Dreams now extinct – 4

Once the fashioner of the future

Dreams that once built castles – from dream dust – in the skies.

Becoming the stuff reality fashioned for our adventurous eyes.

Dreams that once took us on glorious journeys, in flight,

upon the wings of our own design – that was such a sight.

 

Dreams of a psychic nature gave cause for, reflection

guiding one to a path, in order to take that right direction.

Dreams have become extinct now – they have all gone.

There are none left, – what went wrong ? – to carry on.

 

Life has happened !!!, that is all.

And now, and in age – in the fall,

before winters cold cruel winds call -

life that was lived, is all I am able to recall.

 

B. J. “A” 2

June 20^th 2005

 

Another repetitious dream – 3

The outsider look in, from within / looking at

 

Dreams come alive during the morning hours,

long after most of the world – on this side of the sun –

has risen from the fading light of moons glow and dreams.

My dreams ride the steps of escalators from deep down,

where – from the darkened cracks of the subconscious –

 voices speak – in riddles and rhymes – to the conscious

 mind, during those sleepy hours where depression takes hold

and binds, ties one down - in the light of day - to their bed.

My dreams are telling me - as I see myself – I am involved

in what is portrayed upon the screens that lay on the backside

of my, closed, eye lids that hide from the outside world

 a true view of my soul and all that is whispered in secret.

 Phrases depicting – as I, in states of lucidity – watch the play

unfold – from my balcony chair – as I become the actor,

and in this, a one man play, I am all the parts of all the characters  

that have danced, strutted, pranced, crawled before these eyes.

Eyes that catch the essence of the story but not the subplots,

nor the beginning, the middle, the end, or what lies between

the lines set within the heart of all the prose, poetry and rhymes.

And so, as the outsider looking in, looking at the insider

looking out, comes from within, is the script writer, the actor,

preforming all the parts, with all the nuances projected,

that awake, never comes to light, except in small flakes,

specks and flecks upon the mirror he hold, reflecting  

  the images of the child, the boy, the youth, the man, the aged.

The strange world of dreams !!!

 

B. J. “A ” 2

June 19^th 2005

Waves

 

Tsunamis rush across space and time, taking out all of reality,

leaving in their wakes remnants of the ethers spirit.

As day light hours subjugate dreams impressions

one wonders ?, where lies the true essence of ones life.

 

Might it be ?, the dreamers dream is his reality

and his perception of reality – but a dream ?

For some, a nightmare in either state

or both have been their fate.

 

Whatever the case might be ?. – for you and me,

we – in order to survive – will have to ride tsunamis wave  

across time and space and make the best life , for us can be

until that day comes, when it all comes together in the grave.

 

B. J. “A ” 2

June 15^th 2005

Recurring Dream – 2

No talent

 

Dreams come on the crashing waves of R.E.M. sleep.

They come from the darkest oceans of the subconscious deep,

whispers of time exhausted, drifting into the midnight hours

perilously merging, in darkness, with what we thought ours.

 

 Not !, for there is this other recurring dream.

From its surrealistic messages, I do glean,

 a missive from its distorted images seen

- there is no talent coming from within me –

 

This is why – it seems – all I will ever be

is a laborer, an apprentice, a go for

doing all the shit work – nothing more

in these dream - my life , slowly closing the door.

 

B. J. “A ” 2

June 15^th 2005

I, a O am.

There is no place the body can run and hide

to escape the ravages of mind and memories ride

into the world of ghosts that live within all

that influences, directs, guides us as we recall

what has destroyed – for some – a future, a life

what has built – for some – a future without strife.

 

For me !, can the phoenix rise up from the ashes

climb above all that has influenced and clashes

with desires to awaken the spirit, the soul

so that the psyche may hear, may see, may know

that the spirit can fly, the soul can soar with all

conscious abandon, without fear of taking the fall.

What colours my day

There are many colours of blue.

They paint my hours in different hues.

We know that under the sun, nothing is new.

and that my dear friends is not news

 

B. J. “A ” 2

June 9^th 2005

Repetitious Dream – 1

No Controll !!!

 

Once upon a time – long ago – an entrepreneur, my forte.

Not today !, for that is not – in the heat of the night – what dreams say.

 

They tell me, – in their surreal repetition – I was but a pawn,

in games played by landlords, clients, friends – I was drawn,

 

pushed, manipulated and shoved from dusk till dawn.

I do wonder ?, about this wonderland reality, after the setting sun.

 

Truth ?, I drag it on and on – in dream – till night is done.

This is the stuff – today, yesterday – my dreams are of’

 

and it seems – years now – there is no end, even though above

all else, – these repetitious dreams – this should not represent the way

 

life truly was for me, – in another time – during another day.

Awake, reality is – from beginning to end – we all are but pawns,

 

played by the hands of our need and by the hands of greed

as the puppet masters look on with disdain and yawns

 

at all our efforts to grow from the simplest of planted seed

in hopes that life will blossom, flower and fill our need.

 

B. J. “A ” 2

June 9^th 2005

Valentines