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Nice Pen.
And Fire, all you say is so true.
I am teaching a hula for a Christmas program to the song "White Christmas" sung by an Hawaiian group and the background music is the old Everly Brothers song, "All I Have To Do Is Dream"...dream dream dream. Really cool.
I dreamed once
a dream of snow and cocoa
of friends and failure
of fear and confidence
of living....and of dying
I dreamed once
of knowing and being unaware
of writing with no purpose
of love and passion
of hate and fire
of warmth and sunshine
yes, I dreamed once
when I was a child
when the world was nothing
and I stayed in my cocoon,
of comfort and innocence
And I dreamed.
The Philosophy of Dreams
Dreams have their place in the outlook on life,
Without dreamers we might still live in a cave.
Always there are those whose vision is not confined by this world,
To whom “That is not possible.” is not fact, but challenge.
And from the minds of the worshipers of Morpheus
Come wondrous things,
Some that help, some that heal, and some that destroy.
For The Lord of Dreams is neutral in dispensing his gifts—
What the dreamer creates from his dreams is his choice…
There lies another danger in somnolent repose,
In the throes of REM cycle sleep.
It can become so addicting like the most powerful of opiates,
That one always desires to be there and never awaken.
Then one crosses the line of demarcation between the two worlds—
Never really fully asleep and yet never fully awake.
Life becomes a realm of self-created delusions from which one cannot escape—
For to escape any prison, one must desire freedom above all things,
And the self-deluded prefer the delusion to any slice of cold reality.
Dream and find pleasure, even meaning in your dreaming.
But every thing we do and seem is not a dream within a dream—
Awake, for the night has passed, and a new day dawns:
Somewhere in this jigsaw puzzle that we call life is a spot on you can fill.
Make that your dream to fill it to the best of your ability—
Dream, but dream with purpose and meaning…
Pendragon
© 11/18/07
Concerning my dream:
I've put it in my pocket,
Along with my pen.
It had so many thoughts upon it,
It has so many hopes.
Nourished by my naiveity,
Fostered by my joys.
Held up by the coloumns,
of dreams before it,
by the passions of others,
inspiring it to unfold.
It drags the ink upon it,
with a seductive leisure.
this paper will conceal,
my own secret pleasure.
I liked the old bartender
but now there's your old art history teacher.
The bar did very well
in the middle of nuclear war
despite the radiation and all
it was a mighty show
before you came with your ideas of peace
(It wasn't like anyone got hurt in here anyway)
Once there was a good old shortcut
from toilet to the roots of Yggdrasil
but now
there is no toilet at all
since that didn't fit your ideas.
I could make dozens of more examples
of things that aren't the same
(like melting giraffes or clocks that do burn)
but my point is still the same:
Perhaps it's just a lucid dream for you,
but in here I HAPPEN TO LIVE
and the word is.......
Waiting
.
.
Waiting On a Ride
I must have missed the last train out of here,
The station is closed-up and it’s dark.
Night train must not stop at all here anymore.
Guess I can spend the night on the bench near the window.
Train should be coming in about six or maybe seven.
The fog shrouds the tracks and the station house like spider-silk,
Somebody must have turned the moon off for the night.
Heard the whip-poor-will’s singing, a lonesome, loathsome sound,
And a wolf howl away in the fog bank not very distant.
When that cougar let out it’s scream, I thought I would die,
A Banshee-wail hidden away in the night—
I must have fainted away…
Sunshine coming down over the ridge of the mountains,
And first thing I notice is the rust on the rails.
The ticket-window is not only closed,
Boarded over, and has been for what has to be years.
That bench that I slept on, or tried to anyway, last night—
Is a cluttered old pile of junk made into a sort of den.
I lean down and take me a long look but I know what I’m gonna find.
That cougar had three cubs, presently feasting on the remains of me…
Pendragon
© 12/3/07
http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1...est/Cougar.jpg
Oh my gosh! Pen! That is wonderful! What a shocker. You set the scene perfectly but I wasn't expecting that ending at all. I like it!
Thank you! Thank you! I'm working on that twist ending poem. I intended all along to have a ghost ending, that one just popped up last minute...Quote:
Originally Posted by ampoule
Good word, Waiting.... for that type of poem!
Pen
I saw that the word was waiting, and I’ve been waiting for some kind of poetic revelation. Nothing yet. I wondered if everyone else was waiting for the same thing?
Birdsong
The scent of spice
Cheek pinking breezes
And soft wool socks
Have all escaped me this winter.
There seems to be an egg timer
Ticking away the moments
While I stand expectantly in the kitchen
Or pace with anticipation
Just waiting for the buzzer
What I will do when it sounds is a mystery
I may raise my arms and sing
Or gallop through the house on my imagined horse
Or I may break free from what hinders my senses
From birdsong or the smell of spice.
This is lovely Motherhubbard, may we all ride off on a wave of spice this year :)Quote:
Originally Posted by motherhubbard
Waiting is it?
Oh what a wait
Looking for my Eve
patiently I bided my time
but that was twelve years ago
when I was twenty years and six
I thought I saw her again and again
but it was mere reflection of her
the wake of the scent she gave off
was a palpable vision
but not so long ago
we met and danced and smiled
and she left me again
that was 1,968 days after
I thought I first saw her.
Do you know how many places I've been?
How many faces I've forgotten?
How many hearts I've broken?
and how many times my heart was crushed?
I've spent a lot of energy hurting the hurt away
the breaks are bad, but the broken mends
I've got wind of you now Eve,
I'm coming to get you
I am so tired of waiting.
This is wonderful. I absolutely LOVE the lines...what I will do when it sounds is a mystery...I may raise my arms and sing...or gallop through the house on my imagined horse...or I may break free...Quote:
Originally Posted by motherhubbard
Oh my gosh, B! Just change the name (to protect the innocent) and you have written about something I know so well. I know not if it is really about you or if the Eve is a person or the eve of things we are always waiting on or what, but it speaks to me and I love it.Quote:
Originally Posted by B-Mental
B, you made my heart pound and I felt so excited. I think we would all love to be someone’s Eve and anticipate these last three lines