"reverie" poems
*The surf provides lullabies
as ocean echoes roll.
Too soon, the sunlight glitters
as the dawn turns gray to gold.
I wake and I rub my eyes
beside the sandy beach
My love beside me, languid lips
within an easy reach.
I whisper, sweet good mornings
as your dreams I brush away.
You stretch and yawn, responding to
requests to "come and play".
Lingered memories caress,
of last night's rising moon
with silver waves and ripples,
beyond the dark lagoon.
In shades of colors that mix and smudge
you take your time, no rush
My ******* tingle, at the thought
upon my skin, spreads flush.
In reverie, flutters reminisce,
your wanton body on mine.
Whispered moans in my ear, you ******
"I'm yours", I hear on rewind.*
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 12:37 AM UTC
.
It's here again...
Heavy downpour...
I inhaled the rain,
cloying with petrichor.
Standing at my window,
looking out...
Street lamps struggled aglow.
People with brollies walking about.
My eyes reached out to the heavens,
tracing these glassy beads
as they'd free fall...
Falling by the sheets,
the pattering hastens,
periodically punctuated
by the thunder's call.
Mind is drifting and floating,
intently listening to a
million love wishes...
Liquid beauty...melding, sketching...
In light entrapped splashes.
Raindrops descend and come,
into my still life tonight...
Won't you will me numb,
with your chilly bite...
Wide-eyed enamour...
Catching a stray droplet or two.
Riding the tail of a zephyr,
finding a place where
no trouble could ensue.
An errant gust blew
to meet with me.
The refreshing moist
meets my parted lips...
Inhaling deep in this reverie...
Into a sea of tranquillity,
my mind slowly dips...
Sigh... If the droplets were kisses...
I would savour each and every one.
If the moist wind came and caresses
I would meet it in a tight embrace
till the break of sun.
What a sight...
Almost surreal it seems...
As the light from the surrounding
lamps dances playfully...
Dispersing and exploding into a
barrage of shattered beams.
Before it gets subdued in the drops
caught by the leaves on a nearby tree...
The drops would trickle
and fall before merging,
forming stranded puddles
unable to flow...
Rippling... Splashing... Reflecting...
An image...
Borne out of a fantastic show.
An image of beating hearts,
overlapping one another...
Speaking of consequential love
and feelings so true
Intertwined...
in the promise of forever...
Slowly retrieving itself into an...
image of you...
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 7:18 AM UTC
The gentle reaches of the late afternoon sun
I'd bathe in this light abundant reverie
Swaying breeze... Caressing the web we've spun
In the warmth of this amber coloured spree...
Shades of gold, stretch beyond observable measure
My vision could only take me so far
Shining through between the green and azure
As if the window of heaven left slightly ajar.
Swathed in the glow... Laying on a bed of green
Eyes closed... Under the blue that spanned forever
Feast for my senses thus honed keen
Relishing the lingering touches of her radiating amber.
She's finally dipping, taking all of her light...
She'll sink behind the horizon, descending gracefully
I'd still remember all through my night
That amber...
Amber is the colour of her energy.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 5:36 AM UTC
the bus poets
we are the modern day chimney sweeps,
the ***** black faced coal miners of the city,
digging up its grit, toasted with its spit,
the gone and forgotten elevator operators,
the anonymous substitutable,
still yet glimpsed occasionally,
grunts of urbanity
provoking a surprised
whaddya know!
once like the bison and the buffalo,
we were thousands,
word workers roaming the cities,
the intercity rural routes and the lithe greyhounds
across the land of the brave,
free in ways the
founders wanted us to be
us, the stubs and stuff,
harder working poor and lower cases
we were the bus poets,
sitting always in the back of the bus,
where the engines growls loudest,
seated in the - the most overheated
in winter time, so much so
we nearly disrobed,
and then come the summer,
we were blasted with a joking
hot reverie from the vents,
but vent, no, we did not!
no - we wrote and wrote of all we heard,
passion overheated by currents within and without,
recording and ordering the
snatches and the soliloquies of the passengers,
into poem swatches;
the goings on passing by,
the overheard histories,
glimpsed in milliseconds, eternity preserved,
inscribed in a cheap blue lined five & dime notebook,
for all eternity what the eyes
sighed and saw
books ever passed
onto the next generation in boxes from the supermarket,
attic labeled, then forgotten beside the outgrown toys
with our names writ indelible with the magic of
black markers
if you stumble upon a breathing scripter,
let them be, just observe,
as they, you,
these movers and bus shakers,
as they, observe you
tell your children,
you knew one in your youth,
then take them to the attic
retrieve your mother's and father's,
teach your children
how to read, how to see,
the ways of their forefathers,
the forsaken,
the bus poets.
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 7:53 AM UTC
#*Morning falls
from a budding
cherry tree;
the colour
of nightsong’s
waning blossom
comes to be
an echo
only heard
by the wind
Soundless remnants
of an intimate
twilight odyssey
tarry thickly,
drifting lightly
through the landscape
of dawn
The hushed echo
wields the silent
reverie
of the night,
gently rippling
the rivers that run
through the heart
The poignant taste
of passionfruit lingers
in the sensory traces
of a warm
passing breeze;
penetrating
the lonely chill
of a naked night's
work of art
~
Jesse*#
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 2:20 PM UTC
Sequacious demonstrative mongrel fantastication
Overt fantasias and monstrance clarification
Rhetorical rote of empirical justification
Whimsical enervations elicit ramification
Incite legendary fables of rectification
Tempestuous mendacious erudite personifications
Endemic epistemological semantics of edification
Evocative illuminism engenders mortification
Judicious spontaneous phantasms of gratification
Numinous salutatory statutes of ratification
Heuristic existentializing empiricisms alleviate confusion
Adamant machismo machinations eliminate delusion
Eulogizing enigma entity’s illustrious illusion
Torridly allusive revelries of reverie effusion
Educing morose maniacal moribundity’s inclusion
Epitomizing empathetic revulsions to corroborate elusion
Probitous erudite solicitations evade contusion
Raunchy riotous accoutrements appreciate exclusion
Optimizing subjunctively torpid recalcitrant collusion
Scenario syntactics of mythically epic allusion
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
*Our bodies are facing
The arms of dawn.
Conflicts of our skins
From night's reverie
Floating with fading purple.
Still lost in the depth of
Your starry mouth,
Particles of me
Merging into the universe.
Mingled thoughts
Under mingled fingers
Making galaxies crumbled
Time after time
Inside my closed eyes,
As I'm being washed by your
Warm luminosity.*
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 9:40 AM UTC
library books;
the musty smell floods me with
thoughts of its past readers
did a girl like me
run her finger across this line
as i have?
will our lines like vines
ever intertwine?
rainy nights;
while the tip-tap and dribble of
droplets hit my windowsill,
i imagine gusts of wind
dancing with one another:
carless and free
and without destination
light touches;
the accidental bump of elbows,
the awkward entanglement
of fumbling phalanges,
a gentle squeeze of the hand,
a comforting gesture that says
“i am here.”
now reverie this:
you and i,
the spines of our books broken,
our shoulders barely brushing,
the sound of soft and subtle raindrops
all things i adore in one simple
and seemingly endless moment
books, rain, touches, and you
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 6:46 PM UTC
What was the point of this reverie
If it just came and walked away
Bringing my soul
Strolling again
Those deserted roads
That once cherished our presence
Were you there
Expecting me
Or was it just an embodiment
Of the memories of our ordeal
Who was the actual one
Who willingly became a liar
Who was the first person
Who built mushy hope
Before crushing it
Without any grounds you toyed with my heart
Like disastrous hurricane
That unexpectedly surged and vanished
You were only a shadow
Of wretched past
Whom sometimes got carried away
By my unsettled endless dream.
Aug 4, 2021
Aug 4, 2021 at 6:50 AM UTC
Lost in reverie
Of being with you
So far and yet, so close
No good wishing for what can't.
Hope in words
To redeem found spark
Never assume, always ask
Can't ever know what reward awaits.
So, lark some more
By window ajar, lovebirds
Flutter onward with affection
Whose depth can be but felt in song.
Star Toucher, 22 March 2013
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 10:50 AM UTC
A Breath of wind is wind itself,
should true and steady braided shelfs,
foraged fords from handsome lords,
prayed hopes & proper ropes,
could life and science meet the world beyond Biology?
"A home," it cried, "a home for me with trees and lakes and reverie."
I tried and cried for something else, elsewhere
I found a leaning shelf.
Should what was true and even hold nothing told or helpless here,
I cannot hide a place inside,
though I cannot say I really tried.
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 2:15 PM UTC
*A penny for your thoughts,
Is what we used to say.
When someone looked
many miles away...
To fall into a reverie,
Be in another place.
With a distant look
painted on your face.
It sometimes happens,
when you least expect.
Almost as if the memory,
Just slipped into neglect.
Vivid images on your mind,
Random thoughts of a kind.
Daydreaming..*
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 12:33 PM UTC
in the waves
of your gaze
my ship
bursts into
dreams
as my mouth
watering for yours
fills me with
unease
endlessly
longing
to permeate
on your reverie
steam
to dim
the lights
of your sirenic
breeze
to undress
the complexity
of your mind
scheme
i solemnly live
to hear your name
that even the silences
scream
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
I'm laying on the floor at 1:37am
on a tuesday, or maybe wednesday.
the vents are reeking of that dog again.
Blanketed by only a scented candle
I see shadows, it resembles residue
a stained glass ceiling.
There is an ache between my shoulders
as I contemplate living, or sleeping
but that's always been the same thing.
As I listen to the showering upstairs,
I try to find ways to speak in words
that have nothing to do with you.
Dec 6, 2022
Dec 6, 2022 at 5:33 AM UTC
#
***My mind to frolic, with words of Frost
Slides between and then is lost
Drifting ‘round to fellows long
My thirst is deep; desires strong
Filled with all that Maya says
Flits in and out my meddling head
And ah, when Pablo speaks of love
My heart's aflutter with pure white doves
Around the beat, who else but Poe
A deep dark place I've come to know
I stop to ponder the words worth
As if I've nursed them from their birth
I settle to hear the rambling brook
Where Gwendolyn baits my eager hook
Then ‘long comes Oscar, running wild
I listen like an eager child
When Langston paints his colored hues
His canvas fills my point of view
Not just the finest spinning me
To this state of flux and reverie
For verses drift from near and far
Forever reaching for the stars
Feeding on the gentle night
I languish in the word's delight
Finding rhyme from ‘neath the skin
The place where passion's settled in
To fill my cup, appease my soul
Till hunger's sated, fat and whole
The empty space behind my eyes
Is filled with life's sweet lullabies
And when at last, I lay to rest
I'm filled with cadence of the best***
#
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 7:24 AM UTC
In a tiny bitter lemon tree
there sat an orange, quite obese,
dreaming an ice-cream-reverie:
I would like a scoop of rasperry…
„That cheeky orange“, spoke the lemon tree,
tries to spoil our yellow purity!
Where upon the orange blushed.
„Now you look like a strawberry“
laughed a bumblebee
licking ice-cream happily.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 4:57 AM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Drowsy, as the eyes of mine sleeps
a joyride of fantasies, a jumping of sheep
so, the pages turning mama would red
while my feet are falling and
my arms up my head, hands unsaid
with a gentle rock and a soft abye
I'm off to dream land as I fly
silk of red swooped to the entrance gate
a little slip, a little slide till it fade
and gently I landed at the pearly lake
A boat by Venice caught me alone
with the breeze scented, so cold as snow
and Grims hoisting a whooper
a sure one they'll never throw
passing here and there and off they go
storms of Neptune came up the sea
big waves flung, I swung towards east
clovers led me to an isle and said
"How Lucky you'll always be"
no more thunders but just all reverie
A twirl to the woods, exciting it be
with beams of the moon
and the stars sitting on the tree
lights flashing, a calm of ebb
the spiders glistening, an artistic web
dream land is promising
like vines that whip and crawl
bearing fruit to bless us as we call
with roses of red, daisies blooms at dew
mama's lullaby at once, I knew
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 11:08 AM UTC
rhapsodic pastoralism
as beguilingly bucolic as tempera gardens,
where nature’s wild beauty
is domesticated and made
into a safe space for dream and play,
reverie and revelry.
with the bright dawn
chatter of birdsong
it seems to reach your ear across distance,
like a girl singing happily to herself
while walking down the road
on the other side of your garden wall.
Jan 24, 2023
Jan 24, 2023 at 4:33 PM UTC
The mellifluous tones of his voice
Put my heart at ease
Lulled by the sound he makes,
I get lost in reverie
Is it the tenderness in his voice?
Or perhaps the words he utter?
Or his cloying expression?
I am not so sure
Whatever it may be,
My heart always sings with glee
Then I begin to cry
And express my deepest sentiment
How strange yet astonishing it is,
To feel everything at once
Just by hearing the sweet sound
Of the voice that enraptures me
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 3:00 PM UTC
Why, I ask, I turn to you?
At this low moment of fear and pain
To feel, perhaps that it may be true
that I can feel and know love again?
No, my heart tells me it cannot be
Tis only to wake me from my reverie
This forest of of veils that reach from the sky
I feel my way through, with no sight from my eye
So I remain blind for this is my choice
For at this moment I've no trust in my voice
Let me hide behind the stage of life
The place I hope no hate nor strife
Go away I say, and leave me be...
Don't wake me from my reverie
It is safe this place, though lacking light
Perhaps I will go to only take flight
And when I do, I know it will be
to go home where I know I can finally be free
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 1:34 PM UTC
The Brute in me is a gleeful beast.
The Trog is older now and mellow.Yet. Pull up a chair.
Just a minute of your time if you will. Sometimes,
I watch him ooze through the pores of my skin and he stands there.
Myself and he apart
He always walks down to the river's edge where I always find
him skipping stones. skipping stones and staring at the far bank.
He does not see me or it seems so. This never changed for years.
After some time in reverie,he turns and walks by me.
I can smell the potent odor of his sweat.
The brute is me at twenty three.
Later still he returns to his dimension
deep within my past,
Wordless, yes until one day.
The beast looked over his shoulder mid toss
A stone skipped and tipped the universal
constants.
Pulling a pistol from thin air he shot me at point blank.
Two head, one heart. A bit of a start not mention
That was a bit rude but not out of character for me
at that age. No no don't get me wrong.The impulsive side
Not the homicide
Suicide. Hellofa ride.
Well. Well without further discussion, we casually
Walked back to the house an split a bottle of Stoli's
And. Watched MMA bloodletting on cable T.V.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 5:51 PM UTC