Dream Maps

The geography of your dreams
places you’ve been before
and all that gleams,
the roads, the stepping stones, between
what seems, all linked together
by the bird of your heart’s desire
flying overhead and stitching
all the disparate pieces
of your land of dreams
together, as the crow flies,
in shuteye skies. — Annette Marie Smith

My Dreams Are Sheer Curtains

Image: Morning Over Oporto by Anka Zhuravleva

for me to peer through
out from the boudoir of my mind
(where trees always grow)
and into ever changing vistas.
I ride those dreams
like silken magic carpets,
lay my hands on them
and braid them to me
like I am an aerial dancer
and they are my scarves. — Annette Marie Smith


When I am lost in the forest of bad dreams,
the branches like heavy drapes pulled against the sky,
my feet tangled by hidden vines,
I feel your sunlight
rising up from the dark earth
and kissing each step that I take.
It is not possible to feel fearful
when you have managed a communique
between worlds.
You have sunk into darkness and come through in gleams,
conscious-self, reaching
like strong armed flowers
to support me
through the quick-mud of unconscious muck. — Lucid Dreaming, Annette Marie Smith

the silk of this night

like sheets tangled around my feet
you pull those sheets up and over us
with your teeth.
the night has become a private tent
for us to wander with hands and tongue beneath
the arch of sky dark with desire
what land!
what lakes!
what aurora borealis we!
what way we lose ourselves upon
beneath the wind tossed trees!
— dream poem, Annette Marie Smith

Bawaajige Nagwaagan

Image via Tumblr(dot)com

This Friday is a dream snare
with feathers woven in her hair
willow hoops as bracelets and anklets
and beads tattooed along the sinews of her thighs
and she has promised
to let only the good things through for you
on this dreamy day of the week.
She is with you until the sun rises on Saturday
and then she will fade into the shadows on your pillow,
take the bad dreams with her
but leave the good ones for you.
— Dreamcatcher by Annette Marie Smith

Sleeping With the Windows Open

Image via Tumblr(dot)com

Sleeping with the windows open
the shadows on the wall
and the shifting slanting light
coalesce into dreams
spun with bird song and train whistle alike.
I pull blanket-nets over my head
to catch those dreams leaping like salmon
back into the river Hypnos
and the cold air is like a mother’s voice
telling me to get up
and make something of my day.
The white cat of sleep winks once
and disappears.
— Annette Marie Smith