Poetry competition CLOSED 22nd February 2025 11:49pm
A public vote has been requested
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DREAM TALK
Poetry Contest Description
Writing on what you hear hear or witness what someone is saying, making sounds or doing when you know they asleep, like sleep walking or sleep talking or mumbling. It could be they just smiling or laughing or sad looking,
It's intriguing to to see someone or people close or not to you or strangers as they sleep and wonder what they seeing or experiencing.... It makes you wonder and as they wake and only to know they don't remember or maybe they do. Even yourself, you may catch yourself mumbling words, you maybe half asleep and you say stupid and things that don't make sense or funny things that are strange, for example with my child and homework and late night minute my child had me helping and I was writing and I was asked a question and I wrote "Go shopping for a green sweater" and she was left so confused and started laughing crazy and I heard myself say it but my mind so exhausted cause she had me think in sleep time. In that time your mind is in no control, but fun time lol. So write about what one says or does or like my experience and write away. Or if anyone wants imagine why I said "Go shopping for a green sweater", go for it. But make your imagination very interesting and captivating to read. Have fun and take your time. You have a month to write poetry or story, thoughts, or curiosity writing of whatever you witness as one is asleep or half asleep.
LASTLY OPTIONAL NOTE:
The same goes if you see an animal or insects anything living asleep and they doing strange sounds or noises like weeping or crying or any emotional act as they sleep and make you wonder what they seeing or experiencing. So write about what the creature or species might be seeing or feeling, since they can't talk and tell you like humans can if they happen to remember when they completely awake.
IF YOU WANT TO WRITE ABOUT BOTH ANIMALS AND HUMANS YOU CAN BUT ONLY TWO ENTRIES PER PERSON.
LASTLY OPTIONAL NOTE:
The same goes if you see an animal or insects anything living asleep and they doing strange sounds or noises like weeping or crying or any emotional act as they sleep and make you wonder what they seeing or experiencing. So write about what the creature or species might be seeing or feeling, since they can't talk and tell you like humans can if they happen to remember when they completely awake.
IF YOU WANT TO WRITE ABOUT BOTH ANIMALS AND HUMANS YOU CAN BUT ONLY TWO ENTRIES PER PERSON.
One Free Dream Card
Tell me this is not a dream. I’m sorry, yes it is, but do not worry because I have good news,
that life is but a transient dream.
We are all inserted into this dream with one dream-come-true card in our pocket. It is not ours to play. The cosmos will play it for us because it knows better, but when it is played it will be as unassuming and miraculous as the birth of a child.
On the karmic road, this will become a point of maturing, and will be laden with images that you have payed forward into your universe. Mere logic will not be able to logically assemble the pieces that synchronicity has generated.
I wake up from a recurring dream about you and there you lay. Being confused I turn to check the dreidel on the nightstand and see it lying motionless. Then it suddenly comes to me again this morning, delivered fresh like a cinnamon bagel.
As when one is dying, one just knows. So it is with our dream card. When it is put into play you simply know that this time it is the genuine deal. If you feel, at this late hour, that it has not yet been put into play, then I have more good news.
The fact that you are reading this says that it is nearer to you than yesterday. Yet it is a great paradox that you worry you will be holding it tightly against your chest at the end of your days. Try loosening your grip.
Adulthood makes us latent to this fact, and that’s okay because something will tap you gently on the shoulder to wake up and to trim your lamp of vigilance. Keep your oil fresh because the judderman skulks when nightmares spin your dreidel again.
A clue that your card has been played is the fact that you are now often crying over unimaginably beautiful things which were there all the time. Remember well the smell of that moment’s air. Be bold and intentional enough to journal it.
Speak authentically and go forth into your day dream. Give time the permission to slip you into the morrow, not that it needs it, but it’s a fitting gesture.
that life is but a transient dream.
We are all inserted into this dream with one dream-come-true card in our pocket. It is not ours to play. The cosmos will play it for us because it knows better, but when it is played it will be as unassuming and miraculous as the birth of a child.
On the karmic road, this will become a point of maturing, and will be laden with images that you have payed forward into your universe. Mere logic will not be able to logically assemble the pieces that synchronicity has generated.
I wake up from a recurring dream about you and there you lay. Being confused I turn to check the dreidel on the nightstand and see it lying motionless. Then it suddenly comes to me again this morning, delivered fresh like a cinnamon bagel.
As when one is dying, one just knows. So it is with our dream card. When it is put into play you simply know that this time it is the genuine deal. If you feel, at this late hour, that it has not yet been put into play, then I have more good news.
The fact that you are reading this says that it is nearer to you than yesterday. Yet it is a great paradox that you worry you will be holding it tightly against your chest at the end of your days. Try loosening your grip.
Adulthood makes us latent to this fact, and that’s okay because something will tap you gently on the shoulder to wake up and to trim your lamp of vigilance. Keep your oil fresh because the judderman skulks when nightmares spin your dreidel again.
A clue that your card has been played is the fact that you are now often crying over unimaginably beautiful things which were there all the time. Remember well the smell of that moment’s air. Be bold and intentional enough to journal it.
Speak authentically and go forth into your day dream. Give time the permission to slip you into the morrow, not that it needs it, but it’s a fitting gesture.
Written by BaldyBrown
(Sordid and Sacred)
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Two Cats
In the soft glow of evening
two cats lie together.
Their breaths steady
tails gently twitching in dreams.
Their whiskers quiver,
paws knead the air,
murmurs of sleep talk
escape their parted lips.
One purrs deeply,
a sound like distant thunder.
The other replies,
a softer rhythmic hum.
Their bodies rise and fall
with each contented sigh,
In this tranquil moment
all is almost quiet and serene.
You watch over them,
heart swelling with love,
Each sound, each movement,
a testament to trust.
In their sleep, they are safe,
enveloped in your care,
A silent bond, unspoken,
eternally cherished.
two cats lie together.
Their breaths steady
tails gently twitching in dreams.
Their whiskers quiver,
paws knead the air,
murmurs of sleep talk
escape their parted lips.
One purrs deeply,
a sound like distant thunder.
The other replies,
a softer rhythmic hum.
Their bodies rise and fall
with each contented sigh,
In this tranquil moment
all is almost quiet and serene.
You watch over them,
heart swelling with love,
Each sound, each movement,
a testament to trust.
In their sleep, they are safe,
enveloped in your care,
A silent bond, unspoken,
eternally cherished.
Written by PAR
(PAULO ACACIO RAMOS)
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Purrs and Snores
Deep into the night,
there they are,
side by side
on the mattress.
The cat purrs
a miniature thunder.
The husband snores
a coral of immensity.
The sound dispute
is pure beauty.
The feline, master
of the vibrant whisper,
with its "purr-purr"
packs light dreams.
The husband, tenor
from the incessant snoring.
Their symphony
is music to the heavens.
The cat says,
with an air of superiority:
"My snoring is art,
a heavenly sound."
The husband retorts,
without losing vanity:
"My snoring is robust,
of equal power."
And so, at dawn,
the battle continues.
Between meows and snoring
the night dances.
In the end, laughter wins
in our spread chest.
For in the home symphony
it is joy that advances.
there they are,
side by side
on the mattress.
The cat purrs
a miniature thunder.
The husband snores
a coral of immensity.
The sound dispute
is pure beauty.
The feline, master
of the vibrant whisper,
with its "purr-purr"
packs light dreams.
The husband, tenor
from the incessant snoring.
Their symphony
is music to the heavens.
The cat says,
with an air of superiority:
"My snoring is art,
a heavenly sound."
The husband retorts,
without losing vanity:
"My snoring is robust,
of equal power."
And so, at dawn,
the battle continues.
Between meows and snoring
the night dances.
In the end, laughter wins
in our spread chest.
For in the home symphony
it is joy that advances.
Written by PAR
(PAULO ACACIO RAMOS)
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Coffee is on
I worked late at night
2nd shift
wife already asleep
sit on the edge of the bed
take my shoe off
drop it
plop
“The coffee is already on”
I look up
wife sound asleep
I get up
check
just to see
nope
no coffee
sit down
take off the other shoe
plop
“John, love you”
my head tilts
my buddies name is John
I get up
look in the dish rack
2 coffee cups
I didn't sleep well
2nd shift
wife already asleep
sit on the edge of the bed
take my shoe off
drop it
plop
“The coffee is already on”
I look up
wife sound asleep
I get up
check
just to see
nope
no coffee
sit down
take off the other shoe
plop
“John, love you”
my head tilts
my buddies name is John
I get up
look in the dish rack
2 coffee cups
I didn't sleep well
Written by TimWombles
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Voices In The Wilderness
Just speak to me
and you’ll gaze into the
wilderness behind my eyes.
This wilderness,
lush in dreams,
barren realities!
As I open the gate for you,
I sit and listen white-knuckled
to the voices within my mind.
The further you trek in my mind,
the closer to summery fantasies you’ll arrive.
Once you leave my mind,
the closer to icy realities you’ll realize!
Deep in the wilds of my mind,
there’s a wolf’s lair, and voices
howl somewhere within.
And within this black forest,
I am the prey within
my own psyche.
Immersed within, a lair
of wild darkness. With snaking
vines and hues of thorned roses.
Unsettled woodlands of unsettling
thoughts and beliefs. Wherever
there’s anxiety, there’s mountains.
Pioneers trekking within
my mind cannot discover
a clearcut path to normality.
With the cure of psychosis hidden
and unseen, any pioneer’s compass
needle would spin forever.
Immersed within the quicksand
of psychosis, I am surely
suffocating from the trauma.
and you’ll gaze into the
wilderness behind my eyes.
This wilderness,
lush in dreams,
barren realities!
As I open the gate for you,
I sit and listen white-knuckled
to the voices within my mind.
The further you trek in my mind,
the closer to summery fantasies you’ll arrive.
Once you leave my mind,
the closer to icy realities you’ll realize!
Deep in the wilds of my mind,
there’s a wolf’s lair, and voices
howl somewhere within.
And within this black forest,
I am the prey within
my own psyche.
Immersed within, a lair
of wild darkness. With snaking
vines and hues of thorned roses.
Unsettled woodlands of unsettling
thoughts and beliefs. Wherever
there’s anxiety, there’s mountains.
Pioneers trekking within
my mind cannot discover
a clearcut path to normality.
With the cure of psychosis hidden
and unseen, any pioneer’s compass
needle would spin forever.
Immersed within the quicksand
of psychosis, I am surely
suffocating from the trauma.
Written by gothicsurrealism
(Daniel Long)
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The Voice of the Darkness
I shan’t forget the moment the light died.
The glow of the candle pinched;
the stout wick breathes out
a fluttering string of smoke in defiance of death.
But it was time to die.
It was, time to breathe to death.
What do we all think,
When we allow our glowing selves to perish into the dark?
They say ghosts notice candlelight,
attracted to the luminescence like a moth.
Now, the candle wax solidifies and becomes cold;
no more tears of our glowing warmth.
I may be too optimistic concerning death;
the coldness of the dark
excites me as a poet.
I too, can glow in self-bereavement.
No more flickering of light
with the shadows morphing wildly over my stone-carved face,
no, this face now breathes in darkness
as a taciturn.
A voice needs no illumination;
just reticence amongst others around me so,
I too can have a voice!
This is where and how it’ll have to be.
A voice
in the darkness,
void of the glow,
darkly beautiful.
The glow of the candle pinched;
the stout wick breathes out
a fluttering string of smoke in defiance of death.
But it was time to die.
It was, time to breathe to death.
What do we all think,
When we allow our glowing selves to perish into the dark?
They say ghosts notice candlelight,
attracted to the luminescence like a moth.
Now, the candle wax solidifies and becomes cold;
no more tears of our glowing warmth.
I may be too optimistic concerning death;
the coldness of the dark
excites me as a poet.
I too, can glow in self-bereavement.
No more flickering of light
with the shadows morphing wildly over my stone-carved face,
no, this face now breathes in darkness
as a taciturn.
A voice needs no illumination;
just reticence amongst others around me so,
I too can have a voice!
This is where and how it’ll have to be.
A voice
in the darkness,
void of the glow,
darkly beautiful.
Written by gothicsurrealism
(Daniel Long)
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