Tag: Dreams

A Gypsy Dream

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems4 Comments

My friend, the gypsy, shared a dream
Of how she’d found a carnival,
A type of old tradition where
The best of their technology
Was brought to bear to try to make
A wonderland of lights and sorcery.

Where lovers could walk hand-in-hand
And feel excitement from the crowd,
As she did; with some unknown he
Whose face was handsome, though unseen.
But still the glow of love was there,
Among the scents of summer on the pier.

But love, she said, is not her way:
At least, the way that many think
That love should be: just one for good –
A night, a day, a month, a year,
That’s fine, but even in a dream,
She knew the carnival must have
An end – a letting go – a final turn.

She stared away, in shadows, then
She said, “I’m built for wandering.
The hands I hold are many, as
I make my way across this life.
I’m sure that dream was just my truth
As written on my neurons in the night.”

I watched her kiss the sunset, and
The gleaming colors in her eyes
As she arose to meet the night,
And leave me in a cafe seat
To ponder what a gypsy thing
That lives and hearts are in the very end,

That lives and hearts are in the very end.

Institutional Dreams

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems14 Comments

I used to dream I’d gone back to
The mental institution
I lived in for six months when I
Was in my darkest days

The halls, I still remember, but
The rooms fade into memory;
As I would shuffle up and down
Its limited pathways

Me being me, I spent my time
Falling in love with nurses,
And counselors and social workers
Who all tried their best

To help me get someplace where I
Would want to go on living;
Instead of where I’d been, which was
The middle of depressed

I’m grateful to those people, though
I doubt they much remember
Some patient who would play piano
Hours of the day

And yet, I’ve never thought
That there’s no way I could go back there:
I am the same guy underneath
Constructed the same way

And so I don’t look back within
Some privileged position:
The many things that make us fragile –
These are always here

But I view with compassion
All the many who are struggling
To push away the emptiness
They can’t make disappear

And ask, if you are one of those,
Remember, just remember,
That every loving thing is born
Within
A world
Of fear

A Dream of Summertime

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She wants to feel the summertime again,
To know the touch of hopefulness and joy;
She wants someone to love the girl she was
And is, within the shadows of her room

  along the lake, hair glimmering and wet,
  a bright new swimsuit, laughing friends in tow,
  with music from a boombox on the shore
  and dancing on boy’s shoulders into night

  the towel-drying, and the backward glance,
  the brothers from across the lake who wave
  as they go down the road towards their house
  and one of whom she thinks she kind of likes —

She turns to see what time it is again.
It’s barely two o’clock, and she’s awake,
And full of something like what was a dream
That just slipped through her mind, like sudden breeze

But wait, was there, like, sunlight on a lake?
And something smelled like coconut, she thinks;
She hears Pandora play a Frampton song,
And drifts back into something close to sleep

She wants to feel the summertime again.
She wants to be alive, and full, and free —
But there, within the shadows of her room,
She knows: even the old pictures

Are filtered

Verity

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Last night, I had a vivid dream.

I was a place I’ve never been.

But honor lived there yet, intact,

And still within the reach of men,

 

And women, too, who were alike,

Though diff’rent looking; young and old,

In seeking truth and fairness, through

The stabbing pain of constant cold.

 

A place of right for those who had been wronged:

A me, not really sure that I

Belonged

Winter Dreams

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She lays her head to rest, because she must.
In visions, winter carries her away:
To icy ballrooms, floors of sparkle-dust,
And lovers dancing. Hair in disarray,

She spins across a crystal wonderland,
A prince whose shining face she can’t quite see —
Her tired head laid still across her hand,
And aching dreams her life at apogee.

For All That Dreamers Dream

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems2 Comments

For those who know, the quiet’s like a salve;
A balm to soothe the aching, wounded soul –
A therapeutic that is there to have
Whenever life or liars leave a hole

A whole entire world of wondrous sights
Will open up for those who scale the heights –
Upon the wind of solitude to soar;
The nadir and the apex – what they’re for –

For all that dreamers dream, there is a cost:
The peace that’s needed, just to take in breath –
The separation that is part of death –
The death that is the dream forever lost

Lost everywhere, but not beyond reclaim:
For love’s a dream with wings, and knows no shame

Dearth and Main

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Down at the corner of Dearth and Main,
I saw a spectre wait again
For someone lost and gone before
Through love’s wide window or death’s dark door.

She comes there to stand in expectancy
And a feeling of pity comes over me
That the loyal dead know more of life
Than many a husband, many a wife,

But the wind sings the city to poisoned sleep,
And the heart that forgets still remembers deep,
For it’s only the good that can cause such pain,
When your down on the corner of Dearth

And Main

Mendicant Dreams

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Wraith-like, twisting
My dream sweeps out
With menaced urgency

Lighting on some
Ancestral shrine
Where my soul longs to be

The grasses, bending,
Supplicant
Whisper how I should stay

The grave welcomes
A mendicant
Who cannot find his way

But I will be there
Soon enough
The tomb – what’s left of me

For now, I am one
With the clouds
Beside
The Irish
Sea