"It Was All A Dream"(dream series)
Dreams
It's funny how patterns of tattered matter flow
Causing desire to live in slumber rather than actual
Capitalizing on acts that cut back like razor shards
Swaying the facts while thinking on track, days are hard
Playing the part to break apart, technically state of the art,
Flows of color coded insatiable art, vivid with no remorse, bold,
Enough for, or too much for, any canvas, knows no Morse code
I'm sold on what it offers out, to the public's night life, cold
Living spaces become warm when the image changes
And rearranges into something even stranger to strangers
Days and nights keep them champion for all ages
Pause, wages unimportant on this playing field of dreams
When we share the same field we play with different teams
Seamless reams of paper chased through rivers and streams
Streamers from ceilings play the roles of shingle schemes
A single thing, multiplies into greatness, deemed through scenes
By the robust engine of imagination, come clean through,
To the far side of nearly all eyes, shut in reverse to mount a coup
And overthrow the senses governed by realism…so tactical
Impractical ramblings of a parallel world are actual
The factual speaks in capitals, mental escapades became practical
When the need for escape became natural,
So catapult, yourself into the world of fantastical leaps
And live a dream the way it was meant to be lived….
asleep
© 2010 Malik Peterson. All Rights Reserved.
The Essence of a Dream
Floating on a cloud, surpassing reality…
my dream is to be as my mind imagines free.
Actually, nothing’s actually happening, speak…
And don’t be heard, but the words so sleek…
or so bleak, fall on deaf ears but reach…
every synapse’s slumber at their peak.
Seek and you will find whatever you must.
Trust green dust, or purple moon’s thrust…
through the stratus-fear not the status or blush…
not at the radical images and fanatical plush…
scenes…crushed dreams exist not in just dreams.
Done things unimaginable through cut scenes…
lusting over some thing I had once seen…
busting…in through a place I had once been…
only to find déjà vu a familiar wanting…
to experience over as I had before or had I?
Peered through the looking glass with trapped eyes…
and been a guest but only signed my name in graphite.
Really here or perhaps I hang in the balance as a stalactite?
It’s primo immature how my signature’s deleted premature…
and brushed away with eraser crumbs and overture…
is the method by which my madness reaches such grandeur.
Grandiose floats so much better than hope, yet insecure…
no more…is my need for insecurities…only invest in secure…
Securities come as what may…finger tip access for sure…
Keeps my coaster coasting to a place my hest ventures.
Pump pomp and glitter through veins and brain waves.
Slaves escaped through the same way I change lanes…
in luxury. Lecheries for some become treasury’s name…
and maintain shameless aims to take aim at the same.
When the slumber ceases…taking on a cumbersome thesis…
statements are made in the same vein as living in pain…
but sleeping in bliss, so don’t miss mind’s train.
All aboard for the fantastical…trip and sustain…sum…
up the regularities of what dreams may come.
© 2010 Malik Peterson. All Rights Reserved.
It’s a beautiful day, blue skies are what you make of them.
The breezes won’t blow your back away if you face the wind.
Chasing sins or making them…
It’s not the same when you’re fast asleep and you rake them in.
No governing bodies with which you need to make amends.
I could be anything…a chameleon in the make of men.
I could be a king or a burglar breaking in…
Set my sights on family heirlooms and escape with them.
No consequences for homosapiens.
Drape me in…
a suit of armor…I’m a warrior
or a suited charmer on a storied perch…
in a suit of karma…womanizing…dating euphoria.
Step in time…this tune is well suited giving glory birth.
So always and forever when I close my eyes…though it’s no surprise…
I dance to the beat of a different drummer.
I’m hot in the winter it’s Indian summer
Selling pipe dreams but not really a plumber
It’s really a stunner…
The brilliant slumber…
…While…
Resilient numbers of…
billions of others…
In serious wonder…
at the furious colors…
of a dreamscape…which has never been duller
than the sun and moon dining at dusk as lovers.
Yet my dreams aren’t all incognito…under the covers.
As daylight strays away from yesterday’s night…
As high noon’s high looms and sets the way bright..
While sundown’s run down puts away kites…
Till the little star’s twinkle twinkle begins to take sight…
I’m just your average dreamer…
The time to revel in scenes from dreams is always right.
Written By a Day Dream
Somebody’s home but nobody knows who it is.
I’m caught in a day dream, trying to utilize my tutelage…
Which I obtained by being studious.
My goal in life is not to be a gluteus…
Maximize my fruitfulness…
Be hypnotized by the abundance of what is truthfulness
The usefulness of my obtrusiveness is quite a couthy trick
My youthful quip is fire power…why try cooling it?
If I manage to light the flame...I should maintain to use it lit.
A knock at the door…who is it?
It’s my conscious state of mind…what should I do with it?
Lose it quick.
…
Hoodwink and bamboozle it.
Floating on a cloud…I might as well peruse a bit
Not to find out where it’s taking me and why I am pursuing it…
but to be engulfed in its intrusiveness…
Aiding in the takeover of this field of dreams…
making it my exclusive pitch.
Now to find usages because I’m oodles rich
Walking around with this dream world crown makes my noodle itch.
The usual shtick displays a toothy grin and a frugal snick
But this time…I’ll let it ride as though I’m not afraid of losing it.
Because I’m not…
…
I’ll have many chances to escape to this…when next the bugle’s mist…
Is blown upon my thrown and I’m summoned to make use of it.
For now I’m someone who can use the switch…
To turn the world back on…and I allude to this…
because I’m home now…but counting on these loopy trips…
As I was lost inside a day dream….
this was writ.
© 2010 Malik Peterson. All Rights Reserved.
Lucid Alpha
Welcome to the land of nod...
where you can be the lightning...and the rod
deciphering your antics odd...
with a meaning waking man forgot.
Redeeming is the pantheon...
while I'm scheming with this mastodon...the metropolis is latching on...
to my construction while my mask is on.
No screen...
I'm just acting at this guild...no cameras on...
and gazing at she...with stature of glamorous Amazon.
I fix my lips to converse and notice that my stammer's gone...
I pop the question...and her answer's...uh.
Then the theme switches...
and the scene twitches.
These abstract absences of continuity would seem glitches...
and seeing vivid would seem timid...
if not for the dream with it...
deeming it averse to being specific
If being constricted is being prolific...
then defiantly I'm being complicit.
If being so gifted is being holistic...
then undeniably I need to go get it.
Then the theme rises...
and the scene surprises.
The thinker realizes his thoughts are randomized...
yet to my surprise I've got random eyes...
ROY G. BIV irises arc as I look at the sky.
To be plain and simple you don't have to fly.
Though jet planes are obsolete...I just flap and rise.
Then I pass the times with these dapper flies...
wing-tipped shoes...wing tips galvanized.
Octagon red...stop sign sunglass-ed eyes.
Lucid Alpha waves...
enable crowd control...after days...
or cloud control...in spastic ways...
UV scatter rays
Eyes move rapidly...
on Sunday Monday happy days...
on darkest nights in blackest caves...
through mundane strain in fascist maze.
No need for LSD and acid trip...
I just say...
Pass the waves.
© 2010 Malik Peterson. All Rights Reserved.
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