I Blog Poetry and Prose

Living in a Nightmare and Perfect Weekend

Istijlál (Majesty), 15 Mulk (Dominion) 175 B.E. - Thursday, February 21, 2019

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Blogging Circle of Friends   (E) A group for WDC bloggers. #1901868 by Lyn's a sly fox

DAY 2286: “People stupid. The dream didn't leave, people just don't know a nightmare when they right in the middle of one."~ Marlon James Your thoughts on this quote...

I think most people are aware enough of what is going on in their lives and in the world around them to know if they are living in a nightmare. Knowing your are living in a nightmare, and panicking about it is two different things. You can know you are living in a nightmare, and still function enough to figure a way out of it. Sometimes the nightmare is so bad, that the person just gives up; however, they still know their are living in a nightmare. Those who do not know they are living in a nightmare are no longer in touch with reality, and are living on their own alternate plane of existence.

Living In A Nightmare:
The Shadow People

These are the shadow people,
who haunt the streets of every city
carrying on conversations with the air.

These are the shadow people,
with their souls sucked dry of reality
they dwell mentally on alternate planes.

These are the shadow people,
that hear the whisper of despair
and wait impatiently for the Reaper's scythe.

I wrote the above poem several years ago in Qawl of 153 B.E., in November or December of 1997. I am not sure what inspired the poem.

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Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise  (E) Blog City - Every Blogger's Paradise. #1972895 by Lyn's a sly fox

Day 1892: Describe your perfect weekend get away.

My definition of a perfect weekend getaway is one that inspires a poem. I finish the following poem Sharaf of 153 B.E., which was January of 1998. The poem was inspired by a trip Mom and I took to Colorado to visit my youngest brother and his wife.

Perfect Weekend:
Eleven Mile Canyon

The river has its own song,
as it flows between granite cliffs.

Hour by hour,
day by day,
week by week,
month by month,
year by year,
century by century,
millennium by millennium
the South Platte eats
into the base of granite cliffs,
reconfiguring cliff faces
and rewriting its own song.

The song of the river
rises and falls
as it flows across granite rocks.

Intoning the names of God,
the river
carries mementos of its journey
as it flows between granite cliffs.

Between granite cliff faces
the voice of the river
becomes the voice of the wing,
singing the Creator's eternal praise,
and chanting
the Most Great Names of God
for all who have ears to hear.