Dreamlike Travelling

This poem came to me after a night of dreams which I really felt I had actually lived through. I so often dream like that these days, usually waking exhausted finding that even if I wake and then go back to sleep, I return to the dream and it continues. They seem to have gone on for hours and hours and I can recall so much detail. Occasionally I will write them down, but mostly they are thrown to the depths in the hope that they are finally over. This one played on my mind, so I ran with it.

Dreamlike Travelling...

I wandered lonely as a cloud, 
As all around cloaked to enshroud
And as its brightness filled the sky, 
no longer lonely, I cannot lie.
But suddenly the brightest hues, 
My loneliness I began to lose.
A bow of colour bold and bright, 
Filled all I could see with beauteous light
And as I gazed in wonderment, 
for I haven’t a clue how long I spent.
I drifted away from myself, 
No further worries of sickness or wealth.
Transported to a place in my dreams. 
Filled with people I’d lost, or so it seems.
But here they all were enjoying their time, 
while I sat worried, enduring mine.
They were not sad and they were not blue, 
They were not worried for me or for you.
But as I was pulled for my time is not now, 
I awoke with a start at this strangeness how
With a feeling once more of peace and of calm, 
with emotions battered and thrown in a storm.
So once again I’ll return to my sleep, 
These secrets held tightly for me to keep.
I checked once or twice but there’s no-one around, 
Were my feet standing till and on safe ground?
But couldn’t help it though try as I might, 
Far away down below me once more I’m in flight.
Don’t know where I travelled or if very far
Was I the speed of a shooting star?
Would they look up and say, what’s that thing?
If they saw me fly over, or if fear would I bring. 
But I could not slow down, or certainly stop
As time passes by on an old town clock.
The hands are now worn and so are the chimes
Of a bell which marks the passage of time.
Of birth and of marriage, the toll of the dying,
my cheeks become wet with emotion and crying. 
As I coast over land and hill, 
my eyes are hungry and take their fill. 
A strange voice from within proclaimed he’d done a good job
As I looked all around me and started to sob.
For as far as I flew and as far as I see, 
Were people working so hard to be free.
They’re not spreading their joy, it’s no mean feat, 
But a permanent struggle to make ends meet.
So, as I’m transported back from this place, 
With a look of understanding on my face.
I’m reminded again of the work of my guide, 
That I cannot shirk from or run and hide.
For all around me are people, like the clouds
Whose minds and bodies scream aloud
And while they struggle to get through a day, 
I wonder how many will stop and say…
That when things are tough, they can and still, 
Travel the sky and return at will.
I visit with ones who aren’t coming back, 
Guidance and love to keep us on track. 
So after goodbyes which I thought they spoke, 
from this dreamlike state I awoke.
Tired from my journeying I could sleep no more, 
Planted my feet firmly upon the floor.
I had no more baggage, I was travelling light, 
Nothing to declare on this surreal flight. 
Could I return to this fantasy realm?
In a boat with my love, at the helm.
Would we be blown by a stormy gust?
Could we share in this future unknown to trust? 
or perhaps clarity or certainty it might bring?
Would its arms feel heavy from carrying?
I cannot know and can only guess, 
but think some more and unravel the mess
of thoughts as I lay upon my bed, 
resting my heart, my body, my head.
I won’t stop on my way, to smell or pick a flower
For my journey is onward, I don’t have the power.
My mind is open and I’m here to observe, 
as I feel weightless to the twist and curve.
In a waking moment, I don’t think how I might, 
Be suddenly transported up here in flight. 
I can’t feel the take off but once I am there, 
Soaring, high I look below me without care
Although I feel guided, I see no one there
All the time I’m all knowing I do not feel fear.
And just for a second after I land
It’s as though someone let go of my hand.
While I travel along, free of pain, 
Is it why I go there again and again? 
Don’t know why I’m there, or why I came.
No one ever asks me, I’m free from blame.
Don’t know if they saw me, or stories they’ll share, 
Of fleeting fly bys’ will they even care?
So, I’ll go there again and those memories I’ll store, 
While my faith in the unknown I’ll try to restore.
While I travel along this emotional tryst, 
Have I been gone long, or was I missed?

Words and Image by IndiaBlue

Broken Pieces of a Puzzle

A reflection on a sad place in time,

the thoughts I’m having are just mine.

The pieces all got broken, that’s all I can say.

When it all began to fall apart and they began to play.

The words were hurtful, shocking and filled my ears and head.

They got inside the cracks to grow and I was filled with dread.

Tried to put it all behind me, carry on unperturbed,

But all it really reminded me is that you’re very disturbed.

That there could be such vitriol you would feel such hate.

For someone standing in your way, I simply can’t relate.

They say live and let live and things do come to pass,

But finding it hard to get through this it seems an endless task.

You clearly feel the wronged one, because of how you reacted.

But your actions dealt the very first blow and that is how it impacted.

Who knows what will regrets that will surface there in time.

Who knows if I will hang around waiting for a sign.

It all changed from words when you took a knife, it glinted in the sun

And suddenly there in a flash the torment had begun.

I did not believe the damage under the surface, to me that you would cause.

So now you think you’ve won, take a bow and a round of applause.

The nightmares that I’ve fought through, while laying in my bed.

Have scared me, but not one for giving up I’ll carry on instead.

With all this debris that is here with which my life’s been littered.

It’s too easy to sit down to take stock, then become embittered.

But that isn’t how I do things, or how I choose to be.

So while I’m here I have the choice to just set it all free.

Like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, when some get broken or misplaced.

It never looks quite the same again when they all drop back into place.

Placing pieces where they don’t fit, because the picture has got worn,

Pushed and pulled from space to space it’s easy to get torn.

They say to heal takes time I’ll have to see.

What is left when it’s all over, what it’s like just being me.

A Windswept Walk

The long walk where I’ve been before,

Along the river close to the shore.

A grassy verge soft underfoot.

Watching where my feet I put.

On boards you see information pinned,

As flowers and grasses bend in the wind.

Breathe in deeply and take in the smell,

As the tide turns and the waves start to swell.

The birds return once more to feed,

On beaches littered with seaweed.

A sandwich or picnic impromptu lunch,

Pebbles, sand or the seashells crunch.

When the wind goes right through you,

Stopping a moment to take in the view.

Boats out at sea, sounding their horn,

On a foggy day or a winter morn.

I stand right there just a windswept lass,

Just watching and waiting for time to pass.

Before heading straight on along the track,

With the wind in my hair and the sun on my back.

The Sweetest Kiss

The sweetest kiss reaches my lips as I open my eyes

And as my blurry eyes meet yours,

As if for the first time

I can see that you love me.

And your furry face is pressed to mine, cat like rubbing

My wolfie welcome.

Your body thrown against mine in embrace.

Outstretched, waiting for gentle caress.

Then we jump out of bed to start our day.

All that I see.

All that I see. 

Another restless night I’ve been, 
Filled with things that I have seen.
Crazy thoughts or lucid dream.
Noise so loud I wake and scream.
I write it down nothing to lose.
The brightest colours and vivid hues.
Bright lights and beings visit me, 
They are just some of what I see.
And as I am brought back awake,
with buzzing nerves that start to shake.
I wonder was it all a dream, 
The lifelike things that I have seen.
The noises I heard inside my head, 
That seemed so loud there in my bed. 
Light so bright moving through, 
Not just white, red and orange too,
Green and violet and brightest blue.
Would you believe if I told you?
Sometimes swirling it will surround, 
Lands like a blanket on the ground.
But its not grounded its over me, 
Leaves me questioning my sanity.
Bathed in an ethereal glow, 
I look for light at my window.
Unsure of this blessing or a curse,
I wake to write it down in verse.
As the words come back to me, 
Of all the things that I see.
Arms hug tightly that they bind, 
The restless things there in my mind.
The pounding chest which starts to heave, 
Strange people and things up and leave.
There are beings I’ve not seen before, 
You sometimes read of in folklore.
When I awake and my limbs freeze, 
A silent image, a glimpse, a tease.
Then I awake with a start and its gone, 
where the brightest light there once shone.
More than once I’ve felt abused. 
Which left me angry and confused.
Sometimes it scares me half to death, 
And I wake fighting for my breath.
Or send it packing with a shout, 
Ask the unknown what it’s all about.
But sometimes the answer won’t come to me, 
About the things that I can see.

This image is the feminine version of the masculine I saw in a dream. It came to me and with one bright blue and a bright white Iight in his other eye came right up close to me and looked straight into mine. He looked curious about something, his head on one side. It unnerved me and I awoke, questioning and asking what that was about.  He gave me a name, I am none the wiser at this point as to why.  I felt inclined to draw the face that I saw, although I am not sure that I can do it justice my brief sketch is below. But he was almost like faerie like or elfin both in movement and stature.

The next day I saw this wonderful feminine image and was so drawn to it with the same face and now I am also curious.

Christina Smith the artist is located in Wimborne, Dorset and creates these wonderful talking sticks from cold clay and driftwood, making unique and very beautiful pieces of art. Find her on her Facebook page Ferae Naturae or via her webpage. www.spiritofthetrees.biz

Christina has very kindly given her permission for me to use the images for this beautiful piece of artwork to share with you.

The way I was.

I look like me but I’m not the same, a subtle change.
That catches me out from time to time I find it’s strange. 
Over time there’s been a subtle shift, 
I’m wondering, Do you catch my drift?
The person I was wasn’t built to last.
I look back at her now she’s in the past.
There’s a glimmer sometimes of who she was. 
And I think of her fondly just because.
Way back then she was so naive. 
Who she trusted and chose to believe.
Lessons learned the hard way.
They had their fun, yet continued to play.
Others may take it in their stride. 
There’s fight or flight, or run and hide.
I had no choice I was made to run.
Not sure of the person I was to become.
Spent such a long time wracked with pain, 
Realising my loss had been their gain.
She thought they might just see her as weak.
Can’t quite cope with cruel words they speak.
Situations that put her to the test.
To fix them all she did her best.
When her best wasn’t good enough. 
Was when things started to get rough.
The old me used to be so jolly, 
But the past has left me melancholy.
There once was a time I’d just get drunk, 
Lighten the mood get rid of the junk. 
Realising that I couldn’t keep the pace.
Beat a hasty retreat to save face.
Wouldn’t join their club, didn’t have the fee.
That wasn’t the person I was meant to be.
Life carries on we will get by, 
Try as I do I still can’t touch the sky.
So far away and out of reach it looks so near,
But I can see it from standing here. 
There are sometimes I think of death,
But then I always catch my breath.
Some days it gets me I feel the fear.
It is there still bright and clear. 
There are moments in time that I can touch.
And others when it just seems too much. 
When sadness overtakes it all, 
Did I set myself up for a fall?
Queen of the castle will I be crowned?
Over my kingdom all around.
The chances to fulfil my dreams, 
Are often such a way off, or so it seems.
Before you walk you must learn to crawl.
Wondering will I ever be standing tall? 
I note down the things I’d like the most, 
Have I missed the party or am I the host?
So many metaphors in my mind.
Have to silence the noise it’s too unkind.
The doubts that linger in my head, 
When I am tired and filled with dread.
One negative thought will wheedle its way, 
Like spirochetes which sit and stay.
Morphing again into something new, 
Attacking just the unlucky few.
They get into the blood and make you sick, 
Before you know it it happens so quick.
Maybe someone will throw me a rope.
But for now there’s always hope.
Depression of such magnitude. 
Pardon me I’m not being rude.
Withdrawn to myself I shut me away, 
Overthinking it all night and day.
But just when I think I’m ready to drop.
A brief respite willing it to stop.
It’s not so easy to be positive.
When this is how you’ve had to live.
Now I try to think thoughts so pure, 
To see if it helps but I’m not sure.
Some of the experts highly rate 
To quiet be calm and meditate.
But I’m not calm as there’s constant noise, 
When Girls will be girls and Boys will be boys.
So as I grow up and begin to age, 
I thought I’d cleanse my space with sage. 
Herbal infusions take me from the brink, 
And lavender to help me think.
To ease the mind and bring clarity. 
Open my eyes and help me see.
Rising early morning I see the sun,
The change in me again has begun.
So rather than leave me vexed, 
I’ll embrace the me that I’ll be next.
Divine intervention from above.
The new me I will learn to love.

That day of the year.

It’s that day of the year that gets me thinking about things. I know I am not alone in this. I think it is a day that we should at least pause for thought In our life.

And so here it is, that day has arrived once again. Although I am not bothered about being a year older. I am glad that I am here and I still have my partner and my dog to share it with. It will also be nice to catch up with my Mum as I haven’t seen her for a few weeks. I don’t have big fancy plans, a favourite meal in the evening and have seen some of my friends over this week. I am conscious of the fact that it is a blessing to be here and that in itself is my celebration. Age is no indication that we can remain. The world loses many wonderful people young and old every day.

I had planned to do certain things just for me by the time my birthday came around this year, but alas I have not managed to achieve half of what I wanted to do at this point in my life.  However, this year has only just begun so I will just have to get stuck in.

But… To return to my original subject now I talked to a few people about my writing in the past month or so and they have said some nice things which motivated me to try some things that I had put to the back of my mind. The first thing being to get the first book out there in physical form.  When I set out to publish my first book two years ago I didn’t think that it was important to have a hard copy of the book, but how wrong was I?  Time and again the people  I know have said to me that if I had a printed copy they would buy it so I hope that they will now.

At the time I just wanted to get it out there and thought that people used kindles anyway, so it seemed like the easiest way to self publish.  But since then I have realised the importance of a physical book to so many readers.

I must admit, that when I go to the spoken word poetry nights there are paperback books, sheaves of paper, notebooks and the occasional phone which people read from. I have not yet seen a kindle in use.

So I set about my task for this week, to edit, spellcheck, read through my book once again and attempt to put it into print. This time proper print, which people might actually read on holiday, or the bus, or in their coffee break or anywhere really.

If nothing else, this is my Birthday gift to myself, that I have done it, approved it and sent it for publishing. So that at least my parents might be able to have a copy of it at last.

One thing that I have learned in the last week whilst I have been doing the slight adjustments to the book is that my writing has improved. It felt somehow naive reading those poems back. Although I know that I am my own worst critic. I can see my work warts and all. Thankfully there are also people who enjoy some of it, which spurs me on to write more. But these days I feel more confident as a writer. Like I can actually do it now. I also feel that my poetry has changed quite a bit. Of course the subject matter differs from piece to piece anyway, but I think I am more at ease with the flow, however it comes to me.

So hopefully, as from next week now my book will be available on Amazon in a paperback version as well as the original kindle one here. https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sentimental-Journey-Poetic-Stories-Vol-ebook/dp/B01N2IIREW

I hope that if you haven’t taken a look already it spurs you on to do so and if you like it, drop me a line to let me know.

*A quick update to this is that the book went live for my Birthday after all, to get the paperback version now just click this link The Sentimental Journey – Paperback Version

I will also be creating the second book of poems this year. A long time ago I had a number in my head that when I’d written that many I would make the selection. But that was some time ago. I wasn’t feeling as though it was the right time to publish so I just kept on writing more. I now feel it’s time.

It has been suggested that I write some poems for children, which should help me along the way as I want to get into reading them out in public.  I began a children’s story book a couple lf months ago which I hope will grow over time and I have two people that I would like to illustrate it for me, but since I haven’t finished it yet, I feel that I can’t ask them until its ready. I also have lots of other ideas. So who knows what this year will shape up to be by the end of it.

Daily Prompts – Age

Home from Home.

 

Esther’s Weekly Challenge Favourite Family Holidays…

Just one week in a new place, one of the last holidays I remember us having all together as a family.

That home from home we didn’t want to leave.

Where we arrived and Mum began to bake,

The farmhouse kitchen just begging to be used. A basement store its dark cavern, full of unknown but interesting jars of produce waiting to be discovered.

A big pine table we could all sit around for breakfast overlooking the apple tree, laden with fruit as the tractors went about their business.

The big wooden bed with the patchwork quilt that you had to climb up onto and window seats to while away the time with a book.

The room I shared with my sister, looking out at the cows who came to the back wall to the cottage curious as to what we were doing laying on the floor looking out over the fields.

Memories of a Summer Holiday and the new friends we made.

A farm with barns and hay and animals, freedom to run wild and free in nature.

A true country farm cottage in the place with a very strange name.

This is a true story, we stayed in a holiday cottage at a place named Normanby-by-Spital, in Lincolnshire when my sister was very young, my brother and I were teenagers and although he was bored by the idea, we soon made new friends and explored the countryside. It turned out to be one of our most favourite holidays together.

 

Upon reflection.

Upon reflection, all in this life game.

I think of you so often and will never be the same.

Reflecting on the tears of joy and those of sorrow

And hoping for a sign and yet a much longer tomorrow.

Love was what you brought to us, it’s there for all to see,

That this is what you gave to all now I have clarity.

The friendships now rekindled, that once were dead and gone,

From every path of life they walked and joined us in the throng.

Flowers and written tributes, for a faithful friend

and later on we hope in time that our hearts will mend.

The feathers all around us, sent from you to say,

That you are never gone from us, for you will always stay.

Emotions up and down the tears we often cry,

Reminding us that we love you as we fought to say Goodbye.

But my dearest brother don’t worry as this is not the end.

Your message carries on here, filled with love you send.

Change is often painful as we reset the pace.

Friends will be around us, locked in our embrace.

In My Dreams Sometimes… – Part 3 I Paint.

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Ever the artist, sometimes I paint
Beautiful images, starting feint.
Starting out with something raw,
Time goes slowly as I draw.
There an image starts to appear,
It may take a month or even a year.
But once it is there, there it remains,
A memory or moment it just frames.
And as more colour or depth of field,
The picture growing it starts to yield.
More of me than I thought now,
I don’t even really know how.
Put down on paper there on a page.
The hands still paint at any age.
And I can create a beautiful thing,
Ignore the telephone starting to ring.
Incorporate nature and beauty,
It is my right and not my duty.
For mind over matter is often the cure,
Medicine for the soul I am sure.

By way of explanation, these three poems came about literally as I awoke from the first dream. As I wrote it, I then thought about the other dreams I often have about the things which I can do so much better in my dreams than in reality. It spurs me on at least to attempt the new things from time to time or revisit the old to see if I have made any improvement. If at least it provides encouragement to follow them now and then, then it is worthwhile to continue to dream.

Image: Morguefile