Dreaming I’m Awake

I wrote this digital poem called "Dreaming I'm Awake" based on my blissful experience snorkeling in Carribean waters.🐠

I designed the graphic part of the poem using Procreate, Premiere Pro, and Adobe Express.

Available as an NFT at Objkt, only five editions, with a 10 % referral fee.

Adrift

I cherish paddling this ravishing creek;

alluvial mud banks,

pocked with mouthing clams,

muttering at bobbing cherry blossoms. 

An egret pierces 

rose powder blush clouds

against an azure sky. 

My cells, the wind, the board;

I feel the bumble-bee waggle, 

of infinite minutia.

Aren’t we all adrift? Whom shall we call lost?

I’ve drifted and called it lost; 

I’ve been lost and labeled it drifting.

Is a way home the only proof of being found? 

(I could be deserted in the Sahara, 

blistered by Harmattan dust storms 

yet domiciled in your emerald eyes.)

To A Neurodivergent Child

Confusion is easy.
Like banana bread 
floating in a sea of turnips. 

Confusion is easy.
Like tying a knot
or welding gold origami.

Confusion is easy. 
You will see!
Ride a mustard seed,
to infinity,
or luxuriate in a bed of 
blood red noses. 

Still, you will find 
genitalia 
in your pudding wedding (ew!).

See, confusion is easy! 
I have done it for many ears.
String it across 
a bow of discipline: 
the soundpost of love
will shiver with your mania. 

You said your finger is peeing. 
(I get it) 
Or your fear is a blue triangle. 
(Cheers to bewilderment!)
God will tell you,
“There is more to you than your thoughts.”
Please don’t listen to her. 
(She is always right.) 

Mesozoic

Gorgeous beast,
are you
mere dream
to me
now, here,
heaving,
an ambrosia
of honey and salt,
hair splayed about my chest,
oh, so slight thump thump
heartbeat in your crimson cheek
settling into your
luscious tar pit
of ecstasy?

I want more
than the star essence of you.
I can make bones of vapor, flesh of mist.
So, fuck this punk hologram universe.

“Harvest Moon” is playing.
The kids are unconscious,
dream of Barbie Dreamhouse;
a Faberge egg within a Faberge egg of illusion.
I yearn for a joint
and a motorcycle
that outruns death.

Shiksa Codesmith Yahwey
give us
the full delusion
of vivid self.

After all,
we are only
middle-aged
once.