To piggyback on Sleepless in Buffalo’s sleep prompt last week, let’s let our dreams inspire our poems this week. Dreams may come as we sleep, or as daydreams. They may be life-long goals. Dr. King had a dream and we honor him for his vision. What are your dreams?
Here’s to sweet dreams.
Marie’s Visitation
Visit with Grandpa
Walking up my street,
I see a man walking toward me.
Aww. Looks like Grandpa, I think,
knowing it couldn’t be.
As we get closer, there is no mistaking.
Yes, it is Grandpa.
I don’t want to wake up, and miss out.
He approaches me.
“Grandpa!”
He gives me a hug.
As is nearly always the case when I dream
of the dead, all senses are engaged.
“Grandpa, what are you doing here?”
He says he came to tell me not to worry about
circumstances that were consuming me.
Everything would be just fine.
Then he says, “You know I can’t stay.”
Yes, of course.
I just don’t want to lose him again
so quickly.
“But I will come back,” he assures.
He hugs me again, and,
just that quick,
he’s gone.
My long, detailed dream continues.
It seems to last a good portion of the night.
Suddenly, there he is again.
This time, he doesn’t speak.
His silence stills me,
while it declares a grand reassurance.
I wake from the dream,
recognizing it hadn’t been merely a dream.
And I smile.
When he said he would return,
I hadn’t realized he meant
that quickly.
That night.
That dream.
© Marie Elena Good 2023
Walt’s Vision
PERCHANCE TO DREAM…
Night falls clumsily,
tripping over every wink, and blink, and nod.
A nocturnal clod, cohort of the sandman,
deliverer of sleep and nightly nocturnal visions.
My mattress beckons,
soft and trance inducing,
seducing me with thoughts of slumber.
And if I should such sleep require,
do I venture yet to dream?
For my nights used to provide
essential rest for my survival,
but most times I feel deprived of repose
for reasons not so clear
when nightly noises reverberate in my ear.
At times I find myself nodding
off to a place midway between
hibernations and dawning,
third star to the right,
and straight on ‘til morning.
These short catnaps are wonderful things
until my internal timepiece
loses moments to a snoring snooze.
But, fall asleep I do!
This creative soul tosses and turns
in Technicolor dreams, disrupted
by disorders of the night.
A narcoleptic siege pulls my eyelids shut.
Anytime, every time, anywhere, everywhere.
Disruptive sleep apnea
slaps them right open into
a sleepless stare.
CPAP be damned
if insomnia pays a call
and curse the midnight hour
should I take a somnambulistic fall.
Were I to approach a drowse tainted state,
my RLS will shake me, wake me kicking and flailing.
And then I remember the REM
and I slip into dream stage
as rapidly as my eyes can move.
One evening, I can fly.
No wings, no plane, just a soar
into the wild blue yonder…
There’s a loving reunion.
Sandy beach, roaring surf
and you back at my side…
A chase ensues, thrilling
and suspenseful, dangerous
and life threatening…
I’m riding on a bullet train,
the red-eye to morning,
strafe with innuendo…
Erotic arousals
in exotic locales,
every night…
Free-falling from the pinnacle
of an endless precipice
jolted awake by the treacherous landing…
Caught in a sensuous embrace
with a ravenous vixen.
We inch close to that passionate kiss…
…and my damn alarm
gives me a rude awakening.
Sleepus Interruptus!
(C) Walter J Wojtanik
POETIC BLOOMINGS 