A Dream of a Dream

A mysterious phantom

floating just out of reach,

dancing behind heavy lids

Taunting, teasing each.

There, but not quite.

Desired, but not held.

The urgent need to have

All fears and worries quelled.

Just for a moment, 

To slip into the peace.

Rest, respite, relaxation,

Just to fall to these.

But, alas! How it evades us,

Like fog upon the ground.

Coming closer, sliding away,

Never quite to be found.

A Roaring Madness

It's like a roaring madness
That is taking over all.
Ripping, raving, gnashing teeth,
Yet gentle despite it all.
Carefully intertwining
Into the hands of fate.
Never underestimating
The power of its state.
It envelops everything
And seeks to closely knit,
Together all the odds and ends;
Love. It is the love that's hit.

A New Pet

One day a thought came stumbling
In, landing within my brain.
I decided I quite liked it,
And tied it down with a chain.
I let it simmer but nothing came through,
Until one day he broke free.
He tugged my strings and scratched the walls,
But there was no door to see.
No exit, no, there was nothing there,
So around and around he flew.
I realized I must nurture the thought,
Take care of it and tame it, too.
I'll have to make sure he's got enough food,
And water to last him the day.
That way my lovely new thought,
Won't try to get away.

The Trouble

There came a day when Mr. Fish
Was ripped from his watery home.
He was stuck upon land,
But not able to stand,
While around him the land-creatures roamed.

He flopped all around til he came to a puddle,
And there he flipped and he breathed.
But the puddle was small,
And no rain would fall,
And soon he desired to leave.

"Oh, Mr. Bird!" he cried up to the sky,
"I'd like to make you a deal!"
The feathered one dropped,
Upon land he stopped,
While the fish looked up with zeal.

"I'm stuck in this puddle, oh, can't you see?
And I'd much like to get out.
But I can't climb ashore,
Or I won't live anymore!
Can't you help me on my route?"

Mr. Bird cocked his head, and said with a squawk,
"Why of course I'd help if I could!
But what can I do?
There's my feet, I've got two,
But they're far too small to do any good!"

So he left Mr. Fish, upset and lost,
Alone in his tiny, new abode.
But someone new came along,
Croaking out his old song,
And Mr. Fish locked his eyes on a Toad!

"Oh, Mr. Toad!" he cried out with glee,
"Do you have a moment to spare?
I'm stuck alone here,
I can't get home, I fear!
Is there anyway you could help me get there?"

But Toad too was puzzled,
And had nothing to say,
So away he hopped,
He barely even stopped!
And Mr. Fish cried out in dismay.

Then along came a human, kicking at rocks,
Until he suddenly looked straight down.
He saw Mr. Fish,
And then stretched his lips,
Into a huge, horrified frown.

"Poor little guy! Let's get you home!
There's no way you'll survive here!
So scooping him up,
In his hands like a cup,
He carried him to the pond that was near.

"Thank you, oh thank you!" Mr. Fish bubbled,
But the human was walking away.
Yet Mr. Fish never forgot,
Who helped him with his lot,
And carried him back the whole way.

The Guardian

But you say to yourself

What is this place?

As you turn your head and look

Around. You are lost in this space.

You lost in this world where

The roses wither away

And leaves drop by the dozen.

Time captures all, you say.

You say it's overwhelming

And you can't handle it all.

But I'll tell you a secret my dear:

There's someone there when you fall.

The Moon

It's simple when the moon

Lights the path you trod

And gives the breath 

To the night that

Without it crushes

Everything.

The lunar candle that

Let's the nocturnal see

All that is around,

All that lives and breathes:

The moon! Ah, the moon,

That simple sphere upon the 

Canvas of the sky.

With gentle white light,

Pure, cleansing light

That helps the day to start

Anew.

With the Fish

I rode along the ocean top
And drifted among the waves.
'Twas not a soul in sight to see,
Not a word for days.
But while the waves crashed and roared,
A bird showed in the sky.
He landed swift atop my boat,
And looked me in the eye.
I loved my bird, he was my roots,
And tied me back to land.
His feathers smelled of fresh earth,
The trees, the rocks, the sand.
But then one day my feathered friend,
Took flight and sailed away.
But his ride was not on waves,
Rather on the sunshine's ray.
So into the depths I finally dove
To escape the salty spray.
And was suddenly blinded with the deepest blue,
From the swirling, twirling waves.
The creatures that I saw down there,
Were different from my bird.
The laughed and giggled but all in bubbles,
Without ever speaking a word.

the search

I swam down to the ocean depths
to try and find it there.
I looked and looked and could not find
and soon came up for air.

                   I climbed the mountains 'cross the land,

                  dreaming of what could be.

                  But the misty fog of such great heights

                  blocked out all to see.

Into a tree I rose and stayed,

gazing at the star-encrusted sky.

It was there that I found my home;

a place where I can fly.

Hiding

Search the corners,
Check the walls!
Pull up the floorboards,
Check them all!
Keep on looking,
It's got to be somewhere!
Open the windows,
Look over there!
What are we doing?
We just keep on looking,
Like we're all lost.
Searching at all costs.
We can't quit our quest,
Where could it be?
There's something we're missing...
Things we can't see.
It's time
(that we're missing)
It's time
(that we search).
It's time
(that we seek out)
It's time
(and it's worth).
There's so much to do,
But so little time for it.
So keep sweeping the corners,
And don't stop, search for it!

Behind Closed Doors

There is no such thing
as a poem
completed.
There is no such thing
as a dead poem, a finished poem,
a poem that ends when
the book closes.
They don't end,
they get embedded in the now
and the present,
wrapped up and beautiful
ready to be gifted again
and reborn.
There is no such thing
as a poem that doesn't breathe
and morph into
what becomes of everything.
Poetry is a color
that has no set pigment
that changes as dramatically as
the sky at sunset.
Poetry threads into
everything we do.
It latches on to
the empty places in our hearts
and the fuller ones, too.
It whispers to us
of the dreams we wish we had,
of the dreams we do have.
It tugs at those parts of us
that want to embellish the world
with our stories.
A poem dies when you close the book
much like a room disappears when you turn out
the light.
It is still there.
It is still living.
It is still a memory
we can not forget.
It is the secret, the proclamation, the underlying desire
That is put into words
That aren't words.
They are magic.
Immortal.
Unfinished.
Alive.

Jenna Mosier

The Sea

You and I.

We sail far across the sea,

Where waves rise and

crash upon,

But these two words,

Keep us holding on.

You and I.

Me and you.

What a pair we are,

Escaping on roaring blue flight,

Steering our ship far away,

Til we disappear almost out of sight.

Me and you.

The both of us.

Off we go and slip away,

Through the realms of the washing sea,

Where birds don't fly, and the sun is high,

And we are whatever we want to be.

The both of us.

You.

You like the life raft,

Amidst all the swirling salt,

Like the ray of sunshine

That I've finally caught.

You.

But them.

They don't have to find us,

Our ship can disappear,

The shadows of night can overtake us,

And we won't live in fear

Of them.

Together.

Together we'll be captains,

And swim with the stars.

There's no one to stop us.

We've flown too far.

Together.

Eclipse

The crickets have stopped chirping,

Silence settles in.

The deepest scarlet fills the sky,

The Eclipse begin.

A shadow covers the burning sun,

And casts darkness throughout the sky.

A glow softly rims the sphere,

As the moon passes by.

But only for a moment,

The Eclipse is purely seen,

Before it begins to fade away,

Like a forgotten dream.

ABC...

A Book Carried

Down Every Far, Gray Highway

In Just Kingdoms

Lies Meekly Now

Opened, Placed Quietly,

Revealing Spectacular Tales, Unbelievable!,

With X-citement, Yielding Zeal.

-----------------------------------

Comment your own 26-word poem that uses each letter of the alphabet! 

The Disease

Wadded paper fills the floor,

Dead pens lie scattered, too.

Endless scribbles have killed them all,

And scrawls along lines of blue.

Lamplight streams across the desk,

But nothing is coming to mind.

It's the deadly disease that takes us all,

It's like a creative death wish signed.

Writer's Block, it comes for days,

For weeks and months at a time.

No ideas, it's like blindness!

No plot lines, no rhyme.

Another notebook torn to shreds,

As everything comes out wrong.

Why me? The Writer calls,

But nothing comes along.

And then there's the silence,

No struggle is left,

The disease is winning,

Ideas bereft.

What's the cure, you dare to ask?

It's that which is still being sought.

So far there's only one prescription,

But alas, it cannot be bought.

Inspiration, my dear!

To be inspired is key.

It protects and defends the blankest of minds,

And allows the Writer to see.