there is only here and nowand the once was and the soon to bethe should be, the could be, the might bejoined together, past, present, and futureblending into seamless timebeginning at the beginningstretching off into the eternitymarching in a straight linefrom time before all records were keptpointing to time unknown dropped in, snuggled in, squeezed inhuman beings alter the universeirrevocablyjumping barriersleaping across boundariesin pursuit of dreamsquests for an unholy grailchasing illusive butterflies of chancethat change predetermined destiniesaltering time forevermore some keeping meticulous trackof minutesdaysmonthsyears while others intentionally forget the doneglossing over the finishedas if brushing off fliesfor by shedding the pastthe future liesuntarnishedunblemished shining bright as the star that ledthe Magi to Bethlehemin search ofthe One who would bethe only here and now
Tag Archives: Poem about dreams
Holiday Blues
What do you tell the children
who find no quarters under their
pillows – the missing gift of the
tooth fairy – when the proper
homage has been paid?
What do you tell the sad little girl
whose stocking is empty
Christmas morn – after leaving the
last cookie and a small cup of
milk – the thanks for the Santa
who never came?
What do you tell the young boy
who has no basket to leave on
the table – decorated with colorful
paper eggs and filled with shredded
newspaper – and all that’s inside are
a few stale jelly beans?
What do you tell the teenager
whose fifteenth birthday came and
went – with no party, no gifts, no
happy times – to mark the majestic
coming of age?
What do you tell the lonely ones
who never get a heart-shaped card
or candies – a sign of friendship and
love – who had only wished that just
one person would care?
What do you tell the little ones
who have no feast to cram into
their mouths – in honor of those who
survived – and so bite into stale
peanut butter sandwiches?
What do you tell all the unloved
children, young and old, who rise
day after day – wanting nothing more
than a gentle hug – and receive
harsh words instead?
For some children have everything
they could ever want while others
have nothing but emptiness – no
hope for more – the rejoicing washes
over, leaving not a drop of joy.
Let us cry for them
And then pick up our mantle
Of gentleness and offer whatever we can,
Whatever small bit of joy
Lurking in cabinets and pantries
Deliver it to a charity
Where we can witness the joy
That abounds in simple giving.
A Simple Request
Wishes wasted on what-nots and
Wing-dings wear away in time,
While fabulous fantasies of futures
filled with wondrous windows of
opportunities allow for nothing
but disappointments
Instead innocence insulates believers,
inspiring individuals to dream devilish
dances, daydreams of defiance, dramatic
challenges coursing through lives
unbroken, undefiled by demons of despair,
hearts healed and whole withstanding
weather-related attacks against
conformity.
Dream on, dreamers. Dance with the stars,
sending sparks spiraling through the universe,
understandably lighting lustrous lives
leavened by luminous love,
spirited souls searching for something
of substance, something to shatter
defamations and destroy doubters.
Give me guidance, goodness, graciousness,
generosity that I may share my successes, spreading
goodwill and good cheer whenever my tired feet tread.
Help hinder the disbelievers, doubters, nay-sayers,
never noticing nothing that threatens to toss around
their firmly held convictions, no matter how mundane,
how mutinous.
Grant me the ability to appease, appreciate, applaud
those whose talents top mine, to see the dedication
and hard work woven into each wondrously crafted
creation, recognizing remarkable determination to succeed.
Allow me to march with those who mark places,
who work with the angels, who weave satisfying stories
and craft perfect poems, earning the everlasting
satisfaction of success.
These things I ask.
Blessed Firelight
The fire crackles,
tongues of flame reaching
high into the night sky,
reaching to capture the
essence of the One who
feeds all flames.
Sparks whirl, grasping,
leaping for joy, celebrating
a temporary life lived in
fullness. Rejoicing, dancing,
sprinkling the darkness
with pinpoints of light.
Flickering flames bathe
the woods nearby, casting
eerie glows on low-reaching
fir trees; on fallen logs whose
souls have flown and rest
now in peace.
Horned owls hoot in syncopated
harmonies joined by a distant
pack of coyotes whose yips rise
and fall with unequaled grace.
A fir branch snaps, splitting the
song’s joyful tunes.
The night has a bite, a sharpness
that penetrates the inner core,
threatens to steal warmth,
warded off by a rising taper of
sparks, resurrecting feeble souls
who yearn for life.
Serenity beckons, calling the flames
to calm, to settle, to dwindle
until only a feeble light survives,
burning into perpetuity,
fueled by the eternal love
of One who feeds all flames.
Buffalo Dreams
Visions of a long ago past
keep clouding my brain,
carrying me back in time
when herds of shaggy buffalo
roamed the verdant plains,
grazing peacefully on the lush
grasses and thinking of little
except taking the next bite.
Nomadic tribes followed the
mighty herds, giving praise
to their gods for the wonders
of sustenance freely given.
Every sinew, every shard of bone,
every inch of hide valuable gems
for improving the quality of life.
Brave warriors, dressed in hides
and lathered in specially-made
potions encircle the unmindful
beasts, seeking those best suited
for the entire tribe’s needs.
Never taking more than would be
consumed, never wasting gifts
for the sake of one small part,
and always thanking the beast’s soul,
for dying so that others may live.
Traditions broken by the arrival
of ungrateful hunters who willingly
destroyed the herds to line their small
pockets with precious gold coins,
in their wake leaving only the
footprints of times long past.
Buffalo Dreams
Visions of a long ago past
keep clouding my brain,
carrying me back in time
when herds of shaggy buffalo
roamed the verdant plains,
grazing peacefully on the lush
grasses and thinking of little
except taking the next bite.
Nomadic tribes followed the
mighty herds, giving praise
to their gods for the wonders
of sustenance freely given.
Every sinew, every shard of bone,
every inch of hide valuable gems
for improving the quality of life.
Brave warriors, dressed in hides
and lathered in specially-made
potions encircle the unmindful
beasts, seeking those best suited
for the entire tribe’s needs
.
Never taking more than would be
consumed, never wasting gifts
for the sake of one small part,
and always thanking the beast’s soul,
for dying so that others may live.
Traditions broken by the arrival
of ungrateful hunters who willingly
destroyed the herds to line their small
pockets with precious gold coins,
in their wake leaving only the
footprints of times long past.
Drifting Along
Sunny summer days
Drift along
Taking my lazy ways
Across river deep and wide
Burst-of-color leaves
Silently fall
Calling my soul to grieve
For things unfinished
Speckled blue skies
Fill with migrating birds
Loudly, their cries
Call, inviting me along
\I yearn to travel
To see family far away
Concerns, worries unravel
Twisting around my fingers
Earth-bound am I
When winter approaches
Eager eyes look to the sky
Seeking freedom
Tough Words
When your dream becomes a reality
you will believe, with some certainty
all your hard work was worth the effort
now earning you well-deserved comfort.
The sky is the limit, some will say
and encourage you to not delay
the constant climb for the cherished prize.
Only then will there be no surprise.
The path is rutted and deadly steep,
filled with boulders and crevices deep.
Yet each small step leads toward success.
You have to focus, with faithfulness.
Dreams are supposed to inspire us, true.
Failure and struggles will challenge you,
orchestrating real disharmony.
Though the reason is still unclear to me.
I Await
Insomnia plagues my nights.
She tickles me between the ribs,
plays with my fingers and toes,
counts them one by one
as she props open my sagging
eyelids with her prickly fingers.
She sends shock waves down
my trembling spine. She cramps
muscles well-past exhaustion,
and pinches stretched-thin nerves.
After raking her nails down my
tightened calves, she sits back
and cackles, reveling in my misery.
How I long to slap her face,
To send her flying into my
neighbor’s bed so she can inflict
herself on another unsuspecting soul.
But I don’t.
I restrain myself, praying that she’ll slip
away as quietly as she arrived,
leaving me in peaceful slumber.
Insomnia, you are not my chosen
best friend or my bosom-buddy.
Leave me alone that I may travel
the distant shores of my dream-world,
experience the refreshing dip into the
pools of numbness, and drift deep
into the night, soaking up energy.
Sleep, come to me as softly as
a kitten tiptoeing into my lap.
Lick my parched lips with your
roughened tongue. Caress my
cheeks with your silky fur.
Drip sleep-inducing nectar into
my eagerly waiting eyes, then
rock me to sleep with the rhythmic
beating of your heart.
I await.
Buffalo Dreams
Visions of a long ago past
keep clouding my brain,
carrying me back in time
when herds of shaggy buffalo
roamed the verdant plains,
grazing peacefully on the lush
grasses and thinking of little
except taking the next bite.
Nomadic tribes followed the
mighty herds, giving praise
to their gods for the wonders
of sustenance freely given.
Every sinew, every shard of bone,
every inch of hide valuable gems
for improving the quality of life.
Brave warriors, dressed in hides
and lathered in specially-made
potions encircle the unmindful
beasts, seeking those best suited
for the entire tribe’s needs.
Never taking more than would be
consumed, never wasting gifts
for the sake of one small part,
and always thanking the beast’s soul,
for dying so that others may live.
Traditions broken by the arrival
of ungrateful hunters who willingly
destroyed the herds to line their small
pockets with precious gold coins,
in their wake leaving only the
footprints of times long past.