| Waking Dreams |
Poetry comes from a dream world which can be found within each and every one of us. The difference between a poet and the ordinary person is that a poet can reach into that world of dreams and turn those visions and fantasies into a new reality.
The poet can convert Waking Dreams into real words. Everything the poet plucks from his or her imagination, he or she translates into a language which can be transmitted to others through the printed page.
This is the beauty of poetry. It can help us to communicate things which we would never normally be able to. Through the magic of language we can produce them from deep within ourselves and pass these feelings on to others.
There's something so deep and spiritual about poetry. It's complex but primal, like a force of nature, like a bolt of lightning or a neon sunset.
It's a process that never ceases to amaze me. And it is a delight for me to present to you, on this page, the work of so many poets who have made that vital step towards communicating their Waking Dreams.
Lynda Brennan, Editor
MY MAN
Never again to share our joys,
Never again to heal your woes,
Never again to feel your touch,
Never again to hear your voice,
Never again to laugh with you,
Never again will you call my name,
Saddened, longing, need of you.
This is despair.
To have lost one such as you,
To have shared one such as you,
To have been loved, loved by you,
To have slept with one such as you,
To have been tenderly caressed by you,
To have loved one such as you,
Awakened, renewed, you are near.
All was heaven.
Patricia Robinson, Lanark, Scotland
STRIVING
I am I think,
I think I am,
Or am I?
I think so,
Perhaps.
Maybe,
Maybe not.
I could be,
Perhaps I can,
Maybe I will be,
I think I will be,
I will be, won't I?
Won't I?
Won't I?
Please,
Won't I?
Richard Ford, Narberth, Wales
Richard Ford said: "I have won a poetry competition and recently had a poem published in an anthology. I also write short animal stories for 6-10 year olds, all of which are based on moral/Christian values and which, along with many poems and stories, have been broadcast on the radio. CDs have been made of the children's stories and are selling quite well. Currently I am in the process of getting all my work published, along with a book on contemporary sayings. Matty the Fox CDs are £9.99 (plus £1.50p&p) for a double CD and are available from richard.ford@btopenworld.com or 01834 861311."
I AM ALONE
I am alone
And being alone is better
Than being with someone who doesn't seem to care
Or notice,
or hasn't the time, or space.
To hear my screams, they are silent
Because I am not important,
My feelings don't matter,
Why would they?
I have always heard others' screams,
While mine are squashed
Down behind the wall.
I will not let anyone in
To see the depths of my pain,
I don't even trust myself to care enough.
Julie Nixon, Preston, Lancashire
BABY
Oh, my baby,
I am your baby eighty one
Survived for you
Just for you my love
Committed to you
And committed to you only.
We are meant to be together
Great gathering is around
To witness our reunion
To learn that there is divine hand
Behind this reunion.
Let's thank the Almighty
Who gave us the gift of life
To live for love
And to let others love this life.
Anantha Rudravajhala, Middleton,
Greater Manchester
OLANZAPINE SCREAM
The scene, green, strips the thunder ring through
Time segments
and rudimentary subjectors bound
For ballistic glory and
orange forces pounded against
The frame of deluded stories
as subtafuse sublimates
Then captures the radiant placebo,
foraging forcefully
Against the rail troubadours of discovery,
Levitating scurriously along the table tunes of solid dunes,
As panting panthers paint the night shuttles
Within the
labyrinths of Shylocks and poltergeist morlocks
As the demoglasized
strut against the wheel of furious fuel
Fused novices that
shunter and menologize
Biting against the betrayal of mountains
in sky roots
That tone the bludgeoned bells, withering
against the
Bluing storm, sailors muted and counted,
Then
tempted
along the stage of limited contortions,
Steeling the station
against the sound wind,
Space of silence and the deluded
malace.
Meleeze Zenda, St Helens, Merseyside
EMOTIONS RUN RIOT
Love is wonderful
And hate is dreadful
Greed is avarice
And jealousy is malice
All these emotions
Run riot everyday
Hate and devotions
Is the price to pay
Sadness and happiness
Are the ones for me
Because I can let my pen run free
Graham Scotson, Bury, Greater Manchester
BRADFORD
Baildon Moor is a good picnic place,
The open space there is good for walking and horse riding.
Saint Leonard's farm is next to Emmerdale,
It's suitable for children of all ages.
There are activities like feeding animals,
A children's park on educational facts.
Cartwright Hall is a museum in Lister's Park.
It is a gallery full of paintings and sculptures.
In Ogden Waters there is a reservoir where you can walk by.
This place was named after Herbert Ogden who liked water
features.
Saint George's Hall is where famous actors come to
entertain us.
Telegraph and Argus is our regular local newspaper.
At night the building looks at its best
Because you can see directly inside through the big glass.
Zohaib
Awan, Bradford, West Yorkshire
A HAPPY TAIL
I'm a labradoodle
With an impeccable pedigroodle
And my family name is double-barrelled Scamp
My hair is déshabillé
And
my tail has lots of leeway
And my owner tells me fondly I'm
so camp.
My father led the guns
Whilst my mother dressed in buns
Was officially known as Parisian Smarty Pants.
Now I'm clothed like an emperor
Or a Botticelli in tempera
As I tramp a scampy way wearing my scants.
Rosemary Wormald,
Richmond, North Yorkshire
PAVANE
A mackerel sky, a gathering tempest grows.
The jealous river trawls our lost children.
They disappear into the dark shadows,
the hidden depths, the dreadful Black Middens.
The Priory is bathed in watery light.
It was their lodestar, a distant haven
at Shields, where tombstone piers weep tonight
And bell buoys
toll a dirge for fishermen.
A strangling shawl, a bladderwrack-embrace
Enfolds their
transient flotsam of dreams.
Their bubbled breath is strung on webs of lace
And frets
of long-forgotten melodies,
As on the lonely rocks and slips
of sand,
Those haunted waters dance a slow pavane.
Vera Kulkarni, South
Shields, Tyne and Wear
DAYDREAMING
We love to daydream to escape,
Far away,
From the real world and what is,
Happening today,
As sometimes it's easier,
To pretend instead,
Than coming to terms with,
What's going on in your head,
We think about nice things,
And how we would like,
The world to be,
And to fantasize is like being free,
I believe we all like to do,
This from time to time,
And after all it's not a crime,
If it give us peace and short term
pleasure,
Make the most of these moments,
That are surely to treasure.
Elizabeth Joy Scarre, Hull, East
Yorkshire
MIRAGE
As I lie dreaming in my bed,
I hear the distant camel bells,
I see the coloured robes of silk, and hear music as it swells
On the hot and sultry air, as it travels across the sands,
Beneath palm trees, beyond the tents, and over hot and dusty
land.
In my dreams I see him riding across the dunes,
On his mighty
stallion, darker than the far side of the moon.
On the desert winds I hear his voice calling out my name,
I see his face in the moonlit sky, and his eyes sparkle like
the rain.
My sheik is the oasis of my soul, and great love within me
dwells,
So as I sleep, I softly smile and dream of the camel
bells.
But, under the stars on a dark silky night, it's never what
it seems,
For it's all just a beautiful mirage, that's only
in my dreams.
Jan Imeson, Grantham, Lincolnshire
DREAM ON
My daydreams are prolific whilst I'm doing all the chores,
I'm a diva in Aida when I'm polishing the floors.
Ironing can be a drag, but with a shot of steam,
I'm totally
transformed into a gorgeous movie queen.
On windy days the pegged out sheets can give me quite a tussle,
But in my mind I'm pirouetting just like Darcy Bussell.
Whilst cooking something special in the hope that I will
please,
I'll be performing miracles upon the high trapeze.
The bathroom taps are sparkling, the sink is shiny clean,
But I'm dancing to Bolero on the ice with Christopher Dean.
I dig and hoe and sow some seeds and tend them 'til they're
hardy,
With fingers flexed I play Chopin like Vladimir Ashkenazy.
My daydreams may sound foolish, but I find them sublime,
And you would also want to dream if you had a life like mine.
Ann
Clarson, Walsall, West Midlands
LET US BEGIN
Let us begin each and every morning
As we proceed with menial tasks
With some thought for the millions of people
Who risk their
lives for us.
They may work in the medical profession
Or deal with fire, tempest or flood
Whatever the danger in their occupation
It's these brave people we need to turn to and trust.
So let
us begin simply remembering
Each one of them everyday
For their love, grit, determination and courage
We thank
you God and pray.
Joan Kernick, Newton Abbot, Devon
MY FAIR CITY
Bristol, my fair city, how I love your tranquil views
With
the seasons, as they alter and their ever-changing hues
When
I amble by the water with its serene and shining calm
How can anyone not feel the touch of its slow and moving
balm
As I travel down the highways lately touched by frost
or rain
I can feel the life's blood pounding through this
city's
pulsing brain
Across Brunel's great span of bridge over turbulent
water flow
I look down upon the sight of those moving down
below
Do they really know their city? Do they welcome its true
heart?
Will they come to love it as I do? Does it make them feel
a part?
A part of such a history from the forefathers of old
I'll always treasure what I have, though the streets aren't
paved
with gold.
Jean Maloney, Bristol, Avon
POEM OF LOVE
I have been asked to write a poem
So I can send to you
There are so many choices
From titles I can share with you.
I believe that love is the
most important one
Because without love there is no hope
Without
love there is no forgiveness
Without love there is no future.
The bible tells us
God gave his only beloved son, Jesus
To be crucified
Thus saving his people of the world
From all their sins
No greater love, has a father
For his children.
So we must love one another
Families must stick together
And nations must remember love is
What binds us together forever.
Joan House, Wareham, Dorset
A MOTHER'S LOVE
A mother's love is precious
Honest, loving, true
No other friend upon this earth
Will be as close to you.
Someone who wipes away our tears
And turns our grey skies into blue,
And scolds us when we go astray
And worries when we are far away
And as the years pass swiftly
by
And we go our separate ways
She is always there to turn to
And lend a helping hand.
And each year, in March, on Mother's
Day
And on her birthday too,
Reward her with a few kind words,
And say, "Thank you
mum, l love you."
Jim Carlin, Barnstaple, Devon
THE COLOURLESS WORLD
The world has lost its colour
Because you're not friendly with me
Everything looks grey
Instead of the colour that it should be
Make my grass green
again
And the sky its forget-me-not blue
Let the flowers have colours once more
Give the sunrise its golden hue
Let the moon and the stars glow
and twinkle again
Like they used to do
Let me enjoy the refreshing rain
Like I did when I was friendly with you
Please be my friend
again
So that colours once more I may see
I know I will see that rainbow again
If once more you will be friendly with me
Violetta Ferguson,
Burnham-on-Sea, Somerset
A WORLDWIDE SINGALONG
Please let me love you, show me how to care
World's blessing
we should share, love is needed everywhere
Please let me
love you.
Selfish greed leads to war, love keeps no score
Let
us sleep in peace from terror be released
Please let me love
you.
Thank you for loving me, love alone sets us free
To honour
individuality cancel out misery.
Thank you for loving me.
Cruel thoughts and harsh words create
only stubborn fools
Don't dress truth in disguise hate fed
on lies
Please let
me love you.
Please take away the pain, everyone smile again
Each others' burdens bear, lovingly be prepared to give us
gladness.
Join hands and sing along to a waltz time gentle beat
Joyfully let all mankind repeat.
Please let me love you.
Patricia Stuckey, Dawlish, Devon
CEASELESS TIME AND COUNTLESS YEARS
Throughout the passage of ceaseless time
And the countless
years that distance you from me,
And although our sweet embrace,
so long ago, is but a memory,
I still think of you and keep
you in my heart.
I doubt you ever recall those special days we once shared,
Oblivious of me, or even that I cared.
How I've wished so fervently to encounter you again,
To see
your face, to hear your voice,
But alas it's all in vain.
Unless by some strange twist of fate,
Or a pre-decreed second chance,
We should meet, exchange a glance
With recognition in our eyes.
Would all those countless years begin to roll away
And take
us back once more to those happy, special days?
I may dream and fantasise with hope of meeting you,
But by
wishing long and hard enough,
Sometimes our dreams come true.
Carol Hooper, Redmarley, Gloucestershire
STANDING THERE
Standing there, standing there in my mind.
Maybe if I open my eyes I'll be blind.
All loves will sink as you above the surface rise.
Though you're not real so can't survive.
Standing there, standing
there in my mind.
Scenarios most ill designed.
Delightful scent so sweet and ripe.
Yet too weak to stand the tests of time.
Every negative is underlined.
And there's no hope or faith to make this right.
Even in another's shadow you shine so bright.
Standing there, standing there in my mind.
Charlotte Sowden,
Thatcham, Berkshire
A DREAM OF HEAVEN
I had a beautiful dream last night
When I awoke everything was cheerful and bright
I travelled
back in time to pastures green
Most of the countryside
was peaceful and serene
All around me was bathed in a bright
light
I saw flowers so beautiful they dazzled your sight
The birds were all singing a lovely song
Their chorus uplifted
me as I drifted along
I saw houses below me people working
away
I thought to myself what a gorgeous day
All of a sudden
I felt myself falling through space
I realised no more
was I in this heavenly place
It had all been a dream I'm
sad to say
But I shall always remember it to my dying day
Enid Skelton,
Luton, Bedfordshire
HIS STRUGGLE: A CONSPIRACY THEORY
His pale trembling fingers were guided
By the ghost of a blond Nordic god,
No one read his crass wearisome tome,
So a double bluff foundered stillborn.
Events happened when
he was wounded,
A small bug bedded into his brain.
With grandeur the world he would conquer,
As a sad controlled
Chaplinesque clown.
Geoffrey Martin, Milton Keynes, Buckinghamshire
DEVONSHIRE CHARM
Rolling green pasture, sheep gently to graze,
Heaven is forming through heavenly ways.
The sun in the white sky, a soft milky glow,
Ye old country life is so pleasantly slow.
Bells sound in the distance with rhythmic chime,
The folk in the chapel for morning prayer time.
Children are skipping and singing their play,
Passing me by, off to school for the day.
The farmer is taking the plough to the land,
Fair maids gently milking the cattle by hand.
All on this morning so peaceful and calm,
A beautiful day full of Devonshire charm.
Fred Ablitt, Southend-on-Sea,
Essex
Dedicated to the country folk of Devonshire, where time moves so slowly and beauty never fades.
Born in Westcliff-on-Sea, Fred Ablitt has interests including writing, fishing, inventing and motorcycles. "I started writing poetry in 1999 on a sudden inspiration. I discovered that poetry is a perfect way of expressing my deepest thoughts," he explained. Aged 47, Fred is a plumber on a mission to become more recognised as a poet and writer. He is married to Julie and they have children Michael, Simon, Jason, Scott, Anna-Marie and Elizabeth. "I would like to be remembered for making a positive contribution to the world and inspiring future generations," added Fred.
YOU COME INTO MY LIFE
You come into my life and I feel your love
You are looking at me from above
As you come into my life
I can feel you as you see my love
And you come into my life
You blow me away with love
As I see you look into my eyes
I can feel your love as you come
Into my life you make me
Feel well loved
Sandra Goddard, Kingston-upon-Thames, Surrey
SEA
Crashing tides rush on crushing rocks,
Splashing, darting, dancing in the air,
An orchestra of spraying waves,
Like cymbals striking, scraping, echoing.
Changing tides with passing moods,
Whirling in the wind, dancing tunes,
Rising with rage in a savage storm,
Dramatic emotions spurting forth,
Deadly destructive, destroying life.
Rippling calm on a warm summer day,
Inviting, enticing, playful waves
Like a lullaby, relaxing, floating away.
Gentle froth of foam slithers,
Soft as silk, cascading on sand and stone.
Canvas of shimmering grey blue,
Reflecting mirror of sunset and flaming sunrise,
Fooling my eye where you meet the sky.
Vast pools and deep lagoons of life,
A symphony of soothing sounds,
Older than time, a concert of seasons.
Martine Gafney, London
GIVE US BACK OUR FREEDOM
Police parade in their hundreds, when those in power need
But police are very few and rare,
When the victim starts to bleed.
They ride around in boxes or tied to paper work
While crime is on the increase and danger seems to lurk.
We cling to our handbags, hold our pockets tight
And most of us sense danger, when we venture into night.
Our
freedom is protected from enemies
Some to us unknown
But our freedom is neglected
When we leave our home.
The front door is our fortress,
Our windows barred and closed.
And fear is nagging with every knock, we feel so exposed
When we collect our money, we wonder who is near
Then footsteps behind us, make us shake with fear.
Yes we have lost our freedom
And those in power should heed
To give us back our freedom and the protection
That we need.
Bernard Tucker, London