Tag Archives: poem about dreams

Dreamscape: For The Sunday Whirl Wordle 633

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Dreamscape

Unravel realms of slumber and try to bring on home
A beacon cast by memory. That fresh-turned scent of loam.
The dazzling icy glitter of icicles that drip
with hypnotic regularity as warm air takes its sip.
Memories of a lifetime, bittersweet at best,
yearning over losses and missing childhood’s zest.
We move our eyes in slumber over a different view
on the screen of nostalgia, which we seek to imbue
with not only reality but also with our hope
that we can remember with a wider scope
creating a new story, satisfyingly surreal
where a lifetime of memories can gather and congeal
to form another story in which we hope to  heal.

 

 

For The Sunday Whirl Wordle 633 the prompt words are: dazzling icy home realm slumber yearning bittersweet beacon cast unravel eyes try
Image of tractor and plowed field by Roberto Bernard. Other photos by me.

“Three Words” Wordle 607 for The Sunday Whirl

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Three Words

Words shake loose like feathers from my morning head,
ascending, then descending to my night-tossed bed.
Caught here between dreams and thought, I try to lift a hand
to capture words before they have a chance to land.

I find I’ve cupped a poem, but then I set it free,
hoarding just three words that I have saved for thee.
It’s words that build the roads that storytellers  pave—
like the one I build for you out of  the words I save.

I seek to pull your love to me by my words’ emotion
rather than by trickery or by magic potion.
These simple words are everything that I choose to say.
Pressed into your palm, they beckon, “Come this way.”

Words for Wordle 607 are: ascending morning head dreams between hand road storytellers poem potion feather three

Building Dreams: Wordle 561

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Building Dreams

The spirits of birds hum from the trees
in fours and fives and twos and threes.
Their trickling songs dispel glum thoughts
and raise tired bones up from their cots

to run and skip and dance and play—
those former actions for which they pray.
In myths of old lost spirits howl,
vampires bite and werewolves growl,

but in my stories, wood nymphs prance
and willowy fairies join their dance.
Thus do we choose what we believe
and live the dream life that we weave. 

For Wordle 561 the prompts are: glum pray birds myths growl bones trickling hum spirits willowy run lost three.  Image by Anthony Tran on Unsplash.

Night Visitor: Wordle 535, Jan 9, 2022

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Night Visitor

A shift in light, a shape just glimpsed, a moment fraught with fear.
What spirit floats in front of me and breathes into my ear?
It thrusts into my consciousness, filling all its gaps
with memories that, truth to tell, I’ve recently let lapse.
Its stories fill my night out in whispers soft and low.
It beckons me to follow it, but still I answer “No.”
In fear of where it seeks to lead, I do not heed its sighs.
It might be other than it seems, in another guise.
That truth we find in dreams, alas, carries no guarantee.
Do we see what really is or what we wish to see?

For the Sunday Whirl Wordle, the prompts are: fraught glimpse shape moment lead gap thrust might breath shift sigh low Image by Lux Graves on Unsplash.

Forgottenman  at Serial Monography has acquainted me with another online Wordle of a different type that I have become equally addicted to. You can find an explanation of how to play it HERE . And you can go HERE to sign on play the game. A new one is posted daily. Please note this is an entirely different Wordle not associated with Brenda’s blogging site.

Night Stalking Wordle 534

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Night Stalking

I could not bear the tedium of last night’s fruitless sleep,
so I went out hunting in its forests dark and deep.
I drew light through my crosshairs, then held my breath and viewed
a host of tiny forest sprites, dancing in the nude
in and out of shadows, beckoning and waving,
and so, of course, I followed to quench my idle craving.

They flitted to the treetops and scribbled on the sky,
in clouds of strange graffiti they left as they sailed by.
My heart stretched taut in fear that they’d vanish from my gaze.
I feared that they’d forsake me in the morning’s haze.
I cast vain looks around me, at the shadows, at the sky,
but alas no tiny forest gods continued to sail by.

With no digital reminder of these visitors by night,
I have only words to use to tell you of my sight.
Ethereal and shadowed, they conquered my ennui
by cutting through my dreams and entertaining me.
Thus are our lives enriched as we wander off at night,
collecting all the images we’ll later lose to light.

 

Prompts for this week’s Wordle 534 are: bear host scribbled digital gods cast breath taut crave light crosshairs gaze

About the image: This incredible one-of-a-kind sprite was sculpted of polymer clay by Thomas, an artist I used to do shows with. Its background and mounting were fashioned by my friend Sharon Wheat and me many years ago, after she gave me the sculpture as a very generous gift. Many memories come with this post of both past special times and dream times. Since we put a mirror in the background of our little tableau, it was tricky to get the right image in the background which led to a fun outside photo shoot, trying to get an image with trees and plants in the mirrored background without one of myself and the dogs included, since they both were curious and invaded most of the shots. 

Recycled Dreams

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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.

 

 

Released

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Released

All night long I follow scripts written by some hand
perhaps belonging to a self that consciousness has banned.
Fresh from dreams, I feel released from tasks committed to
as I remember other jobs that I’m obliged to do.
Who knows if dreams are showing us those things we could have done—
those things we have forgotten with the dawning of the sun.
If only I remembered that world that fades away,
perhaps I’d face a very different sort of day.
Instead, I slip into the role my life has led me to,
like forcing naked feet into a more confining shoe.

 I wonder if these dreams were brought to light if they’d show more
of potential lives where I live closer to my core.
Perhaps these stories I concoct, labelling them as lore,
are simply other lives I live on a lower floor.
When I descend into my dreams, maybe I go to ponder
all those other me’s whose gifts I have chosen to squander.
Could it be in death that I’m released to find a goal
in the bargain basement of the building of my soul—
to find another path where I may once more start a quest
towards a self just one step closer to my very best?

 


The prompt today is release. Once again, I’ve edited and reblogged a poem written three and a half years ago. A fine way to find time to edit and since I never remember these poems, perhaps if you’ve followed my blog for this long, you’ve forgotten them, too.

Patterns Hinted At in Dreams

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Patterns Hinted at in Dreams

I……………
walk………
down
……..stairs
………..into my sleep
with parts of self I need to keep.
I take them there to other places
of worn out lives, departed faces.
What would these dear ones think of me
if they were given powers to see
into this future where they’ve not gone?
While I have wandered over yon,
they have remained there behind—
away from future’s relentless grind.
Frozen there, they do not judge
or carry with them any grudge.

I am stitched  in every mind
as I was when they were left behind.
So in dreams I show them me
as though they might furnish a key
to how I’m doing now that I’ve changed.
Have I grown better as I’ve ranged
away from who I was back then?
On awakening, I take my pen
and see if I can recall reams
of words extending from my dreams.

All those adventures, all the stories
of hidden rooms and moving lorries,
ghost friends who orchestrate, it seems,
advice for me from within dreams—
kinder friends who try to wrest
the parts from me that they’ve found best.
They are my teachers, born in mist
to guide me while I can’t resist.

One alters out unneeded parts.
Another makes room for the starts
of what I could be, given time.
With innuendo, symbols, mime,
they hint at where to sew each hem
so though I barely recall them
when I awaken, still there’s a sense
that my life has grown more dense.
Just scraps of them go with me so
I have an inkling where to go
next in life. Each word I write
is a little beam of light
that reminds me, as I sew the seams,
of  patterns hinted at in dreams.

The prompt was “descend.”

(jdb photo) I’ve used this photo that I took a few years ago twice before in my blog, but it is one of my favorites and was just right for this blog, so I hope you enjoy seeing it again as much as I always do.

DVerse Poets: Spill

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IMG_8653

This one word prompt was “Spill” and called for just 44 words to be used. If you are a word-counter, oh ye of little faith, you will find there are just 43 words in the body of the poem because, after reducing the first draft from 96 words, I didn’t realize until after I’d posted that the 44 wasn’t supposed to include the title.  Although I could easily and happily have reinstalled the last word painfully cut, I cannot because the poem is actually a photograph that took me forever to print out (because the printer isn’t cooperating) and photograph (because I needed to find a spot without a late afternoon glare) and adjust the poem to make all the words the same darkness because I never did find a spot without a glare.) So please just consider the title the first word of the poem.  It really is, anyway! (WordPress does not believe in letting us “shape” poems, thus the need to print up and photograph it.)

 

Want to play along?  If so, go here to find the prompt and other poems written to it:
https://dversepoets.com/2016/06/13/quadrille-11/