An old piano sits against the wall where memories remain
tucked in every time worn crevice.

The curious mob had gone onto pastures new
so fickle in their care
and yet…
And yet she knew no other way to be.

This was she.

This was how it was meant to be, and
to behave any differently was impossible.

She breathed a jettison of quiet reflection
into the crisp of night.

Yes, this was how it had always been
she is the one who walks our dreams
who lives between the parting tides
of dreamscape and reality.

Some would call her Angel of the night
she leaves a celestial touch to ageing hearts
to slow them, to quieten and finally, to still
as she wanders among the halls of sleeping
haunting those who go with songs
of ancient earth and
choosing those who’ll stay with her
in trysts that last forever.


© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

Shared with Three Word Wednesday CCXLV111
The Poetry Palace Rally #57

Thanks for this award
To all of you who work hard
And bring this about

I would like to nominate Lynnaima: Life Between the Lines


In that softness of silence
weight of day shifts
like a sheet lifted by
invisible hands
and, for a moment
floats on air
suspended there in time.

In the still point of
the present
daylight recedes.
Windows close their eyes
to the world outside and
candlelight beckons ego to
succumb to its mesmerising

I used to look upon darkness in fear
but whispers of the heart know
the welcome alliance of
peace now which comes
inside of night’s gentle


© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

Shared with dVersepoets OpenLinkNight #20

Kick of Life

I turn away from a cold kiss
which clasps each breath as
winter’s dying bequeaths.

From a distance
vow never to let you go
yield your secrets through
a depth of pain and
understanding only you
could know.

In alliance with other seasons
all melting into you from
fields of iced tears and of
heavy hearts

In this frozen purity
and longest sleep of the just
from introspective yearnings
knowing this mood soon will pass and
spring will bring back that
new-born kick of life again.


© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

Shared with Poetry Picnic #15


They were in no rush to die as the madness had yet to waken a mellow stillness ‘though sunshine was threatening to cut its way through the accursed bone-chilling mist.
From a distance the land appeared alive, covered as it was in a mass of mud and men all standing there, unshaven, unkempt, untidy. Such a rag-tag ruddy body and, the most unlikely army. No uniforms for them.
At their head, horses stomped the ground, impatient from their standing as she held on tight to the reins preventing the chariot wheels from spinning around their fulcrum. Eyes closed, she was listening. Heightened senses hearing every sound, every whisper, every clink and clank of weapons and men in armour she knew were waiting for them just the other side of the fog. She even heard the last leaves somewhat muted rustle as they fell to the ground in their own autumnal dying. She stifled a shudder beneath her long cloak, she must not appear weak to the men. They’d won several battles but this was no time to be smug (those subliminal messages the Gods themselves reminded) and, with the might of the Roman Empire gathering she was not gullible enough to think the ensuing battle would be an easy victory and yet… by the Gods will, what would be, would be.


After the death of her husband who’d had a treaty with Rome in AD 60-61 Boadicea (Boudica) became Queen of the Iceni tribe but in a Britain under the laws of Roman occupation, because her husband had died, this treaty became null and void. His lands and all of its peoples became the property of Rome to do with as it wished. Apparently Boadicea argued that she and her daughters were the rightful heirs but for this, she was publicly humiliated with being flogged and, her daughters raped in front of her.
This led her to raise a revolt and, uniting with other tribes, she fought the Romans and tried to drive them from British soil. She led several battles against Roman legions, even capturing the then 20 year old growing settlement of Londinium (London) burning it to the ground.

Her story became very popular during Queen Victoria’s  reign and she was immortalised on Victorian pennies as Britannica.

The pictures are from the statue in London of Boadicea with her daughters in her chariot sculpted by Thomas Thornycroft  I doubt if Queen Boadicea’s chariot was as grand but, who knows.

If interested you can read more about her here:  Boadecia

Shared with The Sunday Whirl #32

Cry Wolf

True caller of the wild
guard well your precious ground.
Sacred once in hearts and souls…

Now shrinking with your sound.

What damage has been done
against ones so shy


how ancient is the grudge you
should bear against humans such
as I.

Howl at the stars.
Shout into forever…
Curse mans footprint on
the moon.
Sing loud your haunting

You’re singing to a hollow heart
that echoes at your
weeping and sees the water in
your eyes for the sadness
you are keeping.

Call out clear and strong
Howl all night long.
Drown out the pain of
all your slaughter without

Shout to the stars
to the glow of night for
that heavenly host of light
will never do you the
harm of


When you weary of that and
your throat is dry from
the sharing of its sorrows
(of you and your ancient pack)
slink off back to
whence you came before the
dawns new light betrays you
with her gleam.

The darkest hours of the night
are yours
and, not just for
the lonely.


© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

Wolves have always been so badly maligned, hunted, killed and, mostly without good cause.
To me, they are a magnificent creature (I love most creatures) and, have always been so badly wronged by (mostly) white humans.

Shared with Poetics #Prompt Wild


Such an elixir
fragrances mingled with your being
creating a heady mixture of
space and movement through
the moment.

I drink in the images
like a sip of water
savoring its feel as I let it slowly slide.
Sometimes a pain that’s so exquisite
I wish to tarry there a while
on that tip-toe pirouette.

The music box brings it
all sweeping back in
overwhelming tides.

If asked
I am always ‘fine’
If you could read
between the lines
you’d know
the beginning of
the maze
isn’t always at
the beginning.

You will always be
in windows on the water
ageless and free
beyond a horizon of dreams
in my beloved soft-fall rain
of another time.

And I…
I am so grateful for those memories
of that love forever, mine.


© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

There are so many things I’m thankful for but most of all, I’m thankful for the gift of sharing….love.

Shared with Imaginary garden with real toad s  A word with Laurie #Gratitude
Poets United Pantry #76


‘Please, please, please, please puuuleeeease! If you’re up there an’ listenin’. Winter is on its way an’ we ‘ad a ton-a-snow last night; enough for the trouble-and-strife (wife) to have to go out an’ shovel it. I promise never to go nuts again long as no-one comes an’ steals me n mine. Okayyyy?’


And there you have it… squirrels pray too 🙂

Very tongue in cheek and I’m sure the powers that be won’t mind enjoying a smile or three, goodness knows we all need them these days.

Shared with G-Man’s Flash 55


Snow falls
soft, silent, virgin flakes
which cover the scene
with winter’s first new
blankets of wonder.

I wander paths that
haven’t been seen for
some time
and, you appear

Come close enough
to reach in through the
hollow of bones which ache
and touch the depth of
my spirit as it tries
to stay upon its
sacred road
leaving misery behind.

A world apart

All of life flounders
in the shallow of each day
but safe inside the hearts
of those who love
we breathe in
…exhaling clarity.

The snow dances her
sensual ballet for me
(a captive audience)
as chests rise and fall
all inside of destiny’s
seamless prediction.


© Daydreamertoo                *All rights reserved

Shared with  Three Word Wednesday CCLXV11
ABC Wednesday #prompt ‘S’

The Walking Dead

The world turns
(as it always has)
earth and sky in harmony
yet each new spin of the wheel
ushers in more chaos.

7 billion souls
all with a hunger to feed
whatever their source
of sustenence.

There’s many a revolution
in this age of Aquarius
People’s voices
all vying to be heard
above a noise of the dying
one way or another.

The Mayan forecast this will
be the last age and
humans have become the
worst parasite
Mother earth has known.

Maybe we are already
the walking dead and
we just don’t know it.


© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

Once more I’m honoured
Deeply touched by this award
Thank you very much.

I would love to nominate everyone, but can only nominate one and that is:
Sherry Blue Sky

Sometimes the news is just so grim, on a global scale (beats the Brothers Grimm tales hands down)
and I like the TV series: ‘The Walking Dead’

My thoughts just ran away with themselves on this.

Shared with  dVersepoets OpenLinkNight #19


If love is blind and lovers cannot see
I’m thankful for the gift of
seeing without eyes.

Teardrops from the sun
illuminate earth beneath my feet
bringing light and warmth
to unborn life.

Sustenance for the sleeping.

In this world of chaos
so hard to find order
I’m thankful to see paradise
in a pair of innocent eyes
and smiles that show there
are still some dreams
to come.

One day
(if someone ever wants to
paint the canvas of my soul)
I hope it is a circle
no beginning and no end
and the center is completely
filled with love.


© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

Shared with Carry on Tuesday #132
Gooseberry Garden Poetry Pot Luck #14

Antony and Cleopatra

Her diamond glittered, gold shone, but that wasn’t what captured him. In one fleeting moment the fires melted away any ice he felt in his heart once he saw the spark of passion smolder in her eyes. He was oblivious to the other guests who were drinking with mindless abandon. The sky could fall silent to the ground for, in this exquisite moment nothing else mattered. There was only one person left on the planet who did and, trapped within her eyes, he gladly drowned.

It was said that the real Cleopatra was not a beautiful woman and, all too aware of this, it’s said she used whatever means she had at her disposal to win her way for Egypt, mostly using her sexuality. She had to have something special because both Julius Caesar and the Roman Politician and General Mark Antony fell in love with her. To protect Egypt she made an alliance with Caesar and when he was murdered by Brutus and the others on the Ides of March After a couple of years passed, she then met and fell in love with Mark Antony, but this passionate love between them was doomed.
A bit like an ancient version of Romeo and Juliet, I’ve always enjoyed the romance of this very famous love story. There’s several movies about it but the one I love most is the version I chose the pictures from Cleopatra made in 1963 with Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor.
I think it’s because of their own real-life love story.
They were each already married to different people, but working together on this movie and because it took so long to make, the pair fell in love. Unable to stop themselves they soon divorced their (then) partners, and married. They divorced after 10 years only to re-marry again after a year apart and divorced once more after only a year of their second marriage. Richard Burton’s heavy drinking played a huge part in their marriages breaking up.  He bought her the (then) world’s biggest diamond. They were true soul mates and Elizabeth Taylor is said to have remarked after his passing that if he had lived they would probably have married again. He was the true love of her life and, I suspect, she was his.

Shared with The Sunday Whirl wordle #31

Winds of Change

Lights flicker in the quiet dark
(somehow soothing)
blow a thousand proverbial kisses
into the winds of change
for courage to see
To really see
what is.

Without malice
sometimes I retreat too far
into the Cancerian shell
(that safe place I hide
behind the mask of
smoke and mirrors)

Curl into a ball
lost within the fog
so I don’t have to fall again
…or hurt.

In daydreams
I swirl, twirl
then unfurl a dance of words
across another silent page.

We can fill the sky with
learn to lick the wounds
(from those dreadful cuts of life)
which cannot ever heal
until we let them go


Blow soft upon these thoughts
as they move forward in
momentum by themselves
changing with the changing
of the seasons.


© Daydreamertoo *All rights Reserved

Sometimes time stands still unless or, until we change our thinking.
Or, sometimes changes in our lives occur whether it’s what we wish to happen, or not.

 Shared with dVerse Poets #Poetics


Google Images

Passing strangers in the street
I catch their eye and share eternity
in that instantaneous connection.
Somehow I can feel them
behind the facade.
I’m altogether fascinated and scared
because I too, know the fear
they do not reveal.

Well heeled or, homeless
each give out the same aura.
A wave of despair
an isolated sadness.

Amid a sea of souls
am I the odd one out
as I try to find my own way
through a maze of hearts
which ache
yet show smiles to the world
they know and believe is
their reality.


© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

There are often times when I pass strangers in the street, both well-to-do or, downtrodden (there’s no distinction) that I have a sudden overwhelming rush of their emotions wash right over me. Happy or sad, the sense of their emotions is truly overwhelming. It’s as if in an instant flash I can feel their deepest sadness or fear, because I feel it too.
Crazy I know, but some friends tell me it is empathy. I just accept that it is what it is and, as I feel it coming to me from them I try to catch their eye and maybe give back a positive light in my thoughts as I do.

Shared with Canvas Child Imperfect Prose
Poets United Thursday think tank #75

Origins of Spend a Penny


This expression came about from women needing to use public toilets. Seems, men never had to pay but women did! They had to put an old pre-decimal penny into a lock on the door and slide a handle across to open it. Hence the expression ‘to spend a penny’ meaning: I have to go pee.


As I remarked about this to Pat Hatt the other day in a comment on his blog, I thought I’d share it here and add a couple of pics too.
It doesn’t seem right that men didn’t have to pay to go, but apparently that’s how it was back then.
Aged 17 once I began travelling a lot of the country because of being in the army. I especially remember the Ladies toilets at Brighton Railway Station. There was always a woman attendant on duty night and day. The big brass locks were still in use and the big old style penny too. The ladies loos was a huge place where unaccompanied women could sit in comparative safety (and comfort) in armchairs or couches while waiting for their train departure times or, for one to arrive.
Spending a Penny facts.

A little bit of useless information because I like knowing where quirky expressions have their origin.

Shared with G Man’s Friday Flash 55

Interlude in Blue

In slow motion melancholy
I caught a certain sigh
held it for a while
then let it go
a soft kiss
to waiting breeze.

Sometimes it’s all so clear
crystal clear
when the light is at its zenith
I see what lies beneath
in the most gracious ways

(and  breathe)

Perchance there’ll be
a face in passing clouds too
during this

Interlude in blue.


© Daydreamertoo     *All rights Reserved

Shared with Poetry Palace Thursday Rally #56
Poets United Thursday Think Tank #75