Thread: Dreams4free's Poetry

A Sunny Disposition



Try to carry yourself with some more sunshine sweet heart; for life is only a folly with fantastic fortune, what’s the worry? Remember, the good lord is ALWAYS WATCHING YOU.

“The solemn light of the moon crept upon the windows of the Dining Hall, filling the room with a contrast that brought forth a peculiar atmosphere, but yet, had felt accustom to us. A communal sharing of silence was to be involuntary instigated by the mundane, trifling subject matter detained inaudibly in our thoughts, then this awe inspired memory would be fogged by the impulsive input of passionless interest; serving no cause other than ceasing our mind’s enthusiasm to the reality of that which we all can happily simulate an embrace towards. “How about this weather?” said Josephine, feigning uneasiness and curiosity with her smile. “Oh! Tell me about it, why, doesn’t look like it’s going to let up any time soon.” said Peter, projecting a dismal disposition with his eyes buried in his palms.

Preceding this came the calamity, came the correspondence, to a world so oblique to the naked eye. Shuttering with an empty smile, craving with a positive incline, the hill had fallen. The light had broken, for dull entrance upon such composite gave for grass hoping glee, a cry and a yelp. Dinner had subsided. Here stood now our family, our friends of familiar fortune, to fix upon frustration; dull aching, but soft was the atmosphere now. Now, our instantaneous comprehension of an unkind reality only appeased our selfish, bastardly love of time. A time, a moment, so relative not in juxtaposition, but in masterpiece of being, the affirmation of that what and is. Bring upon a sea of sorrow, with waves that willow in the wind that only contrast with Mother Nature, the harlot of consequence.
Mother goose, Olivia, had tended to the acorns on the field for seventeen days until winter had brought forth a harvest of decay. Death was a friend to the farmers, it surmised even the most satisfied soon to see sadness. It sullied the silent ear to its tender, and closed its pores to those who purify expressionlessly. This crop circle of dynamic existence and being presupposed the life not to be lived and the sleep not to be slept.
Curiosity was the cream of the crop in my fields, survivability was the joker, playing dice with blind judges, and he scorned and danced. “WHAT A JOKE”, “WHAT A BAFFOON” he said. He shot his silver suspenders with the love of his life.
Inspiration does make the joke of the jester, and the laugh of the liver. For, truly, the pious and bespoke reality to coexist in our empty empire of dirt is of much disdain. To think that I am blind but can hear, to think that I am dumb but can breath, shows an opposite of who we thought we were. Be gone with the grace and leave yourself to the impulses of integrity, we will not oppose what cannot have arms, nor shall we take reason against that who thinks not.
Where does mother goose bring her joker? Why does curiosity shuffle contemptuously when approached by inspirations folly? THIS IS AN OUTRAGE! Sell the merchant’s hammer and nail it on his backside.



This year of troubles is not one that I trouble not. This age of assonance I sing with COMPUSLIVE COMPUTING CORDS. I WILL NOT FALL. I WILL NOT SURRENDER TO THE SILVER HAND THAT LIGHTS THE BLACK CANDLE. LIGHT THE WHICK, DEMON, AND SLAY YOUR ONLY HOPE”
Heath breathed his words upon the pages of his dead father’s diary, whilst whipping his face into a sunny disposition. For the rudeness was his rationality and red tape that consciousness herself marked the objective. His eyes were fire and his nail’s needles; his mind was melancholy, madness with a cute mask that refilled itself with wine that would quench nothing but his timely thoughts.
What was the rub that brought upon this bright day? Why did the sun bring its small hatchet and break darkness with its dull edge.
Perhaps, there was a new air for this young man

“GIVE IT BACK”………………………………………..
















Examine my crystal ball that will have turned 30 degrees upon the diligent and 60 degrees upon the damned. Thus so that 90 degrees may mark a man damned with diligence, and 120 degrees mark a fan 4 times the shame. Thus so that 150 degrees shades a pale portrait, and thus those 180 degrees turns the other sheets. All movement, may only become, the caveman’s fire, the monkey’s banana, and the soldiers saltine. I have painted destiny in a capsule of ice, and brought forth it in flames.
“Witch, sell your thread to those who timidly disagree…. I see it with not silvery sphere, but with these eyes that reason beholds like a rose with thorns. What may dazzle that who puzzles may scorn that who unfolds.
Wisdom, guide reason to the door please, faith awaits him holding her skirt in a knot.

Word’s that come from the imagination reveals the naked beast that hides in the leaves. Words that come from the beholder shutter under a light. The flesh poorly partridges your meaning, stare at a lake, and try to fall inside. You cling to your damn life like a child does to his abusive mother. You simply, have no other choice, but to restrain your desire with a bare belly. Thos who quote have such a pathetic quietus, yet those who lie, live with such tremendous lineouts of being.
NOW BESEACH YOUR MAKER OR DIE INFEDEL

The thoughts of timid time ensnared my love, my will, my reason, with the doors that I unlocked with a key held not so common.

"Preceding this came the calamity, came the correspondence, to a world so oblique to the naked eye. Shuttering with an empty smile, craving with a positive incline, the hill had fallen."
Man I really like this!
and i'd like it if you read what i've wrote

entry 10:45am dcember 9th, 2009

life is a spiral, watery, deep, bottomless
deceptive, consuming, brilliant in light.
love is a trap in the spiral, it consumes,
leaves you nothing but love.
embracing nothing but an image of itself
leaves you empty, defeated.
sadness is bliss, for its nature is that
of feeling. No matter how happy i feel,
nothing feels more real than the sadness that consumes me
snow is a manifestation of time and condition,
traping onself, to think wordly. Its condition
is that of a slowing on, one that, causes you to
reflect. so i reflect, so i feel more sadness


The inability to change my character contrasts
with the lucid dynamic of my existance. at times
i feel life sliding out of my hands like a wet bar
of soap, other times i feel life manifesting itself
outside of my reality, circling around a shadow of itself.
the stars are shadows, the moon is a shadow, the sun is a shadow.
what is light?


Waves crash upon the shore, drawing death and defeat.
the water receedes like the past, as if the contemplation
of the instantaneous present is not enough of a distraction
what is the means to the end. life? the endurance? the false hope?
forbid thyself a woman, and cast sand into the eyes of the skorpid
take the snake by his neck and throw him in the dirt
step on him, spit at him, and show him that you are yourself.
you need not completion.


just a stream of subconscious, who knows if any of it makes sense.

the wind
the sky
the birds
the trees
the water
the scream

the lake
the image
the death
the horror
the beauty

the joker
the judge
the gambler
the witch
the doctor

the concept is all the same.
but the reality is unkind.

the cold sheet of time
a water drop of disguise
clothed in naked despair of obstreperous denial
it beckons you
you step back
it beckons you
you embrace it..just once
then it consumes you.

Blue death crawls in the grass
The green sky hides in the clouds
the red carpet you can see
and you walk on it
like a star
and you breath on it
like a star
and you sleep on it
like a star

but what you don't do
is wrap it up

and burn it

like a hero.

The children playing in the forest
are like the old men praying in the church
they want happiness
and they want it now.

I would like to say I'm indifferent to the cycle
and I can
because there is no cycle, there is no change.

My dream is fleeting fast far away
But i grab it ! yes! from flight it rests today
I twirl around in gracious glee
i beg the good lord to mercy me
a dreamer
for these dreams I commit
I do so willingly
Because I know
These dreams are destined
to become
reality

jelly jungle brings beautiful days
it sings it dances and sways
bananas and cashew nuts
apples and oranges
cabbages and cantaloupe
a feast in jelly jungle
everyday

yet suddenly
it forlornly fumbles astray

jelly jungle loses its jingle
it mourns it grieves it starts to decay
mud pies and apricot
dirt and mold
waste and willow
are left by the fruit flies
the world it dies

Thoughtlessness
Depression
Sloth
Anxiety
Desperation
Necessity

Happiness------------------------------

Where do I start?

How easy it is to express sadness
Yet how much harder it is to express satisfaction
bewilders the mind.

Stumble down and fall on a stick
Jolly 'round and give him a lick
he ain't listening no more
dancing round the floor
after the rooster crow
then he will know
what he thought
whom he got
he forever
has lost.

Release your Spirit
Sojourn in your body

Peace charms the dreamer
War entices the thinker
If your not dreaming or thinking
you must be awake
in the middle ground
doing nothing
what good is that?

Birght candle burns so softly
blue ocean hangs so lofty
into the wind
scare the night with your hazy eyes
and bless your feet for they give
a sole of a demise
the blanket it creeps
with droopy drops of red
it spills blood across the bed
it weeps.. and it scorns
it has had a war
of a life
why, will not you pray
and forgive yourself today
things have been rotten
but i see a light in you
i see some sort clue
in your walk
in your talk
leather is yellow like your disposition
mellow holds a shocking motif
of disbelief
in you
ho! there is something more
there is something i adore
about you woman
come upon the sandy sky
kiss me and together we will die.

drifting
away
from
the moonlight
soaring
towards
a
dark night
You---- made me feel
moving...
approaching either way
and i shall lay
beside it
when i find it
when i touch it
when i embrace it!
then you may sympathize
and criticize
but my days are over
and my job as rover
subsides betwixt the nimble island.
that is myself.

What is it like to feel nothing?:
close your eyes
close your mind
open the doors
of disaster.
and then walk inside
blind, and dumb.

thoughts fill my mind no more
once I found the cure
I've simply
remained
mute
Leaving...
I complexly
lost the disease
and actions filled my soul forever

Wow, I find these all moving and filled with this certain form of 'presence'- like existence.

Originally Posted by DreamlessDreamer

Wow, I find these all moving and filled with this certain form of 'presence'- like existence.

Thank you .

Felt like bumping this thread with another poem.. it certainly has been a while:

I have scattered images with my brain
but they still remain
fragmented pieces of a puzzle
attached with a frail thread
I saw a picture
glued together with my thoughts
tied into a knot
it gave out when I tugged --
So that picture I will remember
is gone
and what it was trying to tell me
has shyly surfaced.

Play a note softly so that I may listen closely
Let it wind through my ears like a boat on a river
searching for its destination through unfavorable tides

Grab your paddle and explore the beach;
The water isn't going to slow down.

Here I lay stranded in my thoughts.
No less, here my thoughts have stumbled and lost themselves in my brain.
Both are so real, I don't know any more.
Am I just an instrument of various molecular forces
A victim
A... middleman
Whoever I am, I dare not negate myself,
Because then... I am no one.

Love is ravenous monster who knows no limits
There is no satiation, feed the iconoclast
Deviate from joy it burns you
Embrace your hatred with passion
Turn the glove not the cheek

a most beautiful night, tonight
hazy, stardriven dark eyes vested with life
graze like a field the mericful mind of a poet
These clouds my windows, these stars my sight
reflections that surround me do hold my glance so tight
dare i ask the moon and the sun if we can dance
someday?
this surreal sky is a beacon that guides us transparents beings
oh may it guide us, the atmosphere is no echo
its just a murmur