Bones groan from arctic chills
as snow swirls.
Curls its trance of silent dance
around thoughts of love
in winter.

Did I lose or gain?
The answer truly doesn’t matter
for, love always remains.

Whispering waves will acquiesce
cover with translucent ice
still allowing scenes below
where sorrow of winter’s
hushed deep sleep doesn’t
truly ever reach.

A legacy of memories
told in flashback, play
Of remembered songs with
words which hug like arms
renewing strength and energy
released from fears’ old
and worn familiarity.

In deepest meditation
I walk the tunnel
a ready volunteer
to bask in ambient light
not afraid of seeking
inspiration there
for all that I am
and, ever hope to be.

In that place
of blessed sanctuary
I speak the language of Angels
without the need of voice or
physical touch to impede such
incredible connections
of meeting

Soul to Soul.


© Daydreamertoo    *All rights reserved

Shared with With Real Toads Mary’s Mixed Bag – Connection (Great prompt)

If: erasure

If blaming it on you
make allowance for their doubting
don’t deal in lies
nor, talk too wise.

Make thoughts meet with triumph
instead of twisted by knaves
who seek nothing but disaster
you can bear it all, even
with worn out tools.

to serve your heart
and so hold on
neither foes nor loving friends
can hurt you

If you can walk with kings
with crowds, the common touch

yours is the earth and
everything that’s in it.


© Daydreamertoo       *All rights reserved

I chose to try an erasure poem with the famous ‘If’ by English author/poet Rudyard Kipling.

Shared with dVerse Poets Meeting the Bar: Erasure Poetry

Winter Thoughts

The earth beneath my feet cooling
grows harder by the day
preparing for the deep sleep
of winter now.

Late Autumn fog replaced
with glistening white frost

Trees stand there
silent, bare
ready to clench their roots
as far as they can into the ground
for fear of snapping in these
coldest of climes and biting winds
which winter brings.

The bridge across divisions of
autumn and winter completed as
(no longer faint)
I see my own cold-gasped-breath
in-between watching the first
snow flakes dance across
my world


gently prod my thoughts into
remembering what it is I am
supposed to do
as the dog waits eager
to go onward and greet our
frozen new day.


© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

*We were already out walking as these thoughts came to mind this morning.
It’s -6 c here right now. That pic is one I took of Tim last winter. He’s started wearing his combat coat again this past couple of weeks. Cute eh …lol

Shared with Three Word Wednesday CCCV: Clench. Faint. Prod
Poets United #11 Bridge

I Believe I Can Fly

In that half awake
half in dreams realm
where everything is real
(or so it seems)
a child wanders
here, there and, everywhere

There are no borders
no walls or fences to divide
to keep people in or, to
keep people out

Everyone is happy
for the monsters who live
under the bed
hide behind curtains
or, who peep through the windows
because well…
that’s what monsters do
They arrive at night
to frighten you.

In that hazy fog of half-remembered
I could swear in all the yearning
(substitute that for dreams)
knowing for certain if I swing
my arms round and around
in circles at my sides
for long enough and, run as fast
as I possibly could

slowly, I would begin
to lift at first
then, to float

finally, to leave the ground behind
and as long as my arms
kept moving

I could fly.
Oh yes, I could fly

Here, there, and everywhere
in a peaceful sky.


© Daydreamertoo        *All rights reserve

*Used to dream frequently as a child that I could fly.

Shared with dVerse Poets OpenLinkNight #72
Carry on Tuesday #182 Here, there and everywhere
Poetry Jam Make Believe


A fleck of dust caught my eye
skimmed a hand across
the dresser surface
and the sight of a picture
held me in its sway.

I once fell in a heap.
A helpless load of love
until the end
yet still, the empty bottle
carries the scent I so adored.

Dust gone
I resist an urge to remove the lid
and have my fill of the
Heavenly fragrance of
Yves Saint Laurent


© Daydreamertoo       *All rights reserved


Shared with The Sunday Whirl #84

Prepared for Anything

Rain pitter patter, sploshes
a drop of thought here
splash of thought there
memory jogged
(sometimes I miss them)
the ones I’ve always called
‘The gentle rains of England’

especially now, as we prepare
to enter winter with its many
snow squalls
sub zero temps and
bitter nor’easter’s
(shovels always near)
Oh yes, we prepare.

I mentally prepare to disassemble
something of great value
acutely aware that
(if it goes wrong)
there will be a high price to pay
for the learning
but, I won’t learn
if I don’t try.

A child I raise now wanting
to date
I prepare to share her
joys, happiness, heartaches, tears


here I am again
back in the present,
listening to the rain
preparing for the snow.


© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved


*I’m trying to decide whether to take my iPhone 4s apart so that I can teach myself how to put a new screen on it and then can do it for other people, for a fee. Not an easy decision to make when you know it’s worth over $400 if you mess it up but .. ..the only way to learn is… to do.
It’s how I learned everything I know about repairing & programming computers.
So, I’m trying to mentally prepare myself for the task, I truly love taking things apart but, have to know I can put them back together again and still be working….LOL
I took that picture of the iPhone a short while ago to show the weather here today…rain and, tomorrow the temps drop and we get our first snow of the year, dropping 10 degrees by Monday and more snow. (Yuck)

Shared with dVerse Poets Poetics: Preparation


Google Images

“The guy down the road from us is really weird.”


“He’s sitting in his boat staring at me as I walk by. Perv!”

“It’s a dummy.”

“No… it’s him!”

“Have a closer look, silly.”

“I think he may be dead. I’m not going near there!”

Next day.

“You were right…it is a dummy. Duhhh.”


When she was younger, our neighbour down the road from us once had a small row boat in his front yard. The pic isn’t the actual boat but, I used it to show what I mean. His yard was quite large and the boat was some way back from the road. As I drove up it, from a distance, I thought he was sitting in it wearing a bright yellow plastic raincoat with the hood up. Slowed down to see it was a very realistic seated mannequin.
Chloe saw it when she came home from school. But as usual, she was always in such a rush, she raced by and was so freaked out thinking it was the neighbour watching her. She actually asked me if I thought he was dead. LOL I convinced her next time she passed to take a better look.
She came home soooooo sheepish the next day…..LOL

Shared with G-Man’s Friday Flash 55


Grateful for the gifts of life and love
Replacing want with only all needs met
Always aware there are others less fortunate
Thanksgiving and thanks given
Impossible to say which is worth more
The giving or recieving
Until your soul is in the right place to know
Denying ego its lust for greed and wanting more
Endless are the blessings which come in many guises
Sharing them, the greatest gift of all.

© Daydreamertoo     *All rights reserved


Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it today.

Shared with dVerse Poets Form for all: Acrostics. Giving Thanks
Poets United Wonder Wednesday #10 Gifts

The Perfect Hope

In this world of present chaos
nothing is certain anymore
…not even tomorrow.
We move in forward motion
increasingly more
to war, war, war.

Our vision is unclear
because there are no sane answers
to all the ‘whys’

Women and children run for their lives
on both sides of the great divide
while young men learn only to
hate and if that hatred isn’t strong enough
toughen up and learn some more.

It seems there are no peaceful means
to end this conflict which has raged
for nearly two millennia

and yet,

deep love of fellow man
will never give me leave
to let go nor stop believing
the perfect hope.


© Daydreamertoo        *All rights reserved

Moslems and Christians and Jews raising their hands to the sky their chanting voice in unison begin to arrive how happy is the one
whose heart’s ear hears that special voice as it begins to arrive.

~ Rumi

*The poem is grim because my heart is weeping for the insanity of it all. There is nothing about this that is right. I Googled images of Gazza and the images of children are just ….slaughter.
I don’t care what anyone’s faith is…no God of mine would ever wish to see all this crap no matter what faith we believe in.
Sometimes hard to believe we are all the same species.
Still, I have hope and have to believe one day we will see sense.

They are talking of a ceasefire….Hope springs eternal.

Shared with Three word Wednesday CCC1V Motion, peaceful, Vision
Poetry Jam Best Sellers. I Chose the Nora Roberts title ‘The Perfect Hope’ as my piece

The Softness of Love

The softness of love
flows easily from you, though
it may not have always been so
how else do we learn if not
through growing pain.

There may have been such longing
long ago
Lost faith, path of destruction
with destination unclear,

Yet, universal secrets were
somehow revealed
truths shone in deepest reflection.

The last song was never sung
The last note, never played
and life had its way of mending
broken souls through the
tough softness of love.


© Daydreamertoo     *All rights reserved

*For someone I’d be proud to call: ‘friend’

Shared with dVerse Poets  OpenLinkNight #71

Monday Morning Blues

Sun shines on pure white frost
creating Heaven’s sparklers
across that cold scene.

After a lazy weekend
I imagine one could share
that Monday morning gloom


that would spoil the joy
in the gift of this new day.


© Daydreamertoo    *All rights reserved

*Yes, every day is a gift, no matter what day of the week it is.

Shared with With Real Toads Open Link Monday
Carry on Tuesday #182 Imagine.


© Andrew Wyeth. Squall 1986

I keep trying to leave
but you clutch at me and
do your best to keep me
in the deepness
of your sea.

Your heart cries out its song
in the rawness of your waves
as you trail along my shore
grasp me from behind
aware that you’re playing
my favourite tune
still, pulling on my ankles
like the strings of my heart
as I try my best to leave
yet, have such a need
to swim in you again.

so tempting you make it
for me to stay
To submit to your lure
let you have your way
but, I know I mustn’t
for you will drown me in the
very depths and needs of
that desire
and, if I sink beneath you
I may never find
the strength to swim
to shore


©  Daydreamertoo    *All rights reserved

*Water, one of my most fav topics.

Shared with Magpie Tales #144 The artwork of Andrew Wyeth. Squall 1986


To them, she was just another a pawn
lost amidst a sea of faces where
everyone lived their life
through only black and white.
They’d never see her beauty, pride
or, the fire in her eyes.

In rigid uniformity
daily they comply
too scared to bust a move in case
that planning goes awry
(it’s wrong to go against the
governmental grain)
they may find the new cell
they’ll belong to is yet another
smaller type, of prison.

But, she is quite unique
and unless she is arrested
for not wishing to become
another clone lost among
that crowd
she will never be silent
nor sorry.


© Daydreamertoo      *All rights reserved

*I’ve always applauded people who are not afraid of being ‘different’
I like my own individualism and have never tried to ‘fit’ in a box which others would like to make me fit into just to please them.
Was looking at the Chinese election of their new leader, and noticed that with only one or two exceptions, every single one of them was wearing black. Do they not know the world and its people are alive and vibrant and bursting with colour?

Shared with The Sunday Whirl #83
Poets United Pantry #124

Three Sheets to the Wind

Antigones Vow © Mobius Faitha

He had it all, rode so high
upon crest’s in the sea if life

Wife, kids, home, car
and, a job he hated.

a bottle took him to bed
or, wherever it was that
he fell.

Oh, yes, he fell
and kept on falling.

Time passed
that steady stream of full
and empty bottles became
his only friend

Lost his wife
kids, home and car

now, even
Shank’s pony will not
take him far
when he’s always
three sheets to the wind.


© Daydreamertoo      *All rights Reserved

As soon as I saw this photograph it reminded me of the expression; ‘three sheets to the wind’

For those interested:
Meaning of Shank’s Pony
Meaning of Three Sheets to the Wind

Shared with dVerse Poets Poetics: The photography of fellow blogger Tery S Amtutz

Stairs and Swears

Google images

Same thing every morning.
She arrives, and immediately flops sideways into the arm chair to fall back to sleep for a few more minutes

“Getting up time” I call, as I do every day.
Clomp, clomp clomp down the stairs then a sudden bang, followed by: ‘Ow’

“What did you do?”

“I forgot to turn.”


Those are not our actual stairs but I wanted to show what I mean by our stairs face one way and then there’s a small landing and they twist back on themselves to remain facing the same way.
When I asked what the bang was, still being half asleep… Chloe forgot to turn and had walked into the wall.

*No kids were harmed in the production of this 55 😉

Shared with G-Man’s Friday Flash 55