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,


Artisan, Poet and Author 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:

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:

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____”





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



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.



  1. Dreamy

    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
    kiss better.)


    They gleamed;
    with such utter brilliance
    that it seemed there was no need for

    copyright 2014, William Preston


    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

  4. Walt, Your piece pulsates with emotion. The love you feel for your mother and her granddaughters is palpable.

  5. 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. 🙂


    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



    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
    beside me
    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



    when I was a flower
    I dreamed one day
    within a dream
    I’d become a tree
    tall enough
    to pierce the floor
    of Heaven

    when I became
    that mighty tree
    tall in my dreams
    I wished to know
    the secrets of
    human hearts

    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


  9. 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.”

  10. Pingback: I Once Dreamed About Being A Grandma | echoes from the silence

  11. I Once Dreamed About Being A Grandma

    I could see
    my grandkids and me
    walking through
    my house, the
    stories being told again
    about all they see.

    Their mom’s first
    trophy for tennis;
    their dad’s framed
    cast photo
    from his last night performing
    on stage in college.

    We would bake
    cookies together
    to take to
    their grandpa
    who was working out in the
    yard, or his workshop.

    I would watch
    the love being shared
    between gramps
    and the kids,
    thankful for good fortune and
    loving family.

    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,
    started a
    To be a grandma, I would
    have first been a mom.

    I would have
    watched my children grow
    into young
    adults, I’d
    have cheered their successes and
    nursed their hurts, in love.

    To be a
    grandma, I would have
    needed to
    let my kids
    go out on their own to find
    their own place in life.

    As my years
    advance, my daydreams
    become mere
    nightmares of being alone,
    my reality.

    I once dreamed about being a grandma.

    It was just a dream.

  12. 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.

  13. Skunked

    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.

  14. 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.

  15. 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!

  16. 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

    Darlene Franklin


    I once had dream,
    about a heart,
    chock-full of steam.
    Pulsating, booming
    in rhythm and rhyme.
    But in time
    it lessened,
    in vigor and grind.
    Now come to find;
    this sleeping ambition
    of mine,
    vanish, in the eyes
    of woken reality.

    Benjamin Thomas

    (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!


    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.

  20. 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?

  21. Pingback: I Once Dreamed About the Woven Gold of Slumber | Metaphors and Smiles

  22. 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.

  23. 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. 🙂

  24. 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.

  25. Beautiful words to start us off, both of you!


    I once
    Dreamed of when the
    Razor and mirror weren’t
    My life, but I woke up and there
    They were…

    @ 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.

    • 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.

  26. 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.


    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.

  28. I once dreamed about fighting the Incredible Hulk

    Sometimes we’re
    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.

  29. Pingback: Waiting On A Woman | echoes from the silence

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