Todays#bandofsketchers prompt, dreaming.

What on earth do you draw? I tried to think, but dreams are so ephemeral and hard to remember. They are fantastical and sometimes full of bizarre images. But I decided to draw a simple dream of a cat scooping up a fish… Hopefully it falls plop! Back into the pond!

Cloud bird?

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It was high up in the sky, a cloud shaped like a bird? No shaped like a white dove. A dove of peace.

All around the world people looked up and saw it. The symbol of peace.

We saw it one evening, then again the next day. It was happening everywhere. People were posting images on the Web. On visage journal and quick telegraph!

The government’s didn’t like it. They asked their troops and scientists to investigate. Look at the occurrences. Telescopes were trained on each cloud. Radar and radio telescopes. No sign of a reason. It was a mystery.

A week after it started it ended. People saw Elephants and crocodiles in the clouds, turtles and Teddy bears. But no mote of dust or speck of mist became a dove of peace. People started to miss them. Fights broke out between neighbours, children cried. The world had lost magic. Sadness flew round the world. Maybe one day there woukd be an answer.

Crossed paws

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The cat has taken up residence on the microwave. He likes it in the kitchen because I think it’s cooler for him in the evening. The other cat sleeps upstairs. I just move things out of his way and he settles down. I like it when he crosses his front paws over his nose. He looks so cute.

Snuggled.

Paws crossed,

keeping the light out,

closed eyes,

relaxed,

asleep.

Sweet.

Paws twitch,

mad dream,

running and chasing

in his mind.

You can’t catch me,

he thinks,

as he curls into a tighter ball.

 

On my shoulders

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The weight of the world,

making me creak,

making me break,

making me crumble and quake.

Pushing me down,

pushing me under,

finding a crack,

break me asunder.

Restricted and tight,

no room for movement,

shoulders so stiff,

I want to surrender.

Sleep is my safety,

sleep is my friend,

but like a lost child,

I cannot find peace.

Dreams do not come,

only a blackness,

to tired to think,

curled on my mattress.

One day I’ll wake,

free from this tension,

or I’ll be gone,

broken,

departed.

I wish..

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I wish I could direct my dreams, if I could, I would travel to the seaside, or to a hilltop above a wood. I would look over at the setting sun. Red auburn hair of clouds wrapped round the bright orb. Wind blows streamers of air across the waves, or treetops, glistening light flickers over the boughs and branches. Gulls rise, then fall to roost. Night ascends, stars glint as shimmer. Sleep deepens. I doze.