sufficiencies

dream_sun_s

At night when everything was hissing,
pressurized and leaking air,
colors came around, reefs of golden green,
and in the distance,
pages tore like thunder.

A rider on an insipid horse galloped
by my bedroom,
and my dream woke up
while I still slept.

In the kitchen, it made itself a coffee
and smoked a cigarette,
while I still slept.

While I slept, it remembered
all the dead,
loving friends I’d known
before their passing.

I tossed and turned
โ€”a nightmareโ€”my efficient life,
obligations met and not to be,
with strangersโ€™ dreams around me
that once I thought were mine.

Blood red trains on pulsing rails,
hollow flightless verses crawling
that once I thought were mine.

While in the street, my derelict dream,
it danced and laughed
with Venusians and vagrants.

There are those who have everything
and nothing.
I never dreamt a future,
and while I slept with empty horses riding,
I knew that I was one.

Yet just before the alarm clock played
its sorry tune,
my errant dream returned.
It woke me
with a touch
and served me eggs
on toast.


about
Sometimes I think full stops are specks of dust on my computer screen, and vice versa. I either try to clean them off or use the backspace key. Occasionally they have tiny wings and they fly away.

artwork
dream sun (part above)

40 thoughts on “sufficiencies

  1. Lovely unsettling imagery throughout – the insipid horse, the pages torn like thunder – the verses on red rails – the shifting perspectives (who’s dream is this anyway?) and the movement – night into morning, dreams, nightmares, jangled pictures resolving finally into comforting eggs on toast. Bravo.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Oh my ๐Ÿ™‚ From the beautiful work of art to stepping down every line. You really did manage to create a double exposure in poetry wow bravo. Your method is so descriptive that I could see it play before my eyes. It does, however, leave me wanting for more. Beautiful

    Liked by 1 person

      • It’s wonderful when that happens :). Like, taking on a roll of a medium in a seance eheh
        I also found it comfortable to read and follow, leaving my mind free to enjoy.
        The past years I have drifted from reading books to reading more poems. A book of poetry would suit the modern commuter to a T. You can read one poem between stops. I don’t know why they don’t promote poetry in this way. We might even get more readership. I am rambling ๐Ÿ™‚

        Liked by 1 person

      • Maybe it comes from the cosmos, ๐Ÿ”ฎ or more likely with me it’s the wood ducks. ๐Ÿฆ†

        I think you’re right about poetry being convenient to read. That’s part of the reason I read it, and these days everything has to come in bite-size pieces. It is a small audience for poetry (right now anyway ๐Ÿ˜ƒ ). Mostly in public transport I see earbuds (byte-size music) and occasionally a bit of tv or whatever on tiny screens. ๐Ÿ˜ƒ

        Liked by 1 person

    • Yeah, life is sufficient isn’t it? Thanks BG. ๐Ÿ’™ We must examine our lives, according to Socrates, and I can understand that, but he didn’t mention the side-effects of rubbing salt into every cut, and we all have cuts. That’s where breakfast helps. ๐Ÿณ

      Like

      • Yeah, the sufficiencies ties in with the first line. Brilliant! Salt is supposed to heal wounds but it’d be nice if it didn’t have to hurt so damn much! I’ve been pretty salty this past month but the wound is healing. Think I’ll have blueberry pancakes for breakfast. ๐Ÿ™‚ See what you started?

        Liked by 1 person

      • There you go then, good to hear. The Brazilian expression is to “poke your fingers in the wound,” pretty sure that doesn’t heal it.

        As you know, the Buddhists tell us to take responsibility for our own blueberry pancake consumption (which unfortunately I don’t have any of, I’m thinking toast with quince paste and fetta). As payback, I blame Buddhism for everything. Namaste. ๐Ÿ™

        Like

    • Thanks Eugenia. ๐Ÿ˜ƒ That’s what happens with dreams: you care for them, nurture them, and they wind up staying out all night, never ring, never call. Mind you if I asked my dream for mimosa here in Sydney I’d probably get a sprig of wattle. ๐ŸŒฟ

      Like

    • Thanks for the feedback, good to know. It’s not usually done with poetry (as far as I know), and it’s expected that you know your Greek classics. ๐Ÿ˜ƒ When I started a year and half ago, I just mixed a bit of poetry in with some thoughts on dreams, and as I continued with mostly poetry, I retained some commentary.

      Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s