Tag Archives: Dreams

Recycled Dreams

 

Recycled Dreams

Nature recycles as everyone sleeps,
and those dreams that you’ve dreamed are the daydreams it reaps.
Then twice thought and forgotten, our daydreams soar free.
How many dreams may lie snarled in this  tree?
We cast them afloat but  know not how they fare
once we’ve released them out into the air.

Dreams are not limited by dreamers’ choices.
Once announced and declared in stentorian voices,
birds may collect them and shape them in nests
among fibers from sweaters and threadbare old vests
once the pride of new grandpas, they now cradle eggs,
as though new dreams are made of an old daydream’s dregs.

Prompts today are stentorian, daydream, pride, afloat and I’m also incorporating Becca Givens’ Sunday Tree prompt.

 

 

Hoarder

Hoarder

There are moments caught between heart-beats that fall into crevasses where they nourish our dreams. Streaming rivulets that escape our conscious daylight world swell these moments until they become full-grown nightly adventures––what we have hoped blended with what else might be possible, tempered by fears and regrets. What part of us orchestrates these dreams has never been discovered––some grand arranger of self that does not allow itself to be controlled by any conscious part of us, perhaps. It is a cinema we construct for ourselves—a relief from or a censor of or a collector of those parts of ourselves we would otherwise not deal with. Those parts of ourselves we struggle to forget and throw away? There is no detritus in our lives. Some great hoarder within us reaches out a hand to capture and arrange them, then calls them dreams.

 

The dVerse Poets Pub prompt today was to write a 144-word flash fiction piece making use of the first sentence in my essay above.

Dreams

Dreams

My dreams always end before some big climax—the revelation of what is behind the wall or who is behind the spread cape, ready to turn around and solve the mystery. Dreams are a wonderland we dive into unaware—a little surprise some part of us produces every night. A vast world composed of images real and false. Bits from our past or present scrambled up with fantastic elements perhaps remembered from our youth. Dreams where we can fly. Sinister alleys and unknown streets we wander through, at first with a false assurance that they will lead to somewhere. It is with regrets or a heartfelt “hurray!” that we awaken from these dreams—either saved  or disappointed by the awakening—our lives somehow sorted out by the weird realignment of facts and fantasy that they accomplish, like shuffled cards, rearranging our past by mixing it in with the future or with fantasy. Dreams are a surreal world we enter every night, no less real than the world we live in every day. Just different, made up of different parts of ourselves. A second chance, perhaps. Or a sorting out of problems, worries, regrets.

Prompts today are divewonderland, false, hurray, vast.

A Little Night Music

maeghan-smulders-pIY5yM0bmMQ-unsplashPhoto by Maeghan Smulders on Unsplash. Used with permission

A Little Night Music

It may seem eccentric to sing in your sleep,
but when I’m in slumber so sound and so deep,
sometimes my voice just wants to get out
in some type of utterance—whisper or shout.
And then if I must, would it be such a pity
to let out my voice in a full-throated ditty?
Folks walk in their sleep, so why can’t they sing?
Why would you consider it such a strange thing?
Dreams can’t be censored, directed or herded.
There are times when  a melody must be asserted.
So if you should hear my somnambulant song,
please stifle complaints and just hum along!!

Prompt words today are sleep, rare, eccentric and sing.

Midnight Swim

 

IMG_5518

Midnight Swim

I love this dark and quiet night
far from the loud and glaring light.
Solitary in the dark,
no mewling cat or warning bark.
The whole world in conspiracy
hides and holds and cushions me.
I move through water, side to side.
Through liquid currents, I freely slide.

Palms backlit by an opal moon
that’s dulled by clouds too soon, too soon.
The silence sliced by mosquito’s whine
mars a night no more divine.
Invader of my private night,
I fear its subtle stinger’s bite.
It moves in circles through the air
from shoulder to my neck and hair.

I swat at where it was until
it, alas, has had its fill.
Then it is off, leaving me
the pleasure of my company
devoid of interloper’s claim.
I wipe out memory of my name,
my age, my talents and my ills.
Suddenly, the pool fills

with the spreading whole of me
becoming part of all I see
and touch and smell and feel and dream.
I am, at last, all that I seem.
I float toward light, then climb the stairs,
free of worry and of cares.
If I can only fall to dreams
before old niggling prods and screams

invade my memory to call
me up against the judgment wall,
my whole intent will be fulfilled.
I’ll have achieved just what I willed.
Such are the charms of veiled nights
that cover over daylight’s frights
and lull us to our sleep and dreams
convincing us life’s what it seems.

Information Overload

IMG_1309Information Overload

I garner information in the library from books.
Determine facts from faces––from grimaces and looks,
antagonistic letters and notes pinned up on fridges,
in the garden, piles of dirt and lawn pushed up in ridges.

But all the little signals the world puts out today 
are more complicated than they were in Grandma’s day.
Emails, texts and messages sent us through the air
sometimes are just more than one person’s meant to bear.

In light of all this input, I’m afraid I’m going to snap,
so I think I’ll grant me clemency and go down for a nap.
Skype, WhatsApp and Facebook can’t intrude upon my sleeping.
I’m safe away from “to do” tasks and all the world’s sad weeping.

Sleep gives retreat from telephones and all that information
that’s leading me to bouts of excessive consternation.
It’s the one place left to hide, or so, at first, it seems
until I get there and I have to put up with my dreams!

The prompt words for today are library, clemency, antagonistic, garnered and continued.