If I could paint a portrait
Of each dream and nightmare
There you would see me
Naked in love and hate
If I Could Paint A Portrait
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Tag Archives: dreams
Sleepwalking
Dare
I go
Bare?
No!
But on going to bed
There is in my head
The thought
That I could be caught
Out
And about
Sleepwalking.
‘Tis the nightmare stalking
My mind
That I may
One day
Find
Myself bare,
Heaven knows where!
Too Much Reading
Too much reading
My imagination feeding.
It’s a little after 1 am
When
I hear you hoot,
The night’s flute
So cold and so clear
Instilling a dull fear.
Somewhere a TV or radio burbles on,
Then owl and noise are gone.
I drink in the silence
Then sleep sets me free.
But no
It is not so
For I dream
A dream in early December,
Of what
I don’t remember,
For the individual man
And his dreams are soon forgot.
A Thin Thread
A thin thread
Separates the dreamer’s head
From consequences dire.
I see the waker yearning,
His hand turning
Towards the fire.
Dreams
I dreamed and in my dream cups broke
And matters where confused.
When I awoke
I smiled an amused
Smile.
For I can not resile
From the view
That dreams oft times represent what is true,
Or at least what may be so
Unless a man say “whoa!”.
If I Told You What I Dream
If I told you what I dream
You would move the conversation on to the weather
Or any subject but that
Of which I dream.
But why so?
For you know
That every man has his craze,
The secret fire that does blaze within.
Some are driven mad
And are almost glad
To give in
And sin.
Dreams
There are dreams, streams
Of consciousness of which I shall not speak,
For I am weak
And would not have you know
Where I go
In sleep,
Lest you weep
For my dark heart.
I shall not tell you of my nightmares
For you have cares
Of your own
And, when alone
I would not have thee see
What tortures me.
I shall not open my heart
For you have dark
Thoughts enough of your own.
So let us leave our demons alone
Until they creep
Out in sleep
And we, in earnest weep.
I Dreamed
I dreamed
And in my dream it seemed
To me that I did look
Upon my book.
It’s back
Did my photograph lack
And what had been
Could no longer be seen.
Lethe
Thank you to Roberta Pimentel for publishing my poem, “Lethe” as a guest post. For “Lethe” please visit http://robertapimentel.com/2017/02/12/lethe-guest-post-by-kevin-morris/
I Dreamed that I was Dead
I dreamed that I was dead.
There was no dread,
Merely a desire
To cross the barbed wire
And escape something or somewhere,
Perhaps despair.
Pressing my hand against the barbed wire, I felt no pain.
No guards came.
I did not cross, for I new I should find
That which I had left behind
– A man locked in his own mind.
K Morris - Poet 