Nightmares, Dreams and Hallucinations

By Samuel German

Have you ever wondered what other people dream? Open the pages and explore what another mind sees when they ‘try’ to sleep. Hallucinations from sleep paralysis. Dreams from thoughts. Nightmares from thoughts creeping in from the nonconscious memory. 104 poems to sedate your curiosity!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Samuel German
• Release date: Mar 13, 2024
• ISBN: 9781732308022

Samuel German

I am a fantasy writer from the USA. I work abroad as an English teacher. I write fantasy books, world of warcraft fan fiction stories, poetry and real life traveling books. I have currently only published a poetry book, a World of Warcraft fan fiction audio book and a fantasy book. My website skgbooks.net can be found in my links as well as my twitter page. You can also email me at [e-mail].

Book preview

Empirical World

This earth’s rotation is so symmetrical,

Yet in some eyes it appears to be imperial.

What if it were more empirical?

Theories scribbled and riddled,

Casting and flaying about.

Logic straining and training,

Even the weakest craniums doubt.

Where have you been?

What have you seen?

Was it very factual,

Verifiably sustainable and quite actual?

Practically pragmatic predictions prepared,

Dainty data desponds disastrous decisions,

Considerably chaotic contrived collusion,

Cooperative characters confirming crafty conclusions.

The heuristic approach will always reign supreme,

Whether we survive in an imperial tomb,

Remain alive in an empirical sphere.

Draw near and hear my final approach,

It will be tossed with love and not reproach,

There is never always nor always never,

There are no absolutes,

And if you follow them,

They will leave you empirically destitute.

Life is a Two-way Street

Life treats you,

The way you treat it.

Like a flame that burns,

It dances when fueled,

It sizzles and shrieks when doused.

A man toils year after year in a monotone grey field,

A field with many doors and hallways, but no windows.

The man obeys every request,

His lips never allow his tongue to escape,

He accepts his bosses heat,

His face bakes.

His colleague is not able to relate,

Insults ricochet,

When a payment is the slightest belayed.

He would bounce from job to job,

With his salary ascending,

His recreational time is scaling even higher.

The docile man is still sitting silently in a monotone cubicle,

His wages rising as fast as his own job’s elation.

Two families are listening inquisitively,

Their mouths gaping ready to ask another question,

They are in the process of buying a family dog,

They are warned of the different negatives and positives,

Of all the different breeds,

As they squirm impatiently in their seats.

One family buys a pit bull,

The other, a Labrador.

They feed it,

They pet it,

They take it for strolls,

As it grows,

It tugs and they barely keep control.

Small children grow,

As the dogs learn new tricks,

But one day one of them has a fit,

What one family finds they cannot fix.

A child lies lifeless with glazed eyes,

They stare at the ceiling,

Past the ceiling and far beyond.

There a pit bull munches on his new toy,

Unfortunately, it is the family’s youngest boy.

The screeching and emotional trance,

Cause the neighbors to open their curtains,

As they slide it to the side,

The parents and their child pop their heads up,

Their noses squeeze against the glass,

A dark nose pops up to join its family.

Perhaps they should head across and investigate,

Perhaps they should mind their manners and stay at their own estate,

Perhaps in the coming days they will learn of the other dog’s toys,

Perhaps they will revel in the fortune of their own choice.

Are You Unique?

Do you feel that you are unique?

What is it that you have done?

You have breathed,

You have eaten,

You have shat.

You have been given birth to,

And you have given birth.

You have loved and raised,

Wrinkled and shrieking infants.

What is your ambition?

What will you leave behind?

More crawling and crying brats,

That will beget more brats?

You have loved as many have loved,

You have worked at dead-end jobs,

Easily replaced.

You have come out as wet as those that have come out of you,

And what is it that you can actually do?

Eagerly scrounging at the next job,

Dancing and throwing an insignificant amount of money into the air,

Two figures, ten figures, minimum wage.

It is still a minuscule portion of the king’s coin,

That has played or paid the pawn.

Centuries dance and fade,

Yet it is pretty much the same.

The kings and the nobles,

The presidents and celebrities.

Your progression is merely new clothes,

And a few tiny shiny instruments.

You scowl and gloat,

Down at those in decay,

As primitive and uncivilized.

If you were any bit wise,

You would realize,

They have lived exactly as you,

Because you are not that unique.

Born This Way

The tiny mouse’s nostrils sniff the air,

Its eyes widen when it realizes what is there.

The snake tightly coiled and ready for a strike,

It flings forward with a bite and twist and not much of a fight.

The lion stalks a gazelle, a lamb, a wildebeest,

Just as eagerly.

It was as if they were born to die.

No words, no causes, nor any pressure could change it.

Their deaths, their locations, a fate-born cycle.

It was a meaty burden to bear,

To try to get both the lion and the lamb, to care.

What a gentle release it was to be free of this burden,

To realize that as soon as you baa’d or roared,

Many of your kind would soon be by your side.

Ready to crush the lamb,

Ready to kick and fight the lion.

Each dent of the kick,

Sending a message.

Each claw and pounce,

Draining them of every ounce.

There is no changing a lion from a lion,

Nor a sheep from a sheep,

A lamb from a lamb,

Or a mouse from a mouse.

You were not as strange as you once thought,

You were not as vile as was posted,

You were never quite as controversial,

As a double negative or a wrongly used plural.

Not as strongly bigoted, or triggered,

You were just surrounded by the wrong ears,

Perhaps listening to the wrong voice.

Natural Isolation

In a dungeon of isolation,

Doing one’s best attempt at sanitation,

A snippy thought slides right in,

Right into a little mind.

Fields of soft green grass,

The blades bask in the sunshine,

With a human’s sprawling limbs.

The sun waits in grave anticipation,

Soon the rotation will ruin the relaxation.

Birds hum their afternoon songs,

Stags crash through the distant trees;

Their hooves barely missing the towering logs.

The now curious human,

Lightly trots under the shade,

Of the leaves and trees,

That lead to a gloomy dusk,

Roots and spines,

Looking like dying husks.

The sun is in the deep background,

Its rays blocked by thicket-like tree canopies,

Shade that might as well be a lunar eclipse.

The moon waits on the side,

Glaring at the treetop’s highest tips.

The moon’s shine strengthens in an opening,

An evasive circle,

A clear pond that is purple.

The edge of the water welcomes the Homo sapien,

They dip their toes in and experience a feeling that is a bit alien.

The water’s depths are endless,

The