I wink and then it all goes real.
The former dreams now make me feel
Like everything was there to heal.
I fantasize a pleasant way
To whisper happiness to you.
I send you dreams of every day
So wilder daydreams may come true.
Linked to K’lee and Dale’s Cosmic Photo Challenge with the theme “From Dreams to Reality”. I am also linking this to dVerse Quadrille. De Jackson (aka WhimsyGizmo) is hosting with the theme word “wink”.
Photos: “Passing by Yellow and Orange”, above, and “A Tree with Yellow Leaves”, below.
Reality is all around
To give us things to see
That keep us centered on the ground
While hinting mystery.
Photos: “The Beauty of Wood”, above, and “Wood, Metal, Glass”, below, linked to K’lee and Dale’s Cosmic Photo Challenge with the theme “the beauty of wood, the gleam of metal, the reflection of glass”.
What a sky-is-blue-grass-is-green day! I love sitting on this park bench with my imaginary friend, Alice. While I’m enjoying reality she’s telling me that if she ever hears another rhyme between “night” and “light” or “death” and “breath” she’s going to do something I’ll regret. Furthermore she insists I stop writing those happy-happy poems because as a fully deconstructed, beyond-whatever-existential adult she would rather have angst, dread and drivel smothering her than sentimentality. I tell her that I kind of like those rhymes. She pulls out some pills, “Here. Take these.” As I swallow sending them down, down into the depths of deconstruction she jumps up from her existential happy place and proclaims, “Haha! That’s arsenic! You’re dead!”
Then Alice cries, “I’m sorry I gave you that arsenic even if it was only imaginary arsenic.” “That’s OK.” (What else am I going to say?) She explains that it is all because she’s not real. That’s why she acts the way she does. I tell her, “Look at those atoms. They’re just empty space! They aren’t any more real than you are!” She stops crying and asks, “Really?” And I say, “Sure!” Then she wants to know about that tiny stuff in the middle of the atoms. She starts crying again. I tell her that tiny stuff isn’t real either. “Really?” At this point I have to think. I don’t want to lie to her, but I don’t want her to start crying again and for all I know she’s as real as anything else I can imagine out there and so I say, “Sure!”
I am hosting dVerse Meeting the Bar Prose Poetry today. The challenge is to write either a prose poem or a poem explaining why prose poetry doesn’t exist. Any similarity to real people in this prose poem is purely imaginary.