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Tag Archives: Dreams
Nightmare Hotel [Free Verse]
The image was hung on the wall
in an otherwise clean and well-
managed business hotel.
I can't really say that I'd ever had
that particular nightmare before
I checked into the room,
But I know I've had it many times
since.
Set atop a post on a brutal white
sand beach in a stifling burlap
onesie -- a onesie that one
would have to have been sewn into,
for it had no zippers, buckles,
buttons, or Velcro.
What was the nightmare?
To be seen, while not seeing?
Suffocating slowly -- held under
the high tide with waterlogged
cloth clinging to my face?
Arms pinioned as the seabirds
went to work on tearing through
cloth and skin in as few
vicious pecks as possible --
pristine white growing
blood crimson stains,
running down the pole,
dripping onto the sand.
All of the above?
I never have a good memory of it.
That's why I'm not sure that I
didn't have the nightmare
even before I ever saw that
poster on the wall of an
ordinary hotel -- far, far
from home.
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PROMPT: Dream Job
I’m afraid I’d be damn near unemployable in the world of dreams. If I’m not running from something or falling down, my teeth are falling out. (I certainly couldn’t get anyone to provide decent dental coverage in dream world, and I’d be suspected of Meth addiction.) Unlike the real world, in which I’m hyper-punctual, in dreams I’m always late and I often go out of doors to find myself on the other side of the world. Besides, in dreams I’m usually not lucid more than once a month, at best.
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“Disillusionment of Ten O’Clock” by Wallace Stevens [w/ Audio]
The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
Catches tigers
In red weather.
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“Rain on Lotus” by Yang Wanli [w/ Audio]
Asleep on a leaf beneath lotus blooms,
Their fragrance floats across the misty lake.
Sudden rain - taps upon the canopy;
Its sound snaps me from sleep to wide awake!
The lotus is beaded with rain droplets --
Like pearls, drops roll together and apart;
The clear blobs coalesce like mercury,
Dripping to the river... back to their start.
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“He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven” by William Butler Yeats [w/ Audio]
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with the golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
NOTE: This poem is also sometimes entitled, “Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven.”
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Wee Hours War [Lyric Poem]
The dogs were in a wee hours war:
Growling and snapping and howling,
Breaching night's plutonian shore,
And sweet dreams those barks were fouling.
What monstrous dreamland incursions
That yapping must have brought about.
Bucolic scenes turned perversions
Of bared teeth and menacing snout.
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“Why Fades a Dream?” by Paul Laurence Dunbar [w/ Audio]
Why fades a dream?
An iridescent ray
Flecked in between the tryst
Of night and day.
Why fades a dream? --
Of consciousness the shade
Wrought out by lack of light and made
Upon life's stream.
Why fades a dream?
That thought may thrive,
So fades the fleshless dream;
Lest men should learn to trust
The things that seem.
So fades a dream,
That living thought may grow
And like a waxing star-beam glow
Upon life's stream --
So fades a dream.
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Skittish Dreams [Free Verse]
I don't remember my dreams --
not in the middle of the night
and not in the morning.
But, sometimes, I catch a glimpse
at a random instant:
composing a poem,
reflecting on a passage
from a book,
eating a cracker...
But my dreams are like
frightened animals,
turning my attention
directly upon them,
makes them skitter off...,
vanishing into the thicket.
My dreams vanish like they
were never really there,
and I am left wondering
just what I saw.
The harder I try to remember,
the more severely I scrub
my mental hard drive,
purging all shapes and motions,
until my recollection is nothing
but a vague residue of feeling.
I don't KNOW that it was a dream.
I couldn't swear to it.
All I know is that it's an image
that I can't tie to my waking life,
can't tie to any person, place,
or thing I know to be real.
(And, often enough, it's an image
that couldn't exist in the real world.)
I couldn't remember it as a dream,
but - somehow - I intensely FEEL
that it was a dream,
but the Dream is deep down in its hole,
shaking like a critter that
was almost snatched up by
a monster too awful to
contemplate....
and, somehow, I am that monster.
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Bridge Out [Free Verse]
When I was a child,
for a time,
the bridge was out.
They were replacing the rusty
iron trestle bridge
with a thick-slab concrete
monstrosity.
I could go down to the river,
and I could see the
scarred and marred
construction site,
& the big yellow machines
that sat dormant on the weekends.
But one couldn't cross the river --
not unless one was willing to get wet,
and was a better swimmer than I
(and it was autumn & the water cold.)
It was a strong current that swept
along between two steep banks.
It was not a great distance,
nor were they violent waters.
But that brown water moved with
such smooth swiftness.
I dream about the time the bridge was out,
now & again,
and wonder what it was
about those weeks
that still has meaning to my mind.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 