Tag Archive | dreams

sailing the mares of night

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sailing the mares magnetic s

The Oracle gave me another lai, the featured poetic form at dVerse for May.  She began with darkness and ended with light.  They are always switching places it seems.

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what blackness this storm?
it covers the moon
and sky

beneath shadowed dream
wind remakes the when
of why

time sings of spring sun
the light whispers come–
don’t cry

Shadows and Dreams

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I dreamt of my grandmother
in a large bed
in a crowded room
filled with aunts and uncles and cousins.

But where was my mother?

I sat in a rocking chair
and held her mother’s hand.
We did not need to speak–
her fingers had already threaded the needle
and passed it along.

My father came to me
like a bird, wings of arms outstretched.
“I am looking out for you,” he said.
I knew then he had made it safely
to the other side.

The dreams of a child
are like the cascading of oceans–
endless waves merging as they ebb and flow,
fantastic worlds ignoring the divisions
of day and night.
I would be a princess, a singer, a cosmic traveler,
an artist.  I would be a butterfly, a tree,
a bird.

What were my mother’s dreams?

I could not imagine her as a child.

She said she had wanted to be
an engineer.  She wanted
to study in Mexico.  She wanted
to travel the world.  Her father said
that was not what women did.
They married and had families–
and so she married my father,
and I was born between brothers.

When I dreamed of my children’s father,
he was working.
He was always working.
But my heart was glad:
“You are yourself again,” I said.
I knew he had made it safely
to the other side,
tools in hand.

For the last few years of her life,
my mother barely spoke.
She lost her tether to the world
when my father died.
Neither the hands of her children or her sister
could pull her back.

She is suspended in both time and place.

And so each night I wait.
When will she return to me, herself again,
to embrace my longing?

Where is my mother?

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I don’t usually write such long or personal poems, but Larry Levis’ beautiful and meditative words, the reference for today’s NaPoWriMo prompt about the layers of time in thought and in life, made me think (as I often do) of my mother.  I’ve also incorporated the dVerse prompt of cascade.

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Incompletion

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Tomorrow it will be gone–
this false night,
this held breath–
we are undreamed.

Light falls scattered
without gravity,
a sliver of reflected time–
tomorrow it will be gone,

out there towards never.
It resembles matter,
although it has no form–
this false night,

pure, unbroken–
(that’s what I imagine–
healed and levitating into always)
This held breath—

it neither comes nor goes.
Listening, it does not reply–
(we’ve lost our knowledge of sleep)–
we are undreamed.

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  Another mysterious landscape.

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Another cascade poem.

 

The Moon is Dreaming

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the language of sleep magnetic

I haven’t visited the magnetic Oracle for awhile.  She didn’t talk about the moon specifically, but I think it’s inferred.

the language of sleep
whispers beneath a garden
of a thousand dreams

like flowers born dancing with
children and starry-eyed fools

 

Dream Pantoum

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Don’t lose the number she said.
Her face contained a message I could not read.
The number blurred and then erased itself in my hand.
Who has stolen the letters of my name?

Her face contained a message I could not read.
The words rearranged themselves into something geometric and alien.
Who has stolen the letters of my name?
She pretended that she had never seen me before.

The words rearranged themselves into something geometric and alien.
Don’t call me that I said.
She pretended that she had never seen me before.
No space would open to hold my configuration.

Don’t call me that I said.
The words stubbornly resisted my efforts to speak over them.
No space would open to hold my configuration.
A stranger took my hand and led me out of control.

The words stubbornly resisted my efforts to speak over them.
I tried to convey the causes of my distress.
A stranger took my hand and led me out of control.
We faded away, farther and longer away.

I tried to convey the causes of my distress.
The number blurred and then erased itself in my hand.
We faded away, farther and longer away.
Don’t lose the number she said.

jm 5b eye s

I love the puzzle of composing a pantoum.  Loosely following the Day 19 NaPoWriMo prompt to compose a poem from a story, I used the dream I had last night just before waking.  I had this stitched magazine face in mind, too, as an accompaniment.  Below is a synopsis of the source for the poem

My Dream

They gave me a name tag and a number. “Don’t lose the number,” they said, but immediately my number blurred and then erased itself.  The name was not my name, but it stubbornly resisted my efforts to mark over it.

I tried to tell the woman who seemed to be in charge that I needed to be called something different, not the letters that formed a sound that belonged to someone else. She pretended not to hear.

Someone took my seat. Someone I was sure I knew acted as if they had never seen me before.

We were supposed to write stories. I could find no notebook, no pencil or pen that belonged to me.

I sat in the back, alone.

A stranger, a tall young man, his face all glasses, took my hand and led me away. I tried to convey my distress; tell him my story.  He smiled and did not answer.

We faded away, farther and longer away.

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 Also linking to dVerse open link night.

Moondrunk

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moondrunk magnetic

Bitter seas rip time
suspended in storms screaming
cravings of raw dreams

Let urges lie still—sleeping
on ships of moondrunk wishes

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I haven’t consulted with the Oracle in awhile.  No one I know is sleeping well these days–I like her advice.  She graciously included the Secret Keeper’s words from this week as well.

I’m also connecting with dVerse Open Link Night.

 

Wolf Dream

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My dream is singing
my dream is death rising

My dream calls spirits
my dream frees ghosts that are me

My dream is all eyes
my dream is everywhere here

Trust the keeper
trust the howling caught inside
trust the chaos and the night

blue moon comp

I know some cultures have 13 names for the moon year, but I’m going with this being the Blue Wolf Moon.  Hopefully, a harbinger of better times for all–

Wolf Dream

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My dream is singing
my dream is magic rising

My dream calls spirits
my dream frees ghosts that are me

My dream is all eyes
my dream is everywhere here

Trust the Keeper
trust the howling caught inside
trust the chaos
of illusive night

wolf dream print close up s

A bit of magic for dVerse. I’ve been worrying this poem for quite awhile…it originated in morning dream-feelings of images I couldn’t quite catch rather than an actual dream.  And this recent monoprint seemed just right for the text.

Talking Dream

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Really? Talking birds?
Me too!  Taking flight in seas
of evanescence…

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This is loosely a response to the Secret Keeper’s Haiku Review prompt for “How to Recount Your Dreams”.

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But mostly it’s an excuse to use the birdlings that appeared on my drawing table a few days ago.

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I have a feeling that they will be back…

I’ve also posted this on dVerse, open link night.

Several people have told me that my recent comments have ended up in their spam folder.  I find comments to us from other people in there as well.  Just one of the WordPress quirks–it pays to check it out every few days just in case.

Cipher

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Who can hold a cloud?
The sky dances with stray dreams—
a gift of nothing

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  Continuing my haikus that start with a question.

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Sometimes the best gifts are those we can’t quite grasp.