Tag: dreams

Strange Dream

its name

was Pain and Suffering

which took strange form 

as a Pangolin

yet black as tar

and clutching tight  

to my left arm

its sad, red eyes

small and round

watching mine

without a sound

and rows and rows 

of fierce sharp fangs

which never once 

tore at my skin

yet this creature

held on tight

as I moved left

and I moved right

still Pain and Suffering

could not remain

though hurtless 

motionless

and featherlight

I found discomfort 

in its sight

troubled and restless

to release its hold

free it from 

its anguished life

but oh

the heartache 

in those eyes

and strange the warmth

from its dark form 

embracing mine

yet Pain and Suffering

could not stay

could not hang on

to me that way

so I summoned my husband

who arrived with his drill

placing it mercifully

on its ink black skull

the clinging creature

with sad, red eyes

knew what was next

yet not sure why

I moaned and moaned

as the dark blood flowed

gently from the sickening hole

in went another

at the creature’s side

then Pain and Suffering 

quietly died

and I cried

and I cried

and I cried 

and I cried

until my husband 

touched my cheek

and with anxious repentance 

I stirred awake

haunted with visions 

in death’s strange wake 

I searched for solace

searched for sleep

and if by chance 

to once more dream

prayed the wretched figure

with the sad red eyes

would not take hold 

of me again

Within Close Range: Flying

I dream of flying.

Lifting off the edge of the bluff

and rising quickly 

toward the fat, lazy clouds

hovering over the great, grey lake.

Circling the nearby harbor

where scattered sailboats bob, 

I swoop and dive

like the swallows nearby,

but seek out more familiar forms

hidden back among the trees,

just far enough 

from the crumbling bluff

to put Dad’s mind at ease.

To the glowing kitchen window

and the figure of Mom 

in her pink, plaid apron.

Ever regal.

Ever busy

in her blue and yellow kitchen.

I hover there,

in the cool lake air,

listening to the happy clinks and clanks

of pots and plates.

And try to imagine what’s cooking

by what’s wafting through the windows.

Until a strong breeze 

lifts the aroma 

and me

back over the lake.

Past the sunken, old pier

where giant carp spawn 

year after year.

Past the rocky harbor walls

standing hard against the waves.

Until the house 

and the cottage 

and the beach 

disappear,

and I begin to really soar

over endless stretches 

of dark and deep.

Unhappy to find my bed

and solid ground beneath me 

when I wake.