Posts Tagged dreams

What’s in Your Dream?

I slept fitfully last night, having odd dreams that made little sense, and waking multiple times. I’ve always been intrigued by dreams, and it seems to me my mood when I awake in the morning is often determined by the dreams I’ve had. The following poem is a vague description of a dream I had several years ago. I awoke with a sense of dread and remorse in my heart that was hard to shake. I had no idea what the dream, or dreams, could mean, I just knew how I felt, so I tried to recapture the feeling in this poem.

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I Am A Mountain

I’ve always considered myself a loner, and there have been many times throughout my life I’ve wished I could just walk away, go up into the mountains and live off the land. Sometimes, I just want to get away; not from people really, but from the confusion and chaos we’ve made of this world. A world where important things like love, honor and truth have become lies; and half-truths, deceit, and hate have been embraced and accepted. Read the rest of this entry »

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Silent Raindrops

When I was a little boy, and I’d get hurt, I’d cry. Many times my dad would tell me to stop crying or he’d give me something to cry about. And I knew the slightest whimper or sigh would bring his fury upon me. I learned that silence–and dry eyes–was the way to avoid further pain. To this day I seldom show pain or angst in front of people. Except, that is, when I write. Read the rest of this entry »

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Mewler?… Mewler?… Mewler?

I was dreaming… one of those dreams that felt so real I couldn’t decide if I was asleep or awake. You know, total nonsense, but making sense; vague, but somehow crystal clear; characters straight out of Alice In Wonderland, but they seemed to know every intimate detail about me.

The guy at the head of the table was huge, sitting, but looking like he was standing up at the table, and the knife he held in his left fist had a long, wide, gleaming blade. The fork he was white-knuckling in his right hand was glowing red and looked like a pitch fork, minus the wood handle. Drool hung on his chin and the corners of his lips were specked with wet gray matter.

A bowl sat in front of a guy at the other end of the table; he was dipping a finger into the bowl, then licking it, as his eyes darted from me to the big guy. He made a pitiful mewling sound, then lifted the bowl to his face and began licking it clean.

It was an odd looking bowl; pinkish in color, a smooth, round, bottom, and a ring of what appeared to be gray hair around the top of it. When the bowl was thoroughly cleaned, the mewler—he was good-looking in a Clark Kent sort of way; smaller and obviously more mild-mannered than the guy at the other end of the table—put it in front of me and gave me a knowing wink.

Letters began to appear on his shirt one at a time and I watched in rapt fascination as they spelled out S-H-O-U-L-D-H-A-V-E-S. I had a vague sense of what the words meant, but, strangely, the discerning seemed to emanate from my chest rather than my head. I felt strangely light-headed, as I slowly turned toward the big guy at the other end of the table.

My heart cried out as letters appeared on his stained shirt, spelling out, W-H-A-T-I-F-S, the ache in my chest like a vise, as hot tears streamed down my cheeks.

Mewler whined from his end of the table, “Is that all there is?” 

Should Haves

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Another Night’s Dream

This poem reflects on love lost, and the lonely, tormented mind it can leave in its wake.  I am sharing it with dVerse Poets Pub’s Patterns, Pictures and Poems, hosted by Victoria C.Slotto. Photograph by James Rainsford. Read the rest of this entry »

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Another Night’s Dream

This poem speaks of love lost, and the lonely, tormented mind it can leave in its wake.  It is my entry for The Gooseberry Garden Poetry Picnic Week 13. Read the rest of this entry »

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And The Winna Is…

Sometimes dreams are fun, sometimes not so much. I find it interesting that sometimes we awaken remembering dreams vividly, and other times they haunt us by being just beyond our ability to reel them in. I also find it interesting that psychologists and researchers pretend to be able to “interpret” dreams. Yeah, right. Next thing you know, people will be claiming they can predict the weather. But enough of this interpreting nonsense; what about mood swings? Read the rest of this entry »

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As Of This Morning

I’ve come to believe the life of a man—an ordinary man—is made up of bits and pieces of his past. The reason I write this blog is to share some of the fragments of my life and thoughts with you, in the hopes that when the telling is done, something whole and worthwhile will have been created from the jumbled chaos that rolls daily through my mind. Perhaps by doing this I can make sense of it, help you to make sense of it, and my time on this earth will have had some value. Read the rest of this entry »

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Blood On The Moon – Part 4

As I slept, I dreamed; sometimes vivid, often strange, but always, chilling, frightening dreams. Creatures came into my darkness and stood staring at me. A cat, one front leg missing, stood at my feet and looked up at me with dark, questioning eyes. It blinked, and the missing leg was there as if it had never been gone. A gust of hot air blew across my feet then the cat was not there. Read the rest of this entry »

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Blood On The Moon – Part 1

The day had gone dark again. It seemed as though someone was constantly playing with the dimmer switch on a lamp. Or, perhaps, heavy clouds were drifting across the sky in front of the sun, casting dark shadows over the land. I looked up—cringing, afraid, knowing what I would see—and stared at a cloudless, purple sky. Read the rest of this entry »

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