Dreams Poems
A Sweet Dawn Of Desire: -11 : The Joy of Our Love
by Subhas Chandra Chakra
The joy of our love,
Is a light that never fades,
As we journey together,
On paths that love has made.
With the smile on your face,
And the laughter in your eyes,
I am lost in the beauty,
Of the love that never dies.
......
A Sweet Dawn Of Desire: -12 : The Beauty of Our Love
by Subhas Chandra Chakra
The beauty of our love,
Is a sight to behold,
As we journey together,
On paths that love has told.
With the grace of your movement,
And the sparkle in your eyes,
I am lost in the beauty,
Of the love that never dies.
......
A Sweet Dawn Of Desire: -02: The Waiting
by Subhas Chandra Chakra
My eyes are blinking
and twitching,
Yes something good
to happen soon.
......
100. Raindrops file like veins down the driver's side window
by Kea Campbell
Raindrops file like veins down the driver’s side window. Thunder booms like a bass drum that rattles lightning from the gloomy clouds. Sirens echo around my head like a song stuck in the back of your mind.
The pavement in front of me is as visible as knowing what tomorrow holds. Hazard lights in every direction, like a Christmas tree set to a rhythmic strobe. A pair of beating reds in front and behind, and I can almost make out the double yellow and white lines. Where am I even going?
Mirrors ripple, leveling the dips in the road, and suddenly, I'm hydroplaning. 65 miles an hour and I'm hydroplaning. The back wheels get tired of being caboose, the front agrees and my car has turned into a hand of a clock, counterclockwise.
Thoughts flood my head, a brainstorm. I wish they taught us this in driver's school. Stupid drivers school. I surf my files of memories as if they hadn’t just sit us in a classroom, daydreaming of their next paycheck.
I blink, and nothing has changed. The air like a maze of droplets, like a skewed version of Dots and Boxes. My car in the same place, sitting sideways. I reach for the door and it's locked. I panic and unlock the car. Silly me. The raindrops hitting my body from all sides except up. Trailing, a me-size hole in the rainfall. I can see everything clearly, like peering through the protective mesh behind your bedroom window.
I blink, and my car glides away, 65 miles an hour, sideways. I glance down at my body, hands open like a landing pad for the downpour; palm-up like and fingers sprawled out like I had just received a pair of my own. I hear a car horn barreling toward me until it becomes one with me.
I blink once more, and I see pitch black. I'm dry. The rain continues and thunder booms a half-second worth of daytime into the sky, into my room. And I'm staring at the ceiling above my bed, in my room.
......
Haunted
by Richard Randolph
Wise men advise us to not look back, and that makes sense,
because whether our memories are happy or sad,
they cannot be changed or undone.
But the past is always there
whether we acknowledge it or not,
ready to haunt us at the mention of a name,
or in the wee hours of the night
when darkness makes time disappear
and the past reawakens in our minds.
......
100. Raindrops file like veins down the driver's side window
by Kea Campbell
Raindrops file like veins down the driver’s side window. Thunder booms like a bass drum that rattles lightning from the gloomy clouds. Sirens echo around my head like a song stuck in the back of your mind.
The pavement in front of me is as visible as knowing what tomorrow holds. Hazard lights in every direction, like a Christmas tree set to a rhythmic strobe. A pair of beating reds in front and behind, and I can almost make out the double yellow and white lines. Where am I even going?
Mirrors ripple, leveling the dips in the road, and suddenly, I'm hydroplaning. 65 miles an hour and I'm hydroplaning. The back wheels get tired of being caboose, the front agrees and my car has turned into a hand of a clock, counterclockwise.
Thoughts flood my head, a brainstorm. I wish they taught us this in driver's school. Stupid drivers school. I surf my files of memories as if they hadn’t just sit us in a classroom, daydreaming of their next paycheck.
I blink, and nothing has changed. The air like a maze of droplets, like a skewed version of Dots and Boxes. My car in the same place, sitting sideways. I reach for the door and it's locked. I panic and unlock the car. Silly me. The raindrops hitting my body from all sides except up. Trailing, a me-size hole in the rainfall. I can see everything clearly, like peering through the protective mesh behind your bedroom window.
I blink, and my car glides away, 65 miles an hour, sideways. I glance down at my body, hands open like a landing pad for the downpour; palm-up like and fingers sprawled out like I had just received a pair of my own. I hear a car horn barreling toward me until it becomes one with me.
I blink once more, and I see pitch black. I'm dry. The rain continues and thunder booms a half-second worth of daytime into the sky, into my room. And I'm staring at the ceiling above my bed, in my room.
......
Tooting Her Own Horn
by Evelyn Judy Buehler
Mark Allen was ten years old, and his favorite things were trains;
Like teal moments after the storm, when colorful beauty remains.
Mark had a shiny, toy train set, and he was frequently adding cars;
As people often have dreams of travel, underneath jewelled stars.
Mark's Papa was a train conductor. He loved to manage the train;
And Mark liked to listen for its whistle, while playing in Green Lane.
Dinah was Mark's little sister, and she'd give her toy horn a blast;
......
Mirage
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Slightly beneath heavenly blues,
Forlorn frothy platforms of grey-whiteness,
Creepy and silent,
Renew servile friendship mirrored downwards —
Several thousand feet —
On broken, still waves of used and collected water.
Invisible fumes on black roads melt into heedful grasslands.
Our own worlds
by Jeremy Wheeler
Drifting off to sleep tormented by a looping chorus, are the lyrics correct? I do not know!
When will I achieve REM or is tonight's tumble fest already begun?
Maybe I'll be trapped as the vampire who devours spiders or the frightened man stabbed in the sternum by that flat top screwdriver!
How many spiders must go down before I'm aloud to leave? How many stabbings must I feel before I jolt from this dream?
How many teeth will fall out while I sleep?
Why must I be paralyzed while the black figures creep?
......
My Murder Confession
by Melvyn Kairupan
In a haze, I stumble,
tripping over my own feet,
dragging my breath through a hill drowned in fog.
Cold. Fucking cold.
Solitude chewing through my skin,
biting into my bones.
And then—
you.
......
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myhobby portal (1 poems about Dreams)
My hobbies include, writing poems, watching sports, movies and colleting coins, currency and other collectible items. I do play online games and keep myself abreast of latest news and happenings. -