I don't mind at all.

I'll keep you safe inside our burning homes, tonight.

Let's both dream, shall we?
On a couch- in a room with no roof,
Got a view of the stars and there's rockets flying overhead,
That's where we could be, you just gotta believe me.
Sillo Anderson Sep 2018
Idle love sways around
Capitalizing on what's done
Filling narrowly the fissures beyond hurt
As profound **** gnaw at berated flesh.
Mimicking actions entitled for the best,
Woes trawled at peace, slicing forgiveness
Leaving the immoral of humanity senseless.

Acute arbitrations mingle solely around favors
Spectating drudgery amongst humans and its nature.
For wreaths fall closely, to dreams of being needed
And pleasures steep low from dreamers with bright egos.
Eric Mar 27
We hit the road in the light of dying day
Crimson sunset,wind in our hair
High on the highway
I send my prayers to the air

My mind is blessed with an Angel dust
And my heart is beating fast
I see you sitting next to me with your necklace on
Bottle in your hand shines like diamond

We drive into forever
Nothing can't do us apart
We ride,it's now or never
Summer **** burns my reckless heart

Reflected past in the mirror
We heading to a foreign land
The colors blending and the dream is getting nearer
Clouds left behind,we're never gonna back again
CK Baker Jul 2017
They weren’t all cut from the same cloth
vilified tenders of an iron *****
some were lovers
or lucid dreamers
stage romantics
hidden under jackboots
and skull caps
and switchblade seams

Caste members of a forlorn pack
counting their patchwork and deeds
conjuring demons
around the console
filling their dreams
with radio reds
and dusted quarries
and faded sepia prints

Brass knuckles
and marches of the few
lightening bolt cracks
from a chilling blood moon
death’s dark specter
cold and ominous looms
the cobalt sea swells
near the nestled, and lost
Clubhouse at Kiusta
Show us some light, Mr Jimmy
Venus Star Mar 29
is it real, to be lying in the yellow meadows
beneath the willow trees
in our own worlds
colliding
metaphorically

is it too good to be true?
in this cosmos
to be dreaming about a willow tree
in a yellow meadow

a simple thought
a pen in my hand
a thought in my head
i wonder what ill dream up next
Aniron Jul 2015
You
the passing cloud in pale blue skies
the ocean wide that drinks your eyes
the sailing storm one summer’s day
the rain to kiss the blush of May

You

the glowing rose in winter’s frost
the secret smile no sight wants lost
the lonesome tree down by the lake
the breeze that makes its foliage shake

You

the touch that is with sunlight crowned
the voice in which the sea has drowned
the stare which makes the moon glow more
the long lost wave to kiss the shore

You

the distant sigh that calms the screams
the hidden glister among the beams
the unseen path amidst the vine
a love for which the dreamers pine

You.
Butch Decatoria Aug 2018
Yeah.

Awake past midnight

An insomniac in a world of sleepers,

Creeps with god-awful

Dreams

Where’re the dreamers?

I see

Empty minds & broken hearts

Carriers of virulent Dark

Our shadows

Gorging on the world

Our souls

Lost in Oz

Praying to a wizard

Who’s a known fraud.

Fracking a

Way to never-was

We who claim to know

Love

Prey

Hand to mouth / hand in glove

The bare-knuckle

Fist

Fights to exist

To matter then still better -yet…

Who in this **** knows?

This place is estranged

Yeah?

Can’t wait to see tomorrow

Now that I’m awake

I Just couldn’t wait…

All I want is

Peace on / for Earth - today!

Oh Gaia - namaste.



So yeah...?
Ilion gray Sep 2018
And I stare into the heavens
Without closing my eyes;
I see
Little wonders
Tiny
dying diamonds
Skating across the frozen cirrus clouds
Just beyond cumulus nimbus mountains
High as the feet of angels.
I watched them delve into the dark
waltzing down through the Heavens
Only some will return.
The devil is resisting the
Light from the stars
He cloaks them beneath
Astrology
The stars are infinite
Wild are their galaxies
The strength of their illumination
Does not know darkness
There are no constellations
the stars will laugh at you
To think they were only shining
For you
to dream
and wish upon
While Our great cities
blot them out
with chemical dust
And inescapable darkness
Moving at the speed of greed
Our kings
all blind
And heartless
Everyone who’s ever breathed
These
Counted breaths
Have Lived and died
on the back of
An angel
The day is coming
When only a few will be numbered
And not a human number
but a number
Of God
a sum shall break
the silent universe
Into infinite tiny diamonds
Each skating across
the wretched peaks
the  blackest waves
A never-ending abyss
Every time I go to 7-11 and get a large
Red Slurpee my brain freezes
and when it starts to slowly drip
I think like this
It’s unfathomable
what you find Sometimes
in the
Creases
of a dreamers mind
ryn May 2015
These eyes have felt
their fair share of tears that burn
Forgive my eyes for they are yet so green
They have seen much but still they do not learn

These lungs have breathed
The air both fresh and acrid
Forgive them for they are yet so green
They only do what they must when all runs turbid

These ears they've heard
Hurtful promises and whispers that have stung
Forgive my ears for they are yet so green
They're know not to ignore the language of forked tongues

These lips have served
The most callous of opinions
Forgive them for they are yet so green
They can't seem to curb pent up notions

These hands have grown tired
From shielding my tear-stricken face
Forgive these hands for they are yet so green
They're still so afraid to welcome the gift of future days

These legs are sore
For they have travelled far
Forgive them for they are yet so green
They knew better than to enter through doors left slightly ajar

This mind is weary
From thinking of a life meant only for dreamers
Forgive my mind for it is yet so green
They know not of the inexistence of greener pastures

This heart... My heart
Pounding each beat that betrays
Beats with an anvil in tow
Forgive it for it is yet so green
It's having more trouble than it cares to show

This face I wear
A weathered mask I'm unready to shed
Forgive it for it is yet so green
There's still life in it...
For there's yet much to be said
ryn Aug 2014
Sanctuary is here; hiding in plain sight
Bedimmed beings step into the light
Stumble upon you may; hear us you might
All is welcome; no guard dogs that bite

Step inside, matters not armed or unarmed
Come as you are; steady or alarmed
Sip and drink from our collective fountains
Rest your eyes on our self painted mountains

Come on close and meet us all
Under shady trees or beyond the knoll
Some of us don masks or hide behind names
Some come ***** but we're all one and the same

See our lives, spun from heavy layered bales
Woven intricate telling fantastic tales
Weavings we let fly, to catch each other's fables and stories
We admire them for what they are and the seed each carries

Be aware... Should you not understand
We may bear similar signatures but wear different brands
We, the people, trade in euphemisms
Broken sentences and long forgotten idioms

We are weavers, dreamers and scribes
Pouring here the outside world we imbibe
We are unguarded hearts speaking in metaphoric tongues
We provide safe haven for bruised souls with punctured lungs

So welcome traveler, shed your load
You might like it here in our coveted abode
Revel in the monochromatic sights you see
Where freedom of thought is revered in this here Sanctuary...
Olivia Jul 2018
Our city is painted with thoughts and feelings
Walls unkempt and overrun with expression
Made to fit movie screens with their perfection

Our city is lit by lovers and dreamers
They hold hands without caring and kiss in the daylight
Unlike me, they wouldn’t mind who was staring

Our city is a film still in my memory
Growing more valuable with time
The white becoming a little more golden with age

Our city is a privilege to me, a sacred moment
Not a city anymore but a nostalgic pang of laughter and a dull awareness of seconds
Always passing too quickly, like a reservoir that everyone knows will soon be emptied but that is drained anyway

Our city is bookstores and mountains
Dark cars and dim statues
Nightwalkers and busy streets

Our city is happiness and fear and youth and color and reckless and forward and awesome

But maybe Our City

Is just mine.
CK Baker Jan 2017
He hit the canvass
cold last night;
that impressive frame
and charismatic soul
father, son
and consummate brother
went down for
the proverbial
10 count;
complete with iron band
and Iroquois
tap out pipes
and that fashionable
Frank Smith vein

there was no grudge
in this match
no condemning contest
or mad cap bout
just mano a mano
with the dark apparition
and it played out
precisely
(despite the bills
and pressing deadlines
and calls from Christ)
it came with tears
and fear
in that decisive
and surrealistic
voice from the ridge

they all arrived;
on plains
and trains
valiants
and fat boys
from across seas
and remote hills
bringing tales
and sorrow
angels,
laborers
and mourners
in mass
with eagle wreathes
and adorning pine

it was cited
as natural
but there ain’t
nothing natural
about The Heater
going down
nothing natural
for the
mauy thai bossman
with black leather gloves
and golden heart
the giver of hope
to those blue
collar dreamers
CK Baker Jun 2017
Annapolis (DDH 265)

decommissioned warcraft
clean severed lines
steam gusts belt
from a cavernous shell
the ghost ship settles
on a drift ridge
perfect tide rhythm
on a salt washed shore

calming nuance
in passive time
weaving through
channels and crest waves

white sands warming
at a high point
beyond the breakers
and porteau pins

gazers and dreamers
(and sleepy fiords)
rest softly up the straight
froth folds skim and linger
on the wide eyed
wanderers of the sound
cove seals settle
at the inlet
their symphonies
backing on the
bowen brigade

ripples and
patch makers
hold sheets to the wind
markgraf lines
find electric blue sky
stealth shadows
haunt the seascape
the dragon fly hovers
in fits and starts
Tommy Randell Nov 2014
There are Doves in chains
electrodes to their wings
But to keep them silent
not to make them sing

There are dreams encased in fear
and it is the dreamers who are afraid
just as there are jailers of freedom scared ****-less
but locked anyway into their own game

Eyes are put out
in deep rooms too dark for seeing
Souls are squandered, coerced
into soulless believing

Delvers of pain torture Truth
cut it and burn it until Truth is dead
Masters of innocence, child-men
devour their hope on iron beds

Wild-hearted, men to men inflict cruelty
in the name of Gods created from need
Prisoners of conscience
victims of prisoners of greed

Where are there reasons?
In whose heart can there be room enough
to allow such ******* injustice?
Evil is the end of all our Love

Where is the Future?
Can men live knowing men exist
whose orders rip out all our still beating hearts
and feed them back to us
in the name of some Equality ?
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