i lie
awake
my body on the crumpled, cream-colored sheets
my thoughts float
like an untied balloon
from a child’s outstretched palm
as they disappear into
nothingness
alongside millions of dreams
just as i
am unable
to grasp onto
your fading voice
that whispers in my ear
burning my skin
Lauren loves creative writing and can usually be found reading on the beach or writing in her room.
I lie awake
Dreaming, riding
Sand wet as molasses,
Smooth as dusk,
Your hair spread like the night.
I lie awake and
The ocean breathes
Inside me
Until clear light of dawn pours
Through the bedroom window
Stirring dust in the air
Like great white gulls,
Scattering your memory everywhere.
Todd is an amateur writer and poet. This poem is one of several he is working on, in his own collection called “Cravings”.
I dreamed we were still in my kitchen, laughing
at the dog, who kept trotting to the door, then not
going out, lest he miss a single scrap
of whatever we might offer.
When I woke, the dog comforted me.
It was you inside the door, poised
to go through.
Jennifer L Freed has a friend whose tumors keep outrunning the chemo. Her website is jfreed.weebly.com.
Crisp
My pillow greets me
My soft slumber
Recalls romantic memories
My soul whispers…
She finds my pillow
Entangles my dreams
Capture…
We land eyes
walk within a summer’s breeze
Our hearts embrace
A moment held
Till sunbeams
Melt our reality
Tomorrow
Fresh flowers
Will grace the earth
Above you
Fifty words is such a challenge. Patrick hopes to improve.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask her in a gentle tone.
“I don’t know who you are, but there is one thing I’m certain about.” As she answers me, a sweet smile appears on her face. “You are not real. You are in my dream.”
I wake up.
Judy Zheng is a student at Shenzhen Academy of International Education. She is a girl who has a lot of strange, real dreams when she is sleeping.
She awoke from the grips of the nightmare. She’d been standing over him again, a knife dripping red in her hand.
Reaching towards him, towards the soothing warmth of his body, she frowned. The bed was empty.
Right, she thought. It hadn’t been a dream. Funny how she kept forgetting.
Melissa is a writer, teacher, and dog-lover living in the Middle of Nowhere, Michigan.
The house beside the vineyard sleeps.
And I am the child who tries so hard to remember her dreams,
becoming an adult who wakes up with the taste of grapes in her mouth.
There was a river, I murmur to the empty pillow,
missing the boy who flowed within it.
Magdalena is a graduate of the University of Toronto. She is a writer who lives to poet. She also likes to colour and poet. Sometimes she sleeps. Poke around her blog.
Standing on the gallows ground with the rough, tight rope around my neck.
The smell of death was everywhere.
For the last time, I looked up at the gloomy sky.
Suddenly, the executioner pulled the trigger.
I woke up.
Huh!
In his sleep, he’d kicked me out of bed again.
Mohammad S. Babaei is computer programmer who is also in love with English literature. He is so much into poetry and recently developed the same taste for short stories.
Queenie, fifteen, had two teeth, no claws, and had never been outside. Yet daily, on the table by the window, she patiently watched the birds.
One Christmas a startled bird flew in when the door opened, straight at Queenie who was ready and expecting. Christmas dinner and life dream manifested!
Kevin McManus is a wannabe writer and successful daydreamer who doesn’t believe in coincidences but does believe that we create our own reality, just as his old cat Queenie did.
A witch stole our only lemon tree from the backyard. She rode on it, shoving the last ripe lemon into her toothless mouth.
A frightening, nonsensical sense of helplessness woke me up.
Auntie hovered over me and I remembered that real life is scarier than the witches of our dreams.
Azarin Sadegh, a former student of the late Les Plesko, is working on her 125,000 word novel, The Suicide Note.