I would be remiss if I didn’t take this moment to thank Connie Peters for hosting last week, and all the guest hosts to date. You have all contributed greatly to the success of Creative Bloomings. It continues this week with the addition of another talented and expressive artist in words and other disciplines. It’s a joy to share the spotlight this week with Patricia Hawkenson,
Patricia A. Hawkenson was an award-winning educator before her retirement, but now she is a full-time artist offering a range of skills from stained glass kaleidoscopes, sewing tapestry handbags, creating jewelry, and writing poetry. Check out a few of her crafts on Creative Bloomings ‘CRAFT’ tab:
You can follow her Expressive Domain business on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ExpressiveDomain
She shares her poetry with a variety of online writing communities such as: Creative Bloomings, Writing Digest’s Poetic Asides, and Hello Poetry. Selected poems were published on e-zines, such as InTheFray and Storm Sage Central. She is published in numerous print anthologies including: Poetic Bloomings the First Year, Prompted, Beyond the Dark Room, Whispered Beginnings, Fandemonium I & II, Four of a Kind, and Royal Flush. Her first full collection, “Magnetic Repulsion, 100 Poems from Desire to Disgust,” is available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble: http://www.outskirtspress.com/magneticrepulsion
If it is not jinxing fate to mention it here, Patricia’s poem ‘Plum Crazy’ is slated to be published in the 2015 Poet’s Market! It was originally written for a prompt on Poetic Asides.
Patricia is currently seeking a writing agent and a publisher for her finished historical fiction novel ‘Born with a Tarnished Spoon.’ The novel exposes the social expectations of unwed mothers and the illegal baby trade that exploited their situations in the 1930’s.
PROMPT #156 – “YOU MAY SAY I’M A DREAMER” – The poem we’re asking for this week, is based on a dream you’ve had. It could be the misty visions we have during our R.E.M. cycle, or it could be an aspiration we hold dear. Write the poem entitled, “I Once Dreamed About____”
WALT’S MYSTIC NIGHTLY VISION:
I ONCE DREAMED ABOUT ANDREA MEETING HER GRANDMOTHER
My daughters are my pride and joy. I got just what I wanted; I never “wished” for boys. As different as night and day, they both have a way of working Daddy around their finger. The feeling lingers. Melissa holds a seven-year advantage, in time spent and shared. There were many a glad moment when she “met” her grandmother, my mother, spending her last nine months together. But as short lived, they were moments I cherish in my heart. The part that staggers me and saddens this old Dad’s demeanor was that my youngest daughter Andrea had never known her grandmother. I have no doubt that Andi would have had Mom’s special favor. She has Mom’s smile.
I recently dreamed about Andrea meeting her grandmother. Any other dream would have faded quickly in the early morning light. But this dream had the feeling so real that I could feel Mom’s gentle hand leading me through the mystic midnight vision playing in my sleep filled mind. For twenty-eight years she’s been gone, but ever-hopeful, this “one more day” played like it was video taped for posterity. The sincerity of Mom’s smile while she embraced our baby – fully grown and who has only “known” grandma by photos and oft-told memories which she had come to cherish as much as we have in making them. But, there they were a generation removed and settled into the groove that should have had the chance to flourish. It would have nourished both hearts in the lifetimes they would have known. Cuddled close conversing about futures planned and wisdom handed down; secrets shared between two of my favorite “girls”. But all nights do end and dreams do sometimes find conclusion. One final photo, a keepsake to take to my waking moments and beyond. In my dream, my daughter found her missing peace!
Daughters find their way
even in dreams they can feel
moments in their heart.
© Walter J Wojtanik – 2014
WE ONCE DREAMED ABOUT GROWING OLD TOGETHER
There was no section
of our colonoscopies
that was scrapbook worthy,
and we had to settle
for pressing dead leaves
as they withered and dropped
instead of your balding hair,
our falling reading glasses,
or my sagging skin,
so our desires for
idyllic porch lemonade
and white-wicker rocking chairs
became improbable fantasies
that have slowly grown
into five o’clock shadows
with eye-opening dark drinks
served from our shaking hands
into old-fashioned glasses.
© PATRICIA A HAWKENSON – 2014
184 thoughts on “PROMPT #156 – “YOU MAY SAY I’M A DREAMER”: GUEST HOST – PATRICIA HAWKENSON”
Walt, you break my heart with your unfulfilled dream. Patricia, your dream is close to my real life.
Thanks, Viv! Yes, it will be everyone’s reality – if we want to be the last man standing! HA!
That I’m dreaming
is notable, more than
what I’m dreaming.
The med that suppresses
my nebulous ailment–restless leg–
suppresses, too, my dreams.
These new yellow capsules
warn: may cause vivid dreams. Yes.
And mellow, and funny. More, please.
(But make the next spy
I don’t know what’s wrong with these spies nowadays. I guess they’ve just gotten jaded and lazy. Here’s to better and more pleasant dreams, Barbara
You and I are kindred spirits. I think we’re on the same prescription!
Love this, Barbara. I always love the ones that carry kisses and hugs. Hope you can keep this med for a long while. 🙂
“They” say we all dream. . .but I rarely remember mine. I love the idea of dreaming at all being notable. And of course, the next spy kiss.
Chuckle! Delightful, loved this.
I DREAMT I DWELT IN MARBLE HALLS
with such utter brilliance
that it seemed there was no need for
copyright 2014, William Preston
Stunning piece, William.
Love this one from title to the end.
Lovely vision, William.
Lovely vision, William!! I can see that gleaming brilliance…well done!
A beautiful place, well pictured. Nice.
A POET DREAMS OF WORLDLY SUCCESS
When muses seem far off the beam, I need to dream of milk and honey.
Who knows? One muse might then enthuse and I’ll peruse some silk and money.
© copyright 2014, William Preston
I like this William. Your poetry always deserves silk and money in my estimation.
Love this, William. You speak for many poets in it.
Words of worth.
Walt, Your piece pulsates with emotion. The love you feel for your mother and her granddaughters is palpable.
Patricia, the startling opening lines of your poem caught my attention and laid a foundation for the turn in the poem. This is rivetting work, in my opinion.
Thank you, William. I always appreciate your thoughtful commentary. You have a gift for specific feedback, and for creating your own compelling poems with intriguing phrases like genuflecting marble. 🙂
I DREAMED OF MY CAT CURAGGIU
in dreams a pet cat I once knew
talks to me in human tongue
as if we were old buddies
who had been through wars
and know too well how wounds
become scars to remind us
how we laid our lives on the line
and only through the Grace of God
managed to return home again
in dreams Curaggiu is kind
not to remind me
how I tricked her into a cage
hustled her to the pound
where I left her forever
how she riveted her golden eyes
on my speedy departure out the door
but in dreams we play poker
and laugh about the good old days
Oh, my, this is one that tells of a lesson and of forgiveness. Lovely, Sal.
In dreams, you became closer to the cat. Lovely.
Dreams sometimes tend to heal, to be the balm, for our regrets. Loved this, Sal.
I DREAMED OF MARY’S GARDEN
in a dream one night
I walked in Mary’s garden
where every flower
was a soul at peace
and I stooped to touch
the softest petal
of the brightest red rose
it wore my father’s face
and Mary stooped
touched the velvet
and smiling said
how happy my Papa was
in this Garden of her Son
when I awoke
despite sleep tears
I could smell spring
Enjoying all three, this is my favorite. I can relate to waking to sleep tears. Dreams, and poems like that, can stick with you all day. Well done.
this is beautiful, Sal
Words fail me on this one, Sal.
Oh, Sal, how heart-quickening this is. And to add the sense of smell at the end of the experience was genius.
I DREAMED I WAS A FLOWER
when I was a flower
I dreamed one day
within a dream
I’d become a tree
to pierce the floor
when I became
that mighty tree
tall in my dreams
I wished to know
the secrets of
when I awoke
one spring morning
roused from sleep
in which I dreamed
about the stings
of human sorrows
I longed for dreams
of flower days
This is a superb trio of poems; thanks for posting them. I must admit to having most feeling for the cat, though.
Sal, I wholeheartedly agree with William- I LOVE the cat poem!
Love the cat best, as well, Sal.
Fantastic poem, Sal. It says so much about wishes and where they take us and what they can teach us.
This is a beauty
Where do I start? With the cat story, which any person owned by a cat can understand? With the surprise in Mary’s garden? With the ultimate misery of longing to be someone other than yourself? Beautifully written, all three
Beautiful, Sal. A progression of longings.
Walt and Patricia both your poems were tug-at-the-heart bittersweet. Lovely.
I Once Dreamed of Heaven
I looked ahead, upwards,upwards they wound
and behind single file more followed
a narrow path that spiraled round and round
a mountain rising from a flat plain.
The music… oh, the music and voices raised
in sweet melody of songs that came to our lips
in words unknown – they simply became. We praised
as we walked higher, higher, round and round.
And in each person’s hands a gift was clasped,
wrapped and bowed to bestow – an offering
of thanksgiving. And to my relief I grasped
a gift also, though small. It didn’t seem to matter.
I wondered what I could have brought
that would please so wondrous a God
then a voice in my head, clear as thought
said, “Your gift to me is your words in verse –
my gift returned and multiplied.”
Wow. This is transcendent.
This reminds me of the children’s book “The Littlest Angel.” Our gifts, when they come from the heart, are true treasures.
Such loveliness and grace. Simply perfect, Debi.
Littlest Angel and the Little Drummer Boy. His gift to you, returned hundredfold to Him.
Debi, this is SO affirming for me, and probably many poets. Thank you.
Pingback: I Once Dreamed About Being A Grandma | echoes from the silence
I Once Dreamed About Being A Grandma
I could see
my grandkids and me
my house, the
stories being told again
about all they see.
Their mom’s first
trophy for tennis;
their dad’s framed
from his last night performing
on stage in college.
We would bake
to take to
who was working out in the
yard, or his workshop.
I would watch
the love being shared
and the kids,
thankful for good fortune and
But first, I
would have needed to
fall in love.
The kind of
love that lasts forever; to
become man and wife.
we’d have built a home,
To be a grandma, I would
have first been a mom.
I would have
watched my children grow
have cheered their successes and
nursed their hurts, in love.
To be a
grandma, I would have
let my kids
go out on their own to find
their own place in life.
As my years
advance, my daydreams
nightmares of being alone,
I once dreamed about being a grandma.
It was just a dream.
Do Marie and Walt keep track of wonderful poets like you who have written a poem for EVERY one of Creative Bloomings’ prompts??!! WOW. That’s trophy worthy! (Put that on the mantle for your family to see.)
Thanks for this and for your visit and comments on my blog – I certainly haven’t written to EVERY prompt…those “inform poet” prompts often elude me. 😉
this makes me sad 😦
Me, too. Beautifully written
Thank you for the empathy, my friend.
Aw, Paula, I can understand Linda’s sadness at reading this, and your sadness at having written it. It says much about the poet. But our love never goes to waste. We can choose to invest in whatever stock strikes our fancy. Children don’t have to be ours to watch their growth and give us joy. Many of us have numerous children whom we borrow from time to time to our own selfish and vicarious dreams.
Yes, I do borrow nieces and others…having also nannied for a number of years, my maternal instincts have been put to good use. I suppose I’m just at the age now that my peers’ grandbabies are growing in number, making it another milestone in what I have and will be missing.
Beautifully expressed Paula 🙂
Thank you, Benjamin.
Oh, Paula . . . I ache for your pain.
I think these are magnificent, moving, and a masterful use of the shadorma form.
Thanks, William…seems if I have more to say than six lines, the shadorma still works for me. 😉
A stunning and wistful poem, Barbara.
I think your comment went astray.
No, it didn’t. I did. I meant to write your name.
Oh! Well in that case, thank you, Sara!
Paula, this is such a gentle ‘wakening’ into a regret-full reality…great poetry. Carried me along on your longings into your sad sigh at the end. Loved it.
Thanks, Damon. I suppose time has allowed me to reach the point of “gentle.” So glad you enjoyed it.
The Dog of My Dreams
I always liked big dogs.
My idea of a perfect dog
was a Great Dane until
I met a beautiful half-
breed, a part St. Bernard,
all of the good features,
and no slobber. That’s
the dog I wanted.
Seven years later,
I had two kids but no
St. Bernard mix. And
I pretty much decided,
no pets. But then when
visiting a friend, there
stood a dog, larger than life,
with St. Bernard markings.
She was even prettier
than the one I first saw.
My friend said, “Take her.
She’s a stray with no collar.”
I took her home, ecstatic
God had given her to me.
Hubby even recognized her
as the dog I’d been hoping for.
But happiness was short lived.
We got a call from a lady
a few miles down the road.
She wanted her dog back.
We had named her Autumn
for her burnt orange coat.
But she called her Amber.
We returned the dog.
That weekend I wondered
why God would send Amber
and then take her away.
One night my daughter and I
dreamed we got her back.
I told her God speaks that way,
at times. Then we got a call—
the lady looking for Amber.
She said if we found her
we could have her. Next,
our pastor, our neighbor, phoned.
Earlier, I had shared about Amber.
When we picked her up,
he Cheshire grinned
at God’s goodness to bless us
with the dog of my dreams.
Such a sweet story! I can bet that Autumn Amber is right where God meant her to be. She is one lucky dog!
Wonderful story, Connie. It always amazes me when things like this happen in my life. And it always reinforces my faith in a universe that listens to our thoughts and grants our wishes.
Very beautiful Connie
Beautiful story, esp from a cat lover.
I love happy endings : )
Oh, what a wonderful story, with a bit of a shaggy-dog element.
Great story! Loved it, and so heart warming, in such great form.
By David De Jong
I dreamt, we had a skunk, in the house last night;
He came back to life, lookin’ for a fight.
The last time I saw him, he was on the road,
His head hit by the tire, flat as a toad.
Wasn’t aimin’ to end his furry life,
He committed suicide, launched this strife.
I felt a bump and shouted; “Oh No! Oh Dear!”
He got mystical with his fountain, in the rear.
The stink was so awful, it scared my poor nose,
But it all missed me, my truck, and my clothes.
How he came back to life, I’ll never get right;
I dreamt, we had a skunk, in the house last night
The critters were unitin’, that’s for sure,
They were scamperin’ about, raisin’ fur.
They’d chase one another, up a tall tree,
Stop short, turn and fix their eyes, all on me.
The dogs just laughed, at my predicament,
They raised their legs, in solemn sentiment.
So much for believin’ in “man’s best friend”,
They were all in cahoots, to see my end!
After all the lovin’, feedin’, and care;
They all turned against me; how did they dare?
I’m still quite quizled, by the crazy sight;
I dreamt, we had a skunk, in the house last night.
The cats pried opened the door on the porch,
I scrambled around, lookin’ for a torch.
He hid so well, in the dark of dark night,
I searched and searched, in a tad bit of fright.
I don’t know, if he was real or a ghost,
I thought for sure, he was dead as burnt toast.
Never did find him, don’t know where he hid,
My wits are slidin’ down a pyramid.
Now as I rest and close my eyes to sleep,
I’m wonderin’ if I’ll see the little creep.
His tail all poufy; his stripe of pure white,
I dreamt, we had a skunk, in the house last night.
What fun, David. LOL Had a really good chuckle over this one. I know that nightmare. I recognize its scent. Many is the night I spent, guarding my bedroom window in fear. 🙂
This is fun; recalls, for me anyway, the “boll weevil” song. I think it’s a song, for sure.
Brings back memories of our family singing about ‘the dead skunk in the middle of the road’ – always sung on long car rides. 🙂
I’ve never gotten that close to a skunk, especially when “He got mystical with his fountain, in the rear.” What a fun nightmare, David!
All based on actual events – it was quite a week…
Wonderful to see you, Patricia, at the garden gate today. Lovely and honest poem, too. Yeah, even the single journey falls into your “vision’s” description. I can testify to that. Walt, your dream is easily understood and worthy of tears. Lovely.
I’ll have only one offering today. Life has been handing me more than the usual obligations this past week and looks to be moving into the rest of the one coming. Happy writing, everyone.
To travel amid star trails
Or on seas’ rolling waves
To join pilgrims at shrines
Or settle for mountain peace;
These were visions of youth,
Transplanted into adulthood,
E’er following spirit’s growth,
Caring little for direction,
Preparing only for meaning
Within time’s passage on earth.
What will get out of life vs. have I made a difference? I hear you.
Yep. I think it’s a question we all come to, sooner or later.
All the things I hoped to do… but I’m content with having made a difference in my family’s life. Lovely thoughts here, Claudsy
Thanks, Debi. Glad you liked it.
This is my mother’s lament. Did she make a difference? I assure her, she DID!
Patricia, I don’t doubt that in the least.
I think for many of us, if we’d stop long enough to look back from the outside looking in, we could do an “It’s a Wonderful Life” eval of our lives and see where our real lives have been spent.
Wonderful poem, Claudsy. It was quite thought-provoking.
Thanks, Sara. I was in a thoughtful mood at the time. 🙂
What’s striking to me is our ability to travel to such places in spirit with imagination and words…beautiful visions, Claudsy.
Thanks so much, Hannah. We are always blessed when we can see beyond “reality” to what could be. I agree.
🙂 That’s how dreams become reality, I believe.
Ah! The wisdom to live ‘preparing only for meaning’ is great example. Thank you dear Claudsy.
Thank you, Damon. Blessings. I’m glad you liked it.
Walt, touching piece of the heart there. It’s a joy to see parts of the family manifested in a smile or facial expression. Patricia, I love your piece of growing old together in improbable fantasies!
I don’t often remember dreams. In this one, I relive both my last memorable dreams, and what led to it.
Once I Dreamed of No More Dreams
Once upon a time I was a Musketeer
Living a dream I didn’t know I wanted
Death knocked at my door, leaving me
Alone I entered my nursing home jail
Living a nightmare I earned by bad choices
Hospitals blew down my house of cards
Crippled I dozed in my chair on wheels
Existing in a vacuum I need help to survive
Air warmed me, body and spirit
Waiting I sensed unseen angel wings
Not believing, I could not deny them
Musketeers reunited, hope reignited
alone, crippled, awake, loved… so glad the progression ended well. Effective way to tell this story.
George, the dream gave me great peace about being where I am now.
Superb use of images and form.
Such dreams often tear at the mind of the dreamer. I’m so glad that peace came from this one for you, Darlene. I also enjoyed the progressive nature of the story line. Great work.
Claudsy, It was a great comfort, a sense that I was where I was supposed be and they were there with me. “They” being my mother and daughter.
It would be a great comfort to anyone, I think. 🙂
Darlene, this was beautiful, and done so well. I loved your pattern and the progression here, from despair to hope.
Patricia, Walt, what power in your poems to ignite a visceral response.
I ONCE DREAMED ABOUT A HEART
I once had dream,
about a heart,
chock-full of steam.
in rhythm and rhyme.
But in time
in vigor and grind.
Now come to find;
this sleeping ambition
vanish, in the eyes
of woken reality.
Memories pulsate a little slower. Wonderful poem, Benjamin.
Terrific, Ben. Why is it that powerful lines of verse come to us in dream to vanish with the light of day. I’ve often asked myself that, Looked at from a life’s time span, many come to such dreams late and find fewer hours to cram them all in.
True Claudsy thx
Ben, loved this. Startling at the awaking moment.
(Poem w/image: http://lettheballoonssailmeaway.wordpress.com)
Two Become One*
I dreamed once that I flew…
So exhilarated, I woke to tell you:
“I dreamed I flew!! I dreamed I flew!!”
You smiled, silent
Then wrapped my excitement
All around you.
*Jewel, “2 Become 1”, CD: 0304
Aww… Thank you, William!! 🙂 !!
Love this one, Hen. Seldom do I get to fly in dreams now. I’d be excited too, to have another one. Lucky you on both counts–to dream and have one to share it with.
Oh, Clauds… it was one of the happiest moments of my life 😀 !!
Cherished feelings, aren’t they, Hen? 😀
Yes, so very !! 😀
Hen, this was delightful. The response was the delightful thing. To wrap up in another’s joy is the sweetest love.
I DREAMED A PORTERHOUSE STEAK
(A Line-Serpentine Poem)
Hunger invades my sleep: hunger
for steaks to die for:
too delicious! And thick too.
Dreams of Porterhouse, dreams
of huge steaming stacks of
rare cuts bubbling red, rare
delights to this dreamer who delights
in simpler culinary treats like pancakes in
batters of buckwheat, while dawn batters
sleep walls, but I hold firmly to sleep,
That mouth-watering steak that
gradually begins to distance itself so gradually
I hardly notice it has vanished until I
open my eyes, try desperately to keep open
memories of that steak feast, those memories
never to be realized in Real-Life time. Never!
I’m hungry now.
Oh, man. You’ve done it now, Sal. You just had to mention steak, didn’t you? Love this exuberance of the Steak Experience. Whether dreaming of waking, the mouth salivates just the same. Good one, my friend.
Mouthwatering. Oh. I . Can. Taste. It. Now.
It was a misstep between dreams,
a clarity between seaworthy swells.
You and I, long friends of decades,
we met for lunch — that restaurant
at the intersection where rain soaked
pavements fork off in all directions.
You had minced beef, raw to ruby red
with green capers rolling off the plate.
You stabbed at the egg yolk, a mounted
beacon on beef, a raw cycloptic eye
staring up at me, and it bled fluid gold
veins across the plate. Everything
about you was raw that day, and I
was pained by our static conversation,
so difficult, so splayed and tough
to chew, and in between each word
swallowed, I choked on incomplete
thoughts. And then came the moment
when my heart torqued, when I knew
that we had nothing left to say, that
our friendship was like corked wine.
You ordered another glass. Red.
I sucked on ice cubes that tortured
my nerves, and dissolved to water.
And I woke, knowing our friendship
deserved more than we’d given it.
‘raw cycloptic eye’ – love that image.
This was magnificent, Misky. There’s a short story/novel in this one, whether you wrote it from before the beginning of this poem or after the end of it. The poem is complete, but the story begs for details. Love it.
Aah. Thanks ladies! xx
Oh, what an unexpected regret. How painful to discover that, as if it was a bad entree in a place where you expected something wonderful.
Yes, quite right. Exactly.
Such an interesting imagery and structure. Can you tell me how you chose the line breaks?
I tried to select end words that when read consecutively created a distorted image.
Once, I dreamt–that made me think-
From that suspended state
where dreams are made
who yanks them out
from under the rocks?
takes a tiny piece of that colloid
and somehow makes their colors play
through Alice’s mirror of eternity
shining shadows in full moon
of Mary’s lamb and ocean tunes
Who? –Is it me–or you?
This is a fascinating question, and I wonder if it has an answer. Whijh might be the point of the poem.
Interesting…I like the questions in this, Priti.
I enjoyed the questions you ask in this poem, Priti, as well as the images you create. Well done.
So often, I (an I’m sure all of us) have asked that. You phrased the question well, Priti.
Pingback: I Once Dreamed About the Woven Gold of Slumber | Metaphors and Smiles
I Once Dreamed About the Woven Gold of Slumber
A thin covering of cloth is woven in her sleep
it’s knit of words that could be crushed in the eye of light rising.
Pre-dawn illuminates this fragile fabric,
a tapestry emerges, a veil of silhouettes –
the stain of dark streaking trees pulled from plot;
the sky holds one glowing apple shivering in the driving breeze,
a portal of hope – a hole in the horizon.
She suckles from this surreal cup.
Drinking from this teat of truth that she’d not known before –
idleness of imagination is overcome and a dream kissed slumber’s born.
Within these tight corridors of storied sleep there’s a doorway
it leads to a land of sand and sea-foam frilled beaches;
here is where the camel lives,
it’s here that she sits and listens –
she watches the resinous saliva of his mouth as he forms thoughts into words.
His tawny fur and arching humps of back transform into great rolling desert hills,
an enormous golden papyrus leaf is suspended against blue cloudless canopy;
it’s curled with the wind.
Simultaneously an audible vision visits her just as she stirs,
it echoes in her internal passageway…
the line of a poem greets her in gossamer awakening:
A new leaf pressed deeply –
delicate flower, amidst the pages of my heart.
A new day, the first dream memory of the New Year.
Yes, she says…I believe this is a good omen.
Hidden blossom of inspiration blooms richly in her heart.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014
The leaf portion of this poem is the real part of my dream. The rest of the poem expresses some of the surreal feeling around dream work and visions that swirl within this mind of mine. The leaf was similar to the shape of this one.
You mention the “swirl” of your mind, which seems apropos to me; this whole piece leaves me with that sort of feeling.
Thank you, William…I appreciate your thoughts. 🙂
Amazing images in this one, Hannah, angled with the subject and the bending of reality, all to funnel down to a new leaf of dream morphing into a new day of life.
I like it. Wonderful work here.
Thank you so much, Claudsy…I really enjoy your summation of this…brings clarity for me, lovely! 🙂
Thanks, Hannah. Glad to see I didn’t go too far off the mark on my understanding of it.
Right on in my opinion… 🙂 Thank you!
Hannah, just the title alone is so lovely. The poem was even better. This was such a joy to glide through. Loved it.
I’m so glad that you enjoyed this, Damon!! Thank you. 🙂
Sorry folks for my lack of commenting time last week…I appreciate all of the wonderful comments that were gifted to me…thank you all!
I’ll be around to read soon…need to walk now though. 🙂
I Once Dreamt About A Strange House
Unfinished, sprawling rooms
off narrow corridors
in a weathered wooden
three-story house, fronting
the beach. Pandemonium
reigned as people scattered,
seeking their rooms. Many
were strangers to me, although
I felt I should have known them.
Settling into a space of one’s own
superseded the call of wild birds,
and white waves, for which I longed.
It was impossible to complete
endless tasks that would clear
a path to the beach.
This is a fascinating piece of imagery, in my view; there seems to be wildness everywhere, in and out of the house.
Love the meaning conveyed in this…great imagery, Sara.
Thanks William, and Hannah.
Interesting, Sara. This almost reads like a quest dream with all the requisite obstacles and conflicts. Very enjoyable, especially with its imagery.
Thanks, Claudsy. Most of my dreams seem to contain unfinished projects.
I know that experience all too well. 🙂
I sensed your frantic panic here….so well expressed, Sara.
Beautiful words to start us off, both of you!
Dreamed of when the
Razor and mirror weren’t
My life, but I woke up and there
@ Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2014
It’s good to see your work again, Erin Kay, and this is a good cinquain, albeit the razor image leaves a feeling or tension. for me anyway.
And it’s nice to be back again! Thanks, Will! 🙂
Sadly, a lot of people my age turn to the razor or knife for release…
Ah, Erin, it’s so good to see you again. I hope you’re doing well.
As I read this through the second time, I saw the image of a young roommate of mine at university during my first run through. Lovely and talented girl, she was, who face the same dilemma and actions.
Hopefully, your journey no longer takes you through this equation of instrument and reflection. Hugs.
Erin, was wondering where you were! This is such a quick hard picture of sharp and raw shock. Wow.
I have been reading these great visions and sleep-bound imaginings. Hope to come back with comments soon. Patricia and Walt, you started us off with beautiful offerings.
THE DEED OF DREAMS
dreamed we sold the place.
Lock, stock, barrel.
Strong memories bound to familiar latches, hasps and swaying gates, we handed over the keys of our hearts.
The goats long baas on that last evening sounded out sad good byes, broken pleadings, echoing of our souls.
Our stores of quiet evenings calmed by whip-poor-whills, soft silver moons, and moths dusting window panes would stay contained in an array of untapped days.
All gone. The deed was done.
I almost felt a fool for planting so much here, more year by year.
Then I awoke with a sigh much like the pasture’s sigh when it throws back the fog of dreams and greets a new morning sun.
Should begin with “I dreamed…”.
(Did this from my phone.)
Goosebumps. This is so effective, I love the listing in threes that you employed and the sigh in the end…was echoed here. Excellent.
I once dreamed about fighting the Incredible Hulk
boondoggled by the obscure
reflections of alternate reality
that pickles the conscious or unconscious mind entertained by the fantastical fluff we call dreams.
Perhaps if trapped in this obscurity it’d either be a mythical paradise or a nightmare with wings.
But for me, paradise was an altercation with the Incredible Hulk (must’ve pissed him off when I was a kid). Trading punches with the great green goliath while falling off a balcony was quite exhilarating. I served him up a sweet knuckle sandwich or two, but he delivered a hell of a right hook. As we hit the ground, our bodies felt every bit of the sudden jolt. At least mine did anyways. It was quite a thrill, sucker punching the ol’ green lug. So, what color is your fantasy?
Ha! Ben, this was comically fun!
Hmmmm…I guess slinging around between skyscrapers leaving flashes of red and blue glances might be my comic-book dream from my youth.
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