My Dream Poem Endeavor
My Dream Poem Endeavor
It’s Saturday afternoon, October 24, 2015 and it is raining. There is a hurricane (Patricia) or the remnants of one approaching us from the southwest from Mexico. It was a category 5 storm when it came ashore on the Pacific coast of Mexico but the mountains decimated it into a tropical depression
I was watching the college football games but both games are blowouts (Baylor beating Iowa State and Clemson beating Miami) so I decided to come in here and let my creative genius express itself, Ha! I sincerely wish I had some writing ability so as to express what I feel and to express it in descriptive words so as to invoke in someone the emotion I feel or convey something of worth.
I think some of my poems are good but some are pretty amateurish. I did two of late that were quick and easy and they were “Faces” and “The Planting” but I have been fooling with this poem about dreams for several months.
I have researched this poem, poured over it and thought about it for a long time. I only have one stanza that I am happy with at present though I have written about a dozen stanzas. I have an essay written in another text called “What is a Dream?”I have a lot of material compiled on the subject but can’t seem to organize it into any sort of narrative. There are just too many types of dreams that I have experienced. It would be too tedious to write about them all or to express all of the emotions they range over. There is fear, terror, revenge, heroic, devilish, horror, terrifying, paralyzing, peaceful, and family, fatherhood, my job, and my experiences with other people, betrayal, leading others, unsure of oneself, fighting, war, scenic, otherworldly, monsters, deformed creatures, and the dead. Can you see what I mean? I have experienced all of these types of dreams. I keep an inventory of them and at times chronicle them.
I need to write something that characterizes my emotions but not mentioning each individual type of dream that I experience. My dreams are what induces me to write and they are the source of most of my work. My dreams affect me and cause me to reflect upon what they mean and where they came from. I have often called my daughter and asked her input like she was Joseph interpreting Pharaoh’s dreams but at times even she cannot hazard a guess at what they mean.
I have often stated that I am visited by a poetry sprite (spirit) (imp) or whatever because often the words I receive are not my own and sort of old English. At times I realize these words may come from having read the King James Version of the Bible or got them from some Methodist hymnal. I have also read some Shakespeare so these may be the source.
I am also intrigued by the enigma of dreams. What is the science? For what purpose do they serve? Who or what is their instigator? Why are they so inane and ridiculous at times? Why are the dreams otherworldly or seem to be from the other side? Why are they so outrageous?
I often observe my dogs dreaming while they sleep, trying to run and whimpering. My dogs don’t have my intellect and only live in the present and yet they dream. I sort of lean towards all living things having this ability to escape reality and flee into some other absurd reality. For what purpose?
A dream is but a phenomena of the mind
An imaginary voyage thru space and time
Its substance but an arcane recollection
Reconciling some trivial reflection
Phosphorous upon an ebony black sea
In a darkness only the blind do see
A kaleidoscope of staccato discos
Strobbing in black and white photos
My dreams are often peculiarly dark
Not pleasantries as in some rustic park
Alas! I can’t move! I can’t act!
Forever mired in a quicksand morass
A surreal trek into an absurd reality
An inane assault upon our sensibility
I see as if I’m in another’s dream
Distant and aloof from it I seem
A dream clasps me in its taloned claw
Harshly bespeaks the Raven when it caws
Ere before the rooster crows
Forebodes ill tidings of tomorrow
Hideous actors with grotesque faces
Shakespearean tragedy on stage traces
Greek comedy in marble theaters
Thespians speaking in pentameters
Only in dreams does life move so fast
With a bewildering and irrational haste
Fleeting shadows in my sightless view
Fading quickly upon morning’s cue
Some say one’s life is but a dream
A short expanse of years though it seems
As compared to the eternity of the soul
Which has existed for eternities I’m told
I deem my world to be real
Like rain upon my face, I feel
But for what purpose do I dream?
Portent warnings like a red lights beam
Does a dream live in my mind?
Who keeps watch when I recline?
Is my spirit bound in chains
Is a dream the soul’s imaginary bane?