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I almost don't even remember you..
I keep going back to try but
You feel like a dream.

One where the memory is fading
Like when you try to hold on as
You wake up
But it's slowly disappearing
As the morning sunrise shines through the window..

Sometimes I just want to fall back asleep
To make it continue.
Other times, I'm glad it's just black.
The beginning of the end.
Umi Mar 2018
By my dear angel Sandalphon as he has been lead in my hand, leaving a clear trail of a cursive writing on a transient sheet of paper,
A crimson sight, so black that one would be caught in trance, reflected by unnatural light of a lamp flickering in the dark of the night, as his feather releases a sweet scent of fresh yet unused ink,
Together with Zadkiel's blooming and happy memories I then am capable to write such down, in an attempt to create poetry, focused,
The sound of scratchy, itchy, rasping echos through this room I inhabit, but already left spititually, engaged in the world of fantasy,
Word by word, the paper is penetrated by this pen, pleasantly, thoughtfully, gently sliding over it to not damage it by accident,
There is no need for haste, heartache nor rush, not is there the need to be concerned about this angels work, duty and his mission to accompany me throughout each and every writing which unfurls,
Alike a story from my mind, from my emotions, deepest wishes, cast on the physical realm with his help,
And once his strengh weakens, fades, loses might and goes out alike an dying ember he will be dunked in fresh ongoing determination, so that he can repeat his duties with exuberance, joy
Casting a smile on my face once literature has been created,
As then I lay my dark knight, my servant for the night to rest,
Until another poem has to be written and his duty awakens him,
After all, in this dreamlike tale it is well to remember;
You don't have to die in a dream

~ Umi
Umi Apr 2018
Never will I return again,
It has been decided by an undawning night, restless wandering whilst following a red thread, not knowing where it leads or where it ends,
Followed by endless questions within a journey of true sorrow, the realisation hits me hard, will I ever be able to reach out for you, dear?
Swallowing the unspoken words, I keep on my journey, to find this end I'm looking after hoping it'll be at least, a happy fight to the finish
Without a sound, a tear running down my face, moistens the earth, reflected by my heart, which has faced a long drought of no emotions,
But now I am overflowing with them, more than I can convey in words, from now on, I want to face the coming morning with you,
Yet my words and wishes do not reach, the path is illuminated by the moon above, only a few clouds are to accompany his loneliness,
Wandering by a road, reaching to the distant sky, oh how I cannot escape this dreamlike tale, of what it is pointing to, softened by light,
Under the drifting clouds, even though the ages may fade away into meaningless numbers, with this unchanging life I can keep shining for you, alike the sweet and delicate,

~ Umi
Jim Davis Apr 2017
In the last
three decades,
after we became one,
I touched
amazingly beautiful things,
horribly **** things,  
unbelievably wondrous things

I touched nature's majesty;
hued walls of the Grand Canyon,              
crusty bark of the
Redwoods and Sequoias,
live corals of the
Great Barrier Reef,
dreamlike sandstone of the Wave

I touched magical and strange;
platypus, koalas and
kangaroos Down Under,
underwater alkali flies and
lacustrine tufa at Mono Lake,
astral glowing worms
in the Kawiti caves

I touched holy places;
Christianity's oldest churches,
the Pope's home in the Vatican,
Hindu and Sikh temples and
Moslem mosques in India,
Anasazi's kivas of Chaco canyon,
Aboriginal rocks of Uluru and Kata Tjuta

I touched glimmers of civilization;
uncovered roads of Pompeii,
fighting arenas of Rome,
terra cotta armies of Xian,
sharp stone points of the Apache,
pottery shards from the Navajo,
petroglyphs by the Jornada Mogollon

I touched fantastical things;
winds blowing on the
steppes of Patagonia,,
playas and craters of Death Valley,  
high peaks of the Continental Divide,
blazing white sands of the  
Land of Enchantment

I touched icons of liberty
and freedom;
the defended Alamo,
a fissured Liberty Bell,
an embracing Statue of Liberty,
the harbor of Checkpoints
Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie

I touched glorious things
made by man;
the monstrous Hoover Dam,
an exquisite Eiffel tower,
a soaring St Louis Arch,
an Art deco Empire State Building,
the sublime Golden Gate Bridge

I touched sparks from history;
the running path of an
Olympic flame just off Bourbon,
the last steps of Mohandas Ghandi
at Birla House before Godse,
******'s Eagle's nest and the
grounds over Der Führerbunker

I touched walls of power;
enclosed rings of the Pentagon,
steep steps of the
Great Wall of China,
untried bastions of
Peter and Paul's fortress,
fitted boulders of Machu Picchu

I touched strong hands;
of those conquering
Rommel's and ******'s hordes,
of cold warriors of
Chosin Reservoir,  
of forgotten soldiers of Vietnam,
of terrorist killers of today

I touched memories of war;
the somber Vietnam memorial,
the glorious Iwo Jima statue,
the cold slabs at Arlington,
the buried tomb of USS Arizonians,
Volgograd's Mother Russia  

I touched **** things;
shreds of light in
Port Arthur's prison,
horrible smelly dust
in the streets from 9/11,
ash impregnated dirt
in the pits at Auschwitz

I touched oppressed freedom;
open ****** plazas
of Tiananmen Square,
smooth pipe and concrete
of the Berlin Wall,  
tall red brick walls
of the Moscow Kremlin

I touched constrained freedom;
heavy ankle and
wrist ***** chains
in the South,
little windows
in Berlin's Stasi prison,
haunted cells in Alcatraz  

I touched remnants of madness;
wire and ovens of Auschwitz,
stacked chimneys and
wooden bunks of Berknau,        
Ravensbruck, and Dachau,
the tomb of Lenin,
toppled Stalins

I touched hands of survivors;
of Leningrad's siege,
of German POWs and
of Russian fighters
of Stalingrad's battle,
of Cancer's scourges  

I touched grand things;
deep waters of the Pacific and Atlantic,
blue hills of Appalachia,
towering peaks of the Rockies,
high falls of Yosemite Valley,
bursting geysers of Yellowstone,
crashing glaciers of Antarctica and Alaska    

I touched times of adventure;
abseiling and zipping in Costa Rica,
packing Pecos wilds and Padre isles,
flying nap of earth Hueys to Meridian,
breaking arms in JRTC's box,
fighting Abu Sayyaf, and Jemaah
Islami in Zamboanga City

I touched through you;
wet sand beaches of  Mexico and Jamaica,
mysterious energy of the monoliths of Stonehenge,
rarefied air in front of the
Louvre's Mona Lisa,
ancient wonders of Giza,
Egypt's tombs and pyramids

We shared soft touches;
drifting in Bora Bora's
surreal waters,
joining hands camel trekking the
Outback's dry sands,
strolling along Tasmania's
eucalyptus forest trails

basking in swinging hammocks
under Fiji's bright sun,
scrambling in
Las Vegas' glittering and
red rock canyons,
kissing under the
Taj Mahal's symphony of arches

We shared touching deep waters;
propelled in gondolas
through the city of canals,
Drifting atop Uru cat boats on Lake Titticaca,
Swooping in jet boats
up a wild river in Talkeetna

Racing in speed boats
around Sydney's great harbour,
skimming in pangas in Puerto Ayora,
paddling the Kennebec for
East's best petroglyphs,
cruising Salzbergwerk's underwater lake

We touched scrumptious things;
Beignets and chicory coffee at DuMonde's in the Big Easy,
Hot *** with sesame sauce
in the walled city of Xian,
Peking duck, dimsum, scorpions,
snake and starfish on Wangfujing Snack Street

We touched delicious things
Crawfish heads and tails at JuJu's shack
and ten years at Jeanette's,
Langoustine at Poinciana's, Fjöruborðinus and Galapagos,
Cream cheese and loch bagels
at Ess-a' s in the Big Apple

I touched your hand riding;
hang loose waves of Waikiki,
a big green bus in Denali's awesomeness,
clip clopping carriages of Vienna, Paris,
Prague, New Orleans, Krakow,
Quebec City, and Zakopane,
the acapella sugar train of St Kitts

We shared touching on paths;
the highway 1 of Big Sur,
the Road of the Great Ocean,
the bahn to Buda and Pest,
the path to the North of Maine,
the trail of the Hoh rainforest,
and time after time, the way home

I could spend
the next three decades,
in simple bliss,
having need for
touching nothing,
other than you!

©  2016 Jim Davis
A poem I wrote last year for my wife!  Posted now since it matches the HP' theme for today - "Places"
Umi Mar 2018
Soft, gentle, like one of the fluffy clouds of the purest heaven above,
Free of all sin, of all filth of this earth and of what a demon holds in his desire or temptation within his wicked heart of devilish instinct,
While they carry you to your last judgement they glance at you,
Seemingly so dreamlike that it must be like a legendary illusion of an infinite being, cast upon you to grant you a splendid slumbering,
You will never be able to go back again, it has been decided that it should be this way, depart now my little soul, recieve your justice,
Recall your previous self, as these angels stare at you with roaming might, spreading their wings to appear more light, carefree and pure,
See into the dreams you saught to escape, now all agony, all sin and pride, envy and majesty are burnt away to rot within their light,
The luminousity coming from these fluttering wings, is so smooth it would likely make the worldly life appear to be in a darker shade,
Tirelessly, they are free from all needs, with no need for deep sleep,
Even if you tried you would be swept away by their sheer power,
These Angels had waited to carry you; until the moment you die!
When you reach your final destination, darkness or light will be what you may recieve, or may these wings which seem to be invaluable,
Be pure, then you are worthy of carrying angel wings.

~ Umi
Jen Dec 2018
Clear day—
Lavendar meadow stretches for miles.
Partly cloudy, no chance of rain.
The sun peaks out just enough
To light a field of golden grain.
I’m comfortable here,
In a summer dress,
Blanket on the ground,
Picnic set;
I look around,
And there you are,
Walking towards me
On this dreamlike day.
shima May 2018
awoken from a dreamlike state
i sought out
the you
that had already set flight
the fleeting feathers
Umi May 2018
Is what rings through my senses as I am about to pass out,
Quater past three, it has been me who wrote through the night until now, serene and clear was it's beginning which now only became a dark memory, recurring in my sleepy mind begging for slumber,
However, such are the thoughts of one who was too weak,
Knowledge was ****** into me, yet the chains of destiny remain bounding, almost tying me up to some sort, I cannot escape.
Oh how I cannot escape this dreamlike tale of misry and restlessnes,
Oh how I couldn't protect my heart in love from dying back then.
It all came to the point of no return until they were replaced.
But why not me ? What was it which I had left to do to go as well ?
Perhaps it was decided that it should have been so all along,
I shouldn't complain, even though humans live wretchedly,
Living and finding a new light to hang onto,
Is what I find very beautiful

~ Murasame
This is it folks
Ylang Ylang May 2018
May's nightair
Cold and dreamlike
Come to me
Come to me

I've not forgotten
how your thousand
kisses feel like
Oh, I've not forgotten
        I've not.
-Your soft name
  means to me
             a lot

Uncountable things happening
covered by you,
swarming in the
heart of yours,
in the jungle
          of yours
In the lazy
late afternoon light
when everything seems dreamlike
she comes to me.
Smiling coyly she undoes a clasp,
her robe slips off the shoulder.
I watch the fabric water like
flow over her body.
Hanging on her *******;
heavy with the ripeness of youth,
it pauses
then slips over her ***** brown *******...
One bouncing, then the other.
Following her curves,
past the hollow of her navel...
exposing her crowning glory,
her woman's furry triangle
so warm and moist and welcoming.
Like an admiring hand,
the falling cloth
traces the wonderful curve of her ***,
and down her long, smooth legs
to pool languidly at her feet.
She undoes her dark hair
shakes her head and lets it fall.
In all her glory she stands before me
eyeing me hungrily...
No seducer but prey am I.
This is my take on Ovid's Amores 1.5
Relieving peace
Triggers memories of discord
Dreamlike wave
Stirred on by pain
Feeling hollow
An agony that swallows
Waking up in a new day
Will the hurt always be this way
Can I live without feeling guilt
Of a premonition that spilled

Matthew 7d
little toy planes
and small green trains
*                          icy stares from the glass                          
toward the radiant moon
whispers of "some day"
                 in a dreamlike way                  
hazy star
A view of the moon and a single star from the glass
Viewfinder Dec 2018
As we dove down the lonesome Irish road
not a sinner in sight, was all I could think

Past the old shops and beyond the grand pubs,
we drove on into silence, without even a blink

To my right lay dreamlike misty mountains,
and to my left lay a calm bay; as daytime turned into night

And it was beyond that bay I saw something,
so incredible in all its own right

With large glowing cranes and a foggy sky
propelling a light hazy glow for all to see

It was Christmas Day after all,
and this image was magical even for me

I smiled like that of the Cheshire Cat,
belly full and looking out towards the fading light

And perhaps I was wrong to ever claim,
that not a sinner was ever in sight
Christmas memories
Your voice sounds like future music,
something that has not been thought up yet.
I can only imagine dreamlike tones,
it's true entertainment for the mind,

and I dreamt up your voice walking slowly for miles in my thoughts.
I picture your voice to be a symphony
of morning glory vines and violins

stinging me along, and this private
a concert is for my ears only, and I am playing
musical chairs on a runaway train of thoughts.
I tell you how words don't always need sound.

They find ways to cut corners and
I found a way to find you and you
stay uncut, well kept in a well Lit
corner of my thoughts.

Your voice is a lighthouse it is
luminescent when I am cocooned
in a dark corner standing on a
colorless ground fearing the butterflies

that cloud my Judgment, and make me
lose my train of thought.
Your strength teach me to sleep
peacefully with fire in my heart,

and smoke in my eyes, you feel to me like
Tuesday in an Indian summer, and warm
healing thoughts. In you, I found a safe house,
sweet nothings, and holiness in your blood.

When we speak in person
we will only speak in smiles,
and yours always reminds
me of an angel protecting my thoughts.
Kara Ashley Jan 7
Twinkling fireworks on a warm summer night
I’m enthralled by the starkness of radiance,
The thunderous boom and magical shine.
And yet they flee
I watch them falter and fall,
Quietly acknowledging the sentiment

They banned us from building more castles in the sky,,
so we made forts in the basement instead
Clanked our glasses for freedom and self- determination
Embracing our glorious reign

Pencil drawn blueprints, methodically planned
Smudged lines of dreamlike destiny
We would have made it too.
Had we not carelessly lent them to fate

The blackness of the sky made them perish
Glittering ashes settled at my feet
Nothing but a smokey shadow marked our sweet juvenescence
The stars and the moon unscathed
It really was a fantastic show.
Crown Shyness Oct 2018
Sieht keine Bäume,
sieht keinen Wald,
immer am blöken bis es schallt,
kennt keine Grenzen, trotzdem am flenzen.

Er dichtet, ist aber kein Dichter,
ein Trichter ist um sein Herz,
hält es gefangen,
sein Leben in der Mangel.

Und Liebe war ihm keine Schwierigkeit,
doch die fehlende Reflektion die Konzentration von Schmerz,
immer am Scheitern an der Frage,
wie lieb ich mich selbst?

Er fragte wie lieb ich mich selbst
und schaute doch selbst der Vergangenheit beim Lieben zu.
Trauer-Tränen küssten sich ganz
leidenschaftlich in dieser Liebe, die vergangen ist.

Und so füllte er all die Liebe
in sein Sterben der Freude,
denn die Melancholie ist sein immer währender
treuester Freund.
In der Eiseskälte, das Herz brennend,
spürend was sein könnte - doch wo ist er nur, sein Weg?

Traumhaft-traurig-schön, sag, ist das dein Weg, dein Ziel?
In deinem Kopf wohnt ein Igel, er igelt sich, auch ohne Sinn.
Und Verstand, warum so ein Widerstand?
Der Igel ist am süßsten
wenn er sich nicht einigelt.

Oh, doch waren es seine Stachel, die er erst noch entdecken musste,
vielleicht sein Dilemma,
weshalb der Sog der Unendlichkeit unaufhaltbar schien.
Mag es nicht sein, dass all der Schmerz, die vernichtende Stagnation
in seiner Berechtigung erst in der noch erscheinenden Vision
Sinn ergeben wird?

Schmerz ist das ein Scherz?
Kennst du Leid, kann es sein das aus diesem Leid
eine Leidenschaft wächst,
die größer ist als der Schmerz?
Schließe deine Augen wenn du sehen  willst,
halte deinen Atem an wenn du Luft brauchst,
dann wirst du erkennen, dass du nicht Tod, nicht am Sterben bist.

Wo sind sie die Augen, fern meiner Maske,
so seh ich doch, so seh ich doch
mit mehr als nur der Reflektion im innern des Augapfels.
Ich stürme, ich sprinte, durch Wattmeere im Dunkeln,
hier und dort mein Antrieb
ihr Funkeln,
die Zartheit, die Wärme des Lebens
im Schillern ihrer Träume.

Wenn die Augen lichtleer sind - keine Gefahren, keine Freuden - nur eine Wand aus Dunkelheit.
Renne dem Lichtschein entgegen,
dann findest du auch das Meer der Träume,
ertrinke nicht,
erinnere dich wie es war als Kind!
Warst du frei? Bist du einsam?
Und dennoch, bist du nicht allein, so fragen dich die Leute:
Ist das Freiheit?

Erkenne dein Herz, denn es ist genug!
So zeige es und lege die Wege aus Blut,
Venen im Raum zwischen dir, zwischen mir, zwischen ihr.
Liebe die Liebe, sie ist es, die dich bis zum Altar dieser Worte trug.


Does not see trees
does not see any forest,
always bleating until it echoes,
knows no limits, but hanging at the same time.

He is a poet, but he is not a poet
a funnel is around his heart,
keeps it captive,
his life in short supply.

And love was no difficulty for him
but the lack of its reflection his concentration of pain,
always on the failure of the question -
how do I love myself?

He asked - how do I love myself
and though he watched his past in persistent love.
Mourning tears kissed in completion,
passionate in this love that has passed.

And so he filled all the love
into his dying happiness,
melancholy, his longest,
most faithful friend.
In the freezing cold, the heart, burning,
sensing what could be - but where is his way?

Dreamlike, sad and beautiful,
say, is that your way, your goal?
A hedgehog lives in your head, it hisses, even without meaning.
And mind, why such a resistance?
The hedgehog is the sweetest
if he does not curl up to hide oneself away.

Oh, but it was his sting that he had yet to discover,
maybe his dilemma,
why the pull of infinity seemed unstoppable.
Couldn't it be, that all the pain, the devastating stagnation
will first unfold its justification
in a yet to come appearing vision.

Pain, is this a joke? Do you know sorrow?
Could it be that out of this sorrow will grow passion,
bigger than pain?
Close your eyes if you want to see,
hold your breath when you need air,
then you will realize that you are not dead, not dying.

Where are they, these eyes, far from my mask,
Oh, I see though, more than just the reflection inside the eyeball.
I storm, I sprint, through mud flats in the dark,
here and there my drive
her sparkle,
the tenderness, the warmth of life
in the iridescence of her dreams.

When the eyes are deserted - no dangers, no joys -
just a wall of darkness.
Run towards the light, then you will also find the sea of ​​dreams,
do not drown,
remember how it was as a child!
Were you free? Are you lonely?
And yet, if you are not alone, people ask you:
Is that freedom?

Know your heart, because it is enough!
So show it and create those ways out of blood,
veins in space between you, between me, between her.
Love the love, it carried you to the altar of these words.
A spontaneous collaboration with my wonderful friend Matthias.
We took turns writing these verses. I started,
he wrote the second and so on.

I tried to translate it into English as accurately as possible, but there are some slight differences and rhymes are lost.


— The End —