monsters under the bed

my brother says
I over-analyze
that people are simple
blood and ache
and want
the birds still sing
to one another
we are merely
listening in

are we allegory
are we poem
are we become
the monster we despised
when we were kids
under the bed
dogging us
saying hey man
when you gonna

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self-therapy

I took a walk
my mind cleared of debris
clean and un-littered

I built a wall
to keep out your insinuations
your vague desires

I stayed awake
to flick away the nightmares
and shoo the ghosts

right saucy, aren’t they–
and the hours without ghosts
are still haunted

Saddle up

It started yesterday
as I went through my chores
my lists
working and doing
my thoughts got lost in hoof beats

Someone shook me
to get my attention
what is this dark, this shadow
that makes its way through my brain
with a will of its own? And later

during dinner, the pounding
that I perceived to be my own heartbeat
again, riders of another world traversing
my thoughts without consent
my concentration and my focus
comminuted as they picked up speed-

Why?

I am no one-a poor girl with dreams
it is hard enough to sift the toothsome
dreaming from the nightmares
but now I must try to harness them
in my waking hours
and I am not capable

I don’t have that sort of cunning
to put the bit in the mouth and keep reins
taut, to bring the thoughts back
to what I wanted, what I will
these convoluted desires

these wishes become goals
and they ride on, with no thought
the night is coming
and I will be trampled

 

 

 

do nightmares chase us into day

sunrise plus seagul

the sky changes
from black to blue
layers of cobalt and cerulean
over flames afar off
my horizon burning off a nightmare
that chased us through the night

running for home
over sooty streets
we were not overcome by the dark
aquamarine dancing with apricot
thoughts of the new day
hopes that the sun will ignite us

for we have become
day sleepers over time
all of our late-80’s hopes
riding on blue and grey clouds
whilst melon and tea rose
slice the sky

they are still here

still waking
I push through
the nightmares set aside
and relegated to shadows
useful in the light only
for the occasional
odd lyric to stick to
the soundtrack of life
for the others who still struggle
with their nightmares, who
must know they are not alone-
but I have learned
to look at them, to put them
where they ought
to sit back and wait
like good children, for
they have their place
and they should stay in it
when the sun is out-
but naughty, they creep
dipping fingers in my coffee
stealing my toast corners–
then picking up my pen when
I turn my head
to color this world as well
and laugh