#30: This Dream
This dream
Clings to me like seaweed after an ocean swim;
It meows at the back door, begging for a bowl of milk and a scratch behind the ears.
This dream is a broken record.
This dream is a drop of water stuck in my ear — and no amount of hopping and ear-slapping will shake it loose.
This dream is a foreign movie with no subtitles.
It’s my daughter before she learned to talk.
This dream is an unsigned letter;
a ringing cell phone;
a spurious fiction.
This dream is the costume that an actor just tore off between scenes.
It’s a PA system in an airport
calling you to the counter
and you’re not sure why.
This dream is a ship on the sea when the wind picks up.
This dream is the ship
and the wind
and the water
and the waves.
This dream will carry you
wherever you need to go.
#29: Some Questions You Might Ask
What if this is the dream
and real life happens when you’re asleep?
Why do I remember so many dreams each night
but I can’t remember where I left my keys?
Why don’t I have dreams in which I meet Salome
and find ancient skulls in crypt-like depths, as Jung did?
Instead I dream of searching — night after night –
for a bathroom stall with a clean seat.
Why do people always ask if I dream in color?
And what do dolphins dream about?
What if Freud was right?
How many other people’s dreams have I appeared in?
And what was I wearing?
When you reach Nirvana, do you still dream?
And why is it called a nightmare
and not a nightstallion — or steed?
What if the dream needs
the dreamer the way God need our prayers?
And did you have a good night’s sleep?
Tell me, what did you dream?
#28: Inside Dream
A poem featuring anagrams for Dream*
Open up this dream
and find a dare;
a dram
to set your imagination on fire; a ream
of memory and association. It’s who you are
and what I am,
the heart and art of me.
There’s a wandering ram,
the racing mare
of night who carries an armed
man, mad.
No surprise, you’ll find REM
of course — an ad
but no one’s paying. Dream
glows red
and yes, it lives in color. Look inside and read
“Dear … “
– a salutation in search of listening ear
*inspired by and adapted from the poetic form created by Terrance Hayes, in which the end-word in each line is an anagram for the chosen word, in this case, Dream.
#27: Autobiography in Dreams
1.
I’m in a public arena with no clothes on.
2.
There are tests but I’m mot prepared.
3.
The car has no brakes.
4.
I’m losing all my teeth
5.
I realize I’mdreaming and tell myself to wake up.
6.
I open my eyes but I’m still dreaming.
#26 My Dream About the Fox
The fox has wily red fur
The fox needs a trim
The fox needs a man
To communicate his need
For a trim.
The man tells the dreamer
That the fox needs a trim
The dreamer frets
Because the fox needs a trim
And where does one find someone
To give a fox a trim?
“I can do it,” the man says.
“Then why did you need me?” The Dreamer asks.
The man doesn’t appear
To have heard the question.
The fox heard, but he
Can’t answer
Except in silence
Which is too bad because
The fox with his wily red fur
In need of a trim
Is the only one
Who truly knows.
#25: In This Mirror
A woman is walking along the shore
To a house at the edge of a wood
Where goodbye is waiting
Where her life is waiting
To begin again.
#23: Midnight
A Pleiades Poem*
with a wink and a nod to AG
Money sleeps with poetry
Mean dogs sit, roll, belly up
Mountains sigh, climb obstacles
Massive waves rise, break over
Manhattan – anxiety
Mirrored in each crashing swell
Midnight musing – on itself.
*The Pleiades Poem, in honor of the 7 Sisters of Greek myth, is composed of 7 lines of 7 syllables each. The one-word title and each line begins with the same letter.
#22: Recurring
I remember my first dream
And some more that I dreamed
in that first bed. And I remember
the movie that scared me into dreaming about dogs
to begin with. And the decades of dogs that followed my nights
after that. And I remember dreams
about arms and legs wrapped in tissue paper and ribbon
and dreams where love was a flock of silver sea gulls, and dreams
in which I wake and wake but am still asleep. The dreams
about screaming but nothing comes out. I remember
the messages that floated through dreams
like opening just the right fortune cookie. And dreams
about the hawk and the white deer and the one
when the crazy neighbor healed me with a glass of water. And when
you climbed the spiral stairs to call me back
and how I kept waking without you
again and again.
#21: In the Theatre of Ego
I am pedaling up
a steep pocked sidewalk.
I push the pedals
pull on the handlebars –
the bicycle barely
moves. I will not dismount
Will not surrender feet
to cement. I will
not. I will push
pedal, push. Feel the battle
in my breath. Heart
hammering against chest.
The wheel turns spoke
by spoke measuring
the distance to the top
and then the hill at last
plateaus and I can pedal
easily again.
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