Cheese - Stephen A. Roberts

My drug of choice is simply cheese
Grated in a bag just for ease
It’s the ultimate snack it
Works so well on a buttered jacket

Then at night the terrors come
Spawned by that evil cheddar crumb
Dadaist visions of flying cars
Skimming on the surface of Mars

Drowning under thick sheets of ice
Or chased and eaten by giant lice
Flying high with fantastic beasts
Soaring on the wings of my cheesy feast

Stephen A. Roberts

Image : Pixabay - Hans

I Used To Be A Dreamer - Lyndon Queripel

I used to be a dreamer
I had faith to keep
But now I just can’t sleep
The dawn will break
And I’m still awake
The Sun will rise in my eyes

I used to be a dreamer
And you know it’s true
That I had visions too
Now there’s a part
Deep in my heart
Where memories just freeze

I used to be a dreamer
Sowing seeds to reap
But now I just can’t sleep
The shadows fall
On the wall
On my bed and in my head

I used to be a dreamer
Lost in my own mind
But I’ve been left behind
The time has passed
Much too fast
Where did it go I don’t know.

Lyndon Queripel

Image : Pixabay - LeandroDeCarvalho

Ship In A Bottle - Richard Fleming

He dreamed of oceans as a child;
would run away to sea when grown;
might sail the chill Atlantic, wild,
or broad Pacific, tempest blown;

but grown to adulthood, he failed
in everything. There was no prow
or spreading wake: he never sailed.
He seeks his ships in bottles now.

Richard Fleming


Image : Pixabay - fadliabravers

Ex-Pats - Oscar Milde

We buy the Telegraph each day
although, each day, it’s one day late
but we don’t mind, we keep abreast
with all things English anyway
and try our best to recreate
our English life. 
This foreign nest 
may offer sunshine, vino and no rain
but Lord, these foreign types can be a pain. 

We bought and now, alas, we’re stuck:
house values down, pensions undone,
so we just have to grin and bear
although we, daily, curse our luck.
We thought life here would be such fun
with friends galore 
but it’s a snare 
with ruddy Spaniards everywhere, 
bad sanitation, mozzies and sun burn.

They’re volatile, and what is more,
they hardly know a blessed word
of English when we try to shop.
It really is a dreadful bore.
They all act dumb. It’s quite absurd,
and yet the blighters talk non-stop
among themselves. 
Heads high, we keep our calm
but yearn for lovely Cheltenham.

Oscar Milde

Up The Creek, Again - Tony Bradley

The salty spray of Spring tides wafts in through my boarded window
my feet start to itch, my wander-lust, I have the verve to voyage
I’ll build a boat, but first I must plan the materials I need
into my bedroom, where I used to sleep, for I must rummage, and forage.

In here, my ‘man-cave,’ my own testament to Easter Island,
abandoned adventures, fallen Idols, forsaken sheets and spars,
I will construct a rugged little vessel
and slip off, come April, to follow the stars.

My ‘Sea Urchin’ measures a fathom, it’s all I could fathom
it’s not for fame, it’s adventure I seek
that wind’s got stronger, whipping up the waves
we never quite made it, to Tamerton Creek.

Tony Bradley

Child Of The Highway - Lyndon Queripel

Image:Johannes Plenio from Pixabay

I picked up my guitar
Put on my faded jeans
And headed down the road
To find what freedom means
I hadn’t gone very far
When I started looking back
At the fields where love had grown
And the harvest that turned black

Just like a wild flower
In a world of broken stone
I’m looking for some light
That I can call my own
But in this cold shadow
The sky is overcast
I’m haunted by my memories
And ghosts of the past

I’m a child of the highway
On the border I was born
It was on a stormy Monday
Just before the dawn

I looked into a mirror of magic
It was tragic as I saw through
Myself and every thing else
I once believed to be true
A distant star was shining
High over my destiny
But the closer I seemed to get
The further it seemed to be

I found an old newspaper
But there was no date
On the front page was a story
About me and my fate
Was this just a dream
There must be some mistake
No secret kept,I’ve overslept
But when will I awake ?

Lyndon Queripel

Room Full Of Dreams - Lyndon Queripel

Missing lock from the door
A rusty key on the floor
Dust everywhere so it seems
Torn picture on the wall
A moment to recall
In a room full of dreams

Echoes in the night
Fade in the morning light
Awake from cries and screams
Disconnected telephone
Visions all alone
In a room full of dreams

The day begins to break
In a dawn of heart ache
And teardrops turn to streams
A memory of a kiss
And a broken promise
In a room full of dreams.

Lyndon Queripel

La fille dans le soleil de soir - Tony Bradley

I honestly don't know now, I could have been dreaming
one hazy September evening, high tide at Port Soif
beautiful clouds on the horizon, pink, lilac, and purple
the sunset glowed scarlet, as the haze drifted off .

So peaceful, so lovely, I sat at a bench
just absorbing the beauty, as the sun slowly sank down
then, a noise, a girl just sat alongside me
smiling, but with a sort of a frown.

"You don't need to travel, . . . to see THIS," I said
with a sweet little voice, she said "Non"
the strangest thing, when I looked again
the bench was empty, the girl was gone.

Tony Bradley

Not That We Would Ever Dream Of Not - Ric Carter

You had canned laughter in your hair.
It accompanied everything you said,
drowning out the ends of your sentences,
your sentence ends.

I had had my sentence ends trimmed, tidied up so as
to cut down on my talking, which I told myself was
getting out of hand, and now I never got to the end of
sentences and no one understood what I was trying
to say.

I made phone calls and they came out garbled.
But I knew these were victorious conversations –
uselessly stupid, stupidly fruitless, fruitlessly weird,
weirdly important, dreams with dreamt-up punchlines,
mostly but not entirely jokeless.

Your hair laughed whenever you moved in your sleep,
soundtracking memories accumulated during the day –
our comedy situations that were awkwardly disastrous,
disastrously awkward, awkwardly disastrous,
disastrously awkward, ad infinitum, infinitum ad

Ric Carter

Drifting Tunes - Tony Gardner

Oft times at night I catch the drift
Of songs from long ago
Sometimes it seems I feel the things
I'm sure I cannot know
Days gone by and in the past
Long before my time
Are fresh and present and alive
And sharp as winter's rime
The songs rise raucous in the light
Of the campfire's mystic glow
Or from rude bar rooms of the West
Where rough, raw whiskey flowed
The strains come whisp'ring through the years
Tunes that I feel I know
Some drift still from the Western front
A hundred years ago
It's just half-death before I sleep
When these false mem'ries wind
Their strange and half-known melodies
Around my drowsy mind
Soon I'm asleep and unaware
Of tunes that come and go
But oft at night I catch the drift
Of songs from long ago

Tony Gardner

Shattered Dream - Lyndon Queripel

You danced on the water
With lightning in your eyes
Raindrops in your heart
And thunder in the skies

You played on your harp
An angel without a prayer
Love was all around you
And electric filled the air

Your mouth was so dry
When at last you awoke
You held a broken mirror
In the coloured smoke

Sparks were still flying
In the wind of the storm
And you were all alone
No one to keep you warm

You reached out your hand
To touch the fading beam
Just left in the shadows
Of a shattered dream.

Lyndon Queripel

Word Of Mouth - Lyndon Queripel

Old school rule, blotted copybook
Repeat to cheat your mind
Reverse charge callers off the hook
Just leave them all behind

Flashgun cameras and paperweight
A prolific under hand
The time, the place and the date
In triplicate as planned

Word of mouth from ear to ear
Key hole eyes that disappear
Business nose, rumours sell
And never fail a tale to tell

They caught you up halfway there
You'd only just made the lights
Wishful thinking you were clear
Of their telescopic sights

Was it true, was it a lie
Or was it just a just a joke?
Your dream of love left you dry
In the morning when you awoke.

Lyndon Queripel

Daydreams - Bryony de Lat

I used to use dreams, to create and design
but now my dreams come, cemented in rhyme
before, there was an exact brief, a strict deadline
but now, the only constraints are mine.

Don't underestimate the power of imagination
the ability to float away, thus boredom forsaking
to mentally stroll off, for a whimsical walk
later returning to now, neither wheezing nor aching.

Store in your mind, a place to wander
whistle, or sing, if you think you can
and always have that daydream ready,
for when the shit starts hitting the fan.

Bryony de Lat

In My Dreams - Lester Queripel

Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in September 2012

In my dreams, I dream of stars in endless midnight skies.
I dream of a world where people don’t tell lies.
I dream of a world where the earth never dies.
In my dreams I dream of money being used as an energy.
Being used to help set people free.
Free from tyranny and slavery.
In my dreams I dream of unity.
I dream of people helping one another.
In my dreams I dream in colour.
I dream of sunsets and rainbows, waterfalls and streams, all sorts of beautiful things, in my dreams.
In my dreams, I dream of a world where people really care, and simply wouldn’t dare, pollute the rivers, or the air.
There are no hungry mouths to feed, there is no greed.
In my dreams I can see the sea so clear.
Everything we cherish is held dear.
In my dreams I can hear music and feel the harmony.
We all sing in the same key.
We all dance and we all join hands, our hearts full of joy all over these lands.
I wonder if I will live to see, my dreams become a reality?
I certainly hope so.
If you like, I’ll let you know.

Lester Queripel

Dreams - Julian Clarke

I saw you in my dreams last night
I reached out to touch your face,
My hand went through your skin
And then your image dissipates.
Like a reflection in the water
That’s broken by a pebble
The ripples go on forever
Like warm memories
Of a lost Lover.
The morning
Chased my dream
Away and there you
Were still sleeping, I lent
Over to kiss your face and
You smiled as you were waking.
The alarms shrilling ring-ring-ring
Was I really still dreaming, slowly,
Eyes opening, you were softly sleeping.

Julian Clarke

Temptation - John E Blaise

Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in April 2012

I woke up in the middle of the night
Wearing striped pyjamas that was strange.
I could have been dreaming I wasn't sure
As I walked towards the open door,
Outside, inside the enclosed garden
I followed a snail trail left on the paving slabs.
The trail was delicate and fine
But so direct and purposeful a ley-line
Led me to a beautiful woman, a bright paragon
Naked, bare, uncovered yes nude
Apart from pink petals that covered her feet
An awesome presence yet she was so petite
She smiled and asked me to follow her
I must have been shocked I just said no
So she asked whether she should go
I said I didn't really know
She ordered me to close my eyes real tight,
Then open them real slow.
I woke up in the middle of the night
Naked that was strange.

John E Blaise

Waiting for Morpheus - John Buchanan

I lie in the dark, waiting.
Time passes unmeasured,
and here in the pitch black silence,
I wait and wait and wait.

The body craves sleep,
Yet pain forces it away,
and here in the inky black silence,
I wait and wait and wait.

Rapid thuds of paws on carpet,
the cat lands beside me.
and here in the jet black silence,
I wait and wait and wait.

He gently butts me with his head,
then curls in a ball beside me.
Here in the velvet black silence
We wait and wait and wait.

He snuggles in tight,
then begins to snore.
Leaving me to fight black thoughts
as I wait for the arms of Morpheus.

John Buchanan

Summer's Dream - Julian Clarke

You came to me on a sweet summer's dream
Passing through worlds of magic and men,
A dragonfly guarded the gate between
You’d sing and dance in this beautiful glen.

Now most of us find it hard to conceive
Of the parallel world of our ancient way,
Listen so hard and you must believe
Open your eyes let your mind run away.

Do not be fooled by her beauty and charm
Her pretty little nose and delicate wings,
Her mystical magic may well do you harm
If you don’t respect all of Nature's things.

You came to me on a sweet summer's dream
Passing through worlds of magic and men,
I wonder if you will come here again,         
To sing and dance in this beautiful glen.

Julian Clarke

Lament - Jean Jorgensen

In his own Universe he is the Sun
And we, the hobbies, job and family
Are as the planets, ever-circling,
Absorbing whatever warmth and interest we can find
In proportion to the value of ourselves.

But just for once I would like to be the Sun
In someone’s Universe;
To know that I am all-important to that Life.
To give my warmth and comfort
And in return receive the knowledge that I too exist.

Jean Jorgensen

Black Suede Dreams - Jean Jorgensen

Dignified and standing straight,
Shoe-tree’d and neat,
Waiting in a quiet place
For work-weary feet.
The pretend glass slippers of that dreary northern street.

Did the mother have her dreams?
As did the child in later years.
The child, with eager, careful touch,
Grasping the wooden-handled brush,
Its wiry bristles smoothing
Soft black suede,
Creating shadows light and dark
That played their game and changed and moved,
Never staying the same.

Nor did the dreams.
The mother’s changed by toil and care,
The child’s yet to be found there
In that world of softest suede that she had longed to clean.
And so discovered her dream.

Jean Jorgensen