Tag Archives: dreams

Water Birds

Water Birds

When the street lamps are lit in the evening,
I sit by the window,
look out on the always autumn,
see the trees below,
glisten in the glow.
I am still there, sat in that chair,
calm at the centre
while the wheels turn around.
In my time of absence,
there I’ll be found,
watching leaves lift in the waltz of the wind,
thinking what if you and I were water birds.
We’d build a nest high in a tree,
glide low and slow over the lake.
Though it will seem like a dream,
we will still be there when we wake.

Grace is too clumsy a word
to describe the rise from the reeds
of the wings of a water bird.

All your medals are gold,
never silver or bronze.
You could only be first,
never second or third.
You know you have won,
lift your arms in the air,
like the wings of a water bird.

We’d be free of time and the need for words,
if we lived like water birds.

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Old Gold Mine

Old Gold Mine

Look down to see the old gold mine,
abandoned like a vineyard that ran out of wine,
trust to note more than weeds and dust,
rusted trucks on a broken line.
See in the stifling dark
where they dug with axe, drill and spade.
Think of the man in the white wooden office
who withheld the true wages they made.
You can almost see them,
sat on the slopes in the shade,
helmets on the ground,
drinking coffee from tin mugs.
Pictures remain but no sound.
Gold in the mountains,
silver in streams,
jewels in the markets,
things more rare were delved for in dreams.

No Road

No Road

No road should be that wide.
More than half way there,
I knew I’d never reach the other side.
No, no road should be that wide.

No road should be that wide.
Would be easier
to try to stop the tide
than to reach the other side.
Even if you were tall, had a long stride,
your crossing would be denied.
No, no road should be that wide.

My feet felt like bags of dry shells,
my legs like iron rods, cold and stiff.
I could not take another step.
I feared a fall from a cliff.

A black smudge formed in the air,
a vehicle to menace the night.
From the dream drama, I broke free,
glad to see my room in grey light.

I blame it on the dust,
not the kind that settles on furniture
but on the mind,
to bring muffle to the ear, error to the eye.
It was just a deathly dream.
I let it go by.

No road should be that wide,
not if it was built so you could get to the other side.
No road should be that wide.

The Dream Of The Flying Fried Egg

The Dream Of The Flying Fried Egg

The universe took forever to get started.
Once it did it never stopped.

He can be Heracles, she can be Cleopatra.
We can be whoever we want to be in our dreams.
He can be Achilles, she can be Boadacea.
The river branches to the sea in many streams.

He can be the knight who rescues the maiden from the tower,
who saves the king from the rebel plot.
She can be the one who frees Joan of Arc from the fire,
who becomes the princess in tales long forgot.

This is the dream of the flying fried egg.
It flies in through your kitchen window
and lands on your plate.
You choose to eat it with peas and mashed potato.
Later, you wonder why you were chosen.
Distracted by attention to time,
you are relieved to be more early than late.
Waked from the dream of the flying fried egg,
you put on your boots and take your coat from the peg.

Whatever I could dream I could never dream you.
Whatever you could dream you could never dream me.
That means you cannot beat reality.

May the black turtle lead you to the shore.
May the white crane lift from the lake in your dreams
when you open the door.

What Was Washed Up By The Sea

What Was Washed Up By The Sea

What was washed up by the sea,
we study on the shore,
empty shells and bits of wood,
weeds the waves tossed and tore.

Time to watch the tall ships go,
begin an ocean race.
From quieter centuries,
mast and sail pass with grace.

Verse is a skill few value,
prefer tales told in prose,
but there’ll always be moonlight,
the lover and the rose.

Titans and tyrants
move their pieces on the board.
From their lofty thrones
deign not to heal what is flawed.

I oar from the shore in my canoe,
just in time it seems.
Cannot see what I fear but you know
how it is in dreams.

The green jungle is left behind me,
the river grows broad.
In my desire to write a new tune,
I find the first chord.

Taken by the horizon,
the last tall ship sails on.
I step by a razor shell,
another stranger gone.

Dreams I Had

Dreams I Had

Britain was broken.
Barons fought for the right
to sit as king on the throne.
By Merlyn’s staff,
I was the child who pulled
the sword from the stone.

The battle of Trafalgar.
Nelson lay on the deck,
shot by a sniper.
Like the sails of his ship, he was torn.
I was the cabin boy,
high in the crow’s nest,
clouded by cannon smoke,
sounding victory for him on a horn.

Gunslinger rode into town,
ordered whiskey at the bar.
Poker players grew tense.
The saloon keeper perspired,
looked round for defence.
I was the man
who wore the sheriff’s star.

They were dreams I had
when I was younger.
Always woke warm,
refreshed from the drama,
glad to have been on the side that won,
sad that in real life I could save no one.

 

 

A Tale From A Bestiary Found In A Bazaar

A Tale From A Bestiary Found In A Bazaar

In dreams I was a traveller
in a stone city in the east.
I went up wooden stairs to my room in an inn,
sat in a chair by a window.
The night was quiet, with no moon or star.
Its pages lit by a lamp,
I read a tale from a Bestiary
found in a bazaar.
“It’s jewels not books, people want,”
said the stall trader.
Was not interested to haggle much over the price.
Bought it with four bronze and one silver coin.
My hands rested on it in a basket,
crammed with bracelets, sculptures and pots.
Absorbed by its pictures and prose, I was happy there.
When I woke, my head was warm on my pillow.
I’d rather be here than anywhere.