Poetry

Motes in the Blue

Its eyes peer into the bubbles that are lungs,
watching as they burst and refuse to gasp for air.
The ocean spills from my lips as I summon it, whale song,
to sweep me away from the surface,
the pigment dyeing its hide blue.
Sea mines pulse as it passes by, erupting into jellyfish clocks
that snatch at my heart and chest to shock me awake.Clear.

Smother me in sediment, wrap me in coral,
split my skin with the shadow of sunlight
and let the deep rush in.
Help me dissolve, evolve, return.

Certificate: sea foam.

Poetry

Wake up call

Uncurling from my core,

I rise up, pushing against my skeleton,

fingers, toes,

stretched out like tendrils,

seeking light and enthusiasm

that eludes this dark hour.

I drink deep chugs of air,

inflating my lungs to full capacity

and exhale with force,

rinsing out the shadows of the night

that sent me clawing at my pillow and muttering

to faceless, nameless

phantoms

until words held no meaning.

Poetry

No posts found

None to guide the way out of those dreams

where you know you’re dreaming

and simply want to claw your way into the light, grey sky

of morning, any morning.

 

No markers for you to cling to,

no staff to take up and battle, conscious vs subconscious,

a fight not to the death but to waking,

hoping that the sensation of your body moving

is not from the body that is trapped,

hoping it is from the one where blood flows

and grants oxygen to your brain.

 

Awake, awake!

You call, you shout, you scream.

 

No post-it note to remind you that

dreaming about waking up

and waking from a dream are separate things,

and only one can stop the night terror

that paralyses you in the minutes

sleeping past your alarm.

 

No one to tell you that sixty seconds in the waking world

can be a lifetime

in the dream state.