Category Archives: Dreams


And long before the end of the council

he stood before them all,

lost in the eternal darkness

that swallowed the faces of his judges.

He stood alone,

nearly naked,

his skin covered by tattoo.

He stood to prove himself.

his skin tanned brown between the ink,

for he was of the Earth,

a child of his Eternal Mother,


they called him,

and he did not move,

but remained still

and quiet,

judging his judges

with the fire behind his eyes.



The Legend of the Brother Sword

A shadow falls across the hall,

backlighting themes aligning into strange patterns.

The forest floor echoes those whispers,

two brothers alone together,

power and strength as a completed team,

shadow and panther.

The dim light of a flame

flickers in the eyes of the one,

the other trained on the back of his brother,

respect and fear mingle together,

blend with determined grit.

The goal is godhood,

the price – a life.




The stage looms,

dark and sweaty,

the dust in the air.

I am announced,

as is my act,

chosen for me –

it is something I cannot do.

I speak to the crowd,

fifty or so,

dispersed among the many rows of seats,

faces that look at me with recognition,

yet for me they are strangers.

I deny my role as viewee

and return,


to the crowd of viewers.

I cannot get comfortable.

And We smiled the Enitre Time

I had a dream,

just a few nights back,

after an exhausting day

at work.

Through a crumbling French city,

I wandered,


and alone.



cryptic words clouded my sight.

It was early morning,

starts twinkled into rest,

but I could not find the sun,

as he was hidden

by a multitude of heavy,

dark clouds,


and lined with faint traces of orange

and green.

The ground shook slightly

from the bombs

my ears could but faintly detect

through miles of clean,

cool French air.

On I walked,

stumbling over rubble,

amazed at the destruction,

the loss of life,

the loss of beauty.

Pausing atop a fallen wall,

I was amazed to hear music.

Following the sound,

as a dog following a scent,

my stumbling feet brought me to a village

teeming with life,

yet somehow,

I felt no shock,

the impossible rendered expected.

Something in the window of a small silversmith’s shop

caught my eye.

It was not,

as one might imagine,

a piece of jewelry,

nor a silver cup,

but my own reflection,

clean and clear in the unbroken glass.

I watched,

as my dusty,

tattered clothes melted away,

replaced with shirt and tie,

warm as though freshly pressed.

Upon seeing my own face,

scarred with lines of age

and care,

marked by emotion

and trials,

by life,

I seemed to take leave of my body,

and saw my reflection as one sees fine portrait.

I noted every detail of my features,

saw despair and confusion glimmering in my eyes.

Tearing myself from this deep,


I continued onward in the direction

of a small,

roadside cafe.

I sat at a table on the terrace,

your bright shining eyes

and warm smile

confirmed my hopes,

you had been waiting for me.

You arose,

greeted me,

Though not a word was spoken between us,

we heard

and understood,

the unspoken apologies after years of silence.

The whole time we smiled.

A waitress,

in perfect French,

proper intonation,

you placed our order,

coffee and pastries.

Small talk.

Words reunite,

progress and develop,.

We moved on to speak of truth,

and of love.

The waitress,

our coffee,


stark as loss,

bitter as pain.

Imported from Hungary,

it was rich and full,.

I felt it flow

like sap through my veins,

the taste lingered on my lips

as I reached for an artwork

of cream and sugar,

light like your laughter.

We smiled as we struggled

to devour our treats

without wearing them as well.

Hunger satisfied,

we sat together,

knowing each other,

loving each other,

we smiled the entire time.

I took hold of my cup,

prepared to finish the last


precious drops.

I stopped,

inches from my face,.

I saw once again my reflection,

now in my drink.

Lined with shadow,

painted on a canvas of jet,

seen in the light of your company,

I scarcely recognized my own face.

No longer sad,

weariness departed,

my face was joy,


my eyes held only love for you.

My head snapped up to see once again

the treasure I held.

Startled at first,

you paused your laughter,

and let your smile  slide.

Staring into my eyes,

deep into my eyes,

you told me what I wanted to hear,

“I love you, David”

I knew.

I continued to stare,

a hot tear ran down my cheek,

a broke my reflection

as it collided with the mirror of my cup.

You reached out your hand,

grasping my own,

and the world disappeared.

You smiled again.


A blanket of darkness covered the sky,

a million shimmering candles

twinkled one by one

to light the heavens.

One bore your name.

Perhaps one was mine.

I turned to you,

to see my thoughts echoed in your face,

remembered how alike we are.

I slipped my arms around you,

and pulled you close,

held you tight,

knowing you smiled.

Hours later,

we both understood.

Time to depart.

I stood and you followed suit,

with head bent low,

hiding a tear.

Once more,

I drew you near,

an embrace of closest friends.

We turned our separate ways,

each to our own,

and smiled secret smiles as we walked away.

They can never take away that road-side cafe.

We smiled the entire time.



My father is the pilot of this vessel,

yet it is foreign to me.

At terrible speed

we embark.


I search for my brother

among a multitude of strangers

or faces I memorized in ages past.

I see one I did not wish to see,

and I avoid her,

Always I avoid her.


I wait in my room when she knocks.

Reminds me of a celebration,

I exit to find her,

but she has left cash,

an age-old tradition,

a symbol.


She consults the seers,

the enchantress,

“one will ask for love,

and he will not offer,

the the other will be presented,

thus he is yours.”


The the cock crows.


A divine voice spoke,

but he did not heed its message,

for he knew much,

yet he was a fool.

I volunteered for the task,

I will help until you can begin.


I am ushered into a dark room.

There is light outside.

Voices that might not know I am here,

and certainly do not care.

It is dark here,

there is no smell

though everything is charred.

The voice speaks,

I must put out the fire,

the fire that has only just begun.

I control it easily

and smile,

until once more the flames arise.

Yet again I control.

Again and again.


Then he return,

I have finished his task,

and so he is glad.


But I know he is doomed.



jan 26, 1998


Watchful eyes on the beach

spot a man in a boat,

waving with no sign of fear.

He know the right names

and they listen to his story

while I fish.

As if in foreboding,

I watch the fish die,

and I weep.

I know the journey,

but am reluctant to leave.

I ask for a sign.

Two shells,

long and black

fall short of their mark.

More bad news.

I am given no time to reflect,

“Cut your hair, and impression of youth”

His seriousness is sobering,

and I begin to fear.

“Will I return?”

Jan 21, 1998

Baking Blowup

Our Baking Will Blow Your Mind

The Dinner

A Space for Fellowship

Mick On Everything

Just a regular guy who is interested in everything

Wherever you go, there you are.

And here I am, Judith Clarke, writer.


Turning Tears and Laughter into Words

A Word From The Raven's Beak

Or whatever I came up with whilst eating cereal this morning

Syl65's Blog

Poetry, music, creative writing and a desire to inspire....Isaiah 45:2-7 I will go before you and will level the mountains[a]; I will break down gates of bronze and cut through bars of iron. 3 I will give you hidden treasures, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord

Words are mighty

poems, and poems again

Itty Bitty Journeys

Epic Tales of Tiny Adventures


literary fictions, flashes, fiascos


The heart has to be able to act against itself. (m.m.)

A Holistic Journey

Finding my way back out of motherhood -- while mothering

Experimental Fiction

"Come with me, and you'll be, in a world of pure imagination" Willy Wonka, 1971

Just breathe.

Life is beautiful. And there is so much to be grateful for.


A work in progress

Nathan Blixt

Art, Text, Code, Design