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The Hues of Gossamer Goo
| Open Poetry #12 |
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The Hues of Gossamer Goo |
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Embers_Before_God Member
since 2001-03-06
Posts 101USA |
The middle of the night, starless night— dark, deep— where children dream in colors of violet and orange, velvet maroon and aquamarine, their vivacious eyes catching glimpses of him amidst the shades of their sleep; the hues of Gossamer Goo. He lays awake, always awake, in paled fields of straw, resting his head on a fallen tree branch, faintly listening to clichéd brooks babbling, a gentle crow’s caw— all worries of work on the dreamland ranch giving way, breaking through, up and around and into the brilliant shades of Gossamer Goo. Oh, the children, how they run, run to Gossamer Goo. Eyes quickly drying, golden locks flying, gentle breaths sighing, just for a glance, by luck or by chance— a “children’s only” trance— to meet Gossamer Goo. A man of the age of twenty plus two, that noble prince, Gossamer Goo. How the children do adore the dreams they dare explore, the land of the straw (their luck of the draw), the fields cut through, to glimpse the man with the crisp, cropped locks of the boldest, golden hue. And does he accept their tiniest of hands, as they run across dreamland in droves and bevies and bands? Of course, through and through, for he is the King of Sleep their prince, their pauper for nighttime charity as they escape reality. He can help you too, that Duke of Reverie, Gossamer Goo. And the fields get crushed as their faces are flushed, cheeks turning from pink to purple to blue. They run and they rush, they pull and they push, they cramp and they crush, fighting for the best place to view the face of Gossamer Goo. They huff and they puff, they pull at the cuff of their bibs, their collars, their jeans. They ignore their shirts, so crooked, so out of place, tripping over their shoes, untied, unlaced. He holds in his hand, the broken branch, as he stands, wiping soil from his duff, and points at the dreamland ranch, the home of Gossamer Goo. The children, confused, battered and bruised, glance at Gossamer Goo. He looks at them, he too is confused. “You don’t know?” he asks. The children look at each other, not knowing what to do, for none has ever heard the words of Gossamer Goo. Then he understands and smiles, so warm, so strong, so true, And says, “This is where I grew,” “when I was a child—” “one just like you.” “This is the source” “of the hues” “of Gossamer Goo.” Well the children all understand, or at least the best that each one can. But . . .do you? If not, it’s because as you grew, you lost the ability to, to dream and dance, imagine too. You forgot how to laugh, how to prance through fields of straw in bib-overalls, hearing crows caw until the ranch comes into view. You forgot you, one of the hues of Gossamer Goo. Dance with me under the moon. Touch my pale skin. Devour me. Love me. [This message has been edited by Embers_Before_God (edited 03-20-2001).] |
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| © Copyright 2001 TkB - All Rights Reserved | |||
Greeneyes  
since 2000-09-09
Posts 9903In Your Poetic Mind |
is this of youthful decent? a dream state? I enjoyed the words....and the flow of the words....very nice....  Greeneyes~ *** "Within you I lose myself |
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Mysteria
since 2001-03-07
Posts 18328British Columbia, Canada |
Well...I still live in the Garden of Gossamer Goo, and something tells me that you do too! I remember the scratching on the window pane, and praying they would not come back again! I remember that someone lived under my bed, and I knew it was not something I made up in my head. I did not forget, and still see them. We all forget our childhood dreams, and our nightmares, and this is an excellent reminder to get back in touch with the child inside. I loved this! I would like permission to print this please? [This message has been edited by Mysteria (edited 03-20-2001).] |
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Joyce Johnson
since 2001-03-10
Posts 9912Washington State |
This is a lovely fantasy. I'm too old to understand but my grandchild would. Very nice. Joyce |
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Marge Tindal
since 1999-11-06
Posts 42384Florida's Foreverly Shores |
EmbersBeforeGod~ An intriguing piece. Catches the reader in the lilting cadence. 'in paled fields of straw, resting his head on a fallen tree branch, faintly listening to clichéd brooks babbling' Wonderfully imaginative. ~*Marge*~ ~*The pen of the poet never runs out of ink, as long as we breathe.*~ |
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Mabel A. Dilley Senior Member
since 2001-03-17
Posts 859Seattle, WA, USA |
I'm glad I found you, for Gossamer Goo probably had a different name when I was growing up, but my shapes of nightmares lived in a large walk in closet, and I swear the clothes therein took shape and walked out of that closet many times to invade my dreams many times. "I am not now that which I have been." |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
A delight! |
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Katherine Chandler Member
since 2001-03-07
Posts 280Florida, USA |
I so loved this story and can relate to parts of it. I admire your creativeness and I felt like an adult was reading a bedtime story to me. I'd like permission to print this and continue to read it whenever that child in me doesn't want to be alone and afraid. This was nothing short of brilliant writing in my mind Embers. I was blessed in the reading and I thank you dear one.  KateGenuine poetry can communicate before it is understood. |
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Embers_Before_God Member
since 2001-03-06
Posts 101USA |
Thanks to you all...and print away...it isn't worth anything...Embers Dance with me under the moon. Touch my pale skin. Devour me. Love me. |
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