Roswila's Dream & Poetry Realm

Dreamku/Tanka/Monoku with Digital Photos/Art; Other Poetry; more...

~ * "Wisdom begins in wonder." Socrates ~ *

SEE ALSO: ROSWILA'S TAROT GALLERY & JOURNAL (with The Found Tarot) and ROSWILA'S TAIGA TAROT (deck-in-progress) and TRYING TO HOLD A BOX OF LIGHT (Roswila's photos, from realism to abstract)

Monday, July 31, 2006


[Haiku #121 from Haiku Series by Joan-of-Arts; "An on-going series of collages using fabric, paper and metal leafing." Be sure to vist the rest of her gallery, as well.]

There is a long-standing and still common belief that a “real” haiku should have little emotion to ruffle the still reflective pond of a moment; that haiku should be totally “Zen.” There’s also a long-standing and common belief that a haiku should offer a profound resonance of some sort (frequently spiritual), leading to that famous “Ah HAH!” moment on part of the reader.

I’ll address the above points in greater detail in a future post. But for now I’ll simply add that these effects are certainly, IMHO, welcome in haiku or in any poetry. However, they are not necessarily “native” to haiku – i.e., prescribed to by all the classical Japanese haikuists – or the only emotional tones which haiku can or should carry.

More and more, I believe haiku can and do share part of any moment of life, not just those profoundly deep, still, or reflective ones. Therefore, I encourage you, dear reader, to enjoy my dream haiku. Laugh, be saddened, get angry, be moved or be puzzled by them to your heart’s content. Let that reflective pond of the moment be stirred or ruffled or enjoy its stillness, or find profound meaning or a silly joke or an intriguing picture, but I do hope you will find something here worth the reading.


July 1, 2006

the flowery scarf
frames her long face
she neighs softly

July 2, 2006

wake up call
he stops at the entrance
again and again

July 3, 2006

hands on –
the remote control
will not work

July 4, 2006

she falls through the tree branches
knocking guns down

July 5, 2006

sweet secret
my young lover
avoids my gaze

July 6, 2006

the crow’s screech
trails into morning –
thunder crash

July 7, 2006

dream shard
children dig for
what’s been buried

July 8, 2006

the swordfish
cuts off my head

[Based on one of two childhood nightmares I remember.]

July 9, 2006

she reads minds
so knows of our deceit

July 10, 2006

I see the wounds
on her bare back
my own ache

July 11, 2006

he’s not concerned
he’ll just catch a later train
waiting for Godot

July 12, 2006

he’s not my father!
I grind the mirror
to dust

July 13, 2006

old photos peel
off the light blue walls
a fresh start

July 14, 2006

a movie starlet
lectures the old woman
amused silence

July 15, 2006

she strikes a balance
in the tracks of others
a narrow path

July 16, 2006

old workplaces
empty even of sorrow
the past laid to rest

July 17, 2006

she claims no man
has taken her for a ride
my eyes betray me

July 18, 2006

she hooks up as
the butt end of a centaur
ancient masquerade

July 19, 2006

colorful globes
light the spreading candelabra
tree of life

[Based on a 20 year old dream, when I was first reading about The Tree of Life in the Qabala and how the Tarot has been related to it. It was only on waking that I saw the resemblance of the globes to the Sephira and the candelabra to the Tree of Life.]

July 20, 2006

a naked woman
curled on the dinner table
chewed out

July 21, 2006

leap of faith
to join fellow travelers:
midnight express

July 22, 2006

a light at the top
of the vertical gutter
keeping things clear

July 23, 2006

curtains create
private spaces down the hall
a wind comes up

July 24, 2006

tether broken
he floats away in space
the mothership fades

July 25, 2006

there are none so blind...
the pattern on her skirt
is a language

July 26, 2006

summer rain
dreams of writing haiku
about death

July 27, 2006

close to home
my cowardly lion

July 28, 2006

the steamy mirror
we pick up our argument
from the dream

July 29, 2006

at war inside the church
I burn between

July 30, 2006

the gods’ shoemaker
creates great sandals
shod for the trek

July 31, 2006

pregnant again
what will be born
this time

* * * *

Resource: Marlene Mountain's site; amazing one-line haikus, essays, art work, etc.

‘til next time, keep dreaming,


[aka: Patricia Kelly]

****If you wish to copy or use any of my writing or poems, please email me for permission (under “View my complete profile”)****My other blog: ROSWILA’S TAROT GALLERY & JOURNAL.

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Saturday, July 29, 2006


[New York City skyline photo:]

"Urban haiku” is how a friend of mine refers to haiku written about city scenes. I think that makes a nice distinction between these haiku and the more commonly known nature-themed haiku. See the post here "Urban Haiku," dated May 30, 2006 for more of my urban haiku.

The below were written as long ago as 1999 and as recently as this month, most in the past eight months or so.

we push our carts
on the shady side
the temperature soars


hot laundromat
she speaks Korean
I use hand gestures


a neighbor hoses
her terrace:
garbage cans drum


outgrowing my home
the dracena I raised
from a sprout


office tree
leans to the light


train delay, but oh,
the ice revealing
every tree branch


subway serenade:
in his shiny guitar
my tired face


leaf litter swirls
workers hurry


end of the line
subway graffiti
softened by fog


after her death
cleaning my roomate's closet
little by little


houseplants reflected
in the silver gazing ball
winter rain


Two One-Liners:
[A form being used more these days. It echos, to me, the one line form of Japanese haiku in calligraphy -- except that is a vertical line.]

Nor'easter -- bowling on the roof


a lengthy pause -- still I flinch at the thunder

* * * *

Resource: Simply Haiku, an e-journal for haiku and related forms.

‘til next time, keep dreaming,


[aka: Patricia Kelly]

****If you wish to copy or use any of my writing or poems, please email me for permission (under “View my complete profile”)****My other blog: ROSWILA’S TAROT GALLERY & JOURNAL.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006


[The Seven of Pentacles in The Tarot of the Trance deck; see footnote]

In the post here of July 22, 2006 I shared some of my experiences with teaching creative writing at The Lighthouse for the blind and visually imparied for three and a quarter years (1987-1990). In going through my files since that post, I found the below poem the class and I wrote together in January of 1990.

One of the things I often did when first starting a class or workshop, was to lead everyone in a collective writing effort. It usually helped us to get to know a little bit about each other and to begin working together. The resulting poems varied greatly in cohesion but rarely fell short of their aim of beginning to create a working group. They also never failed to help me begin to assess where each student was at, both in terms of skills, and in terms of interests and needs.

In this exercise, I led the class in a guided meditation in which they met a wonderful tree that had something important to tell them about their writing. Each student then said a word out loud that described their tree in some way. I then randomly "gave" one of those words to each student. Then each class member wrote a sentence, using their "gift" word, that in some way reflected what the tree said to them about their writing. Once we had all the sentences we decided on how they fit together.

The below was written at what would be the start of my last year of teaching at the Lighthouse (though I did not know it then) and is probably the most cohesive of its type we produced. This is not surprising as most of us had been in this class for two and a quarter years already.

(written by Debbie, Dorothe, Greta,
Patricia, Rose, Thea and Vernon)

Knowledge I learned from the tree
was most enlightening.

My inner self was frightened,
and like tree moss
my heart's feelings were fuzzy.

Hung high amid your branches,
I was enveloped by a peaceful strength.

With the scent of pine in the wind
I felt the rough bark of the tree.

Firm bark, protecting sweet inner growth.

Tender is the tree.

* * * *

Footnote: I had not planned on using a Tarot card to illustrate this post. However, that I came across this card in The Tarot of the Trance deck as I was searching for graphics for my Tarot blog last night, could be considered a bit of synchronicity. (1) A trance is very much like meditation and creative visualization. (2) A traditional meaning for The Seven of Pentacles is appreciating the fruits of your labor. (3) The post today on my Tarot blog -- written before finding the above Tarot card version -- is about The Seven of Pentacles, with two other versions of this card and several other less common meanings for it.

Need I add anything? I was very moved by this collective poem, as I was by all my experiences at The Lighthouse.

Resource: How Poems Work, a "lively" blog with various articles about poetry.

‘til next time, keep dreaming,


[aka: Patricia Kelly]

****If you wish to copy or use any of my writing or poems, please email me for permission (under “View my complete profile”)****My other blog: ROSWILA’S TAROT GALLERY & JOURNAL.

Monday, July 24, 2006


Back in 1986 when I wrote the below little piece it was one of several that were just simple descriptions. (See the May 12, 2006 post here called "Several of My Heretic Poems," piece titled "An Open and Shut Case," for another example of this type of writing I was experimenting with.)

Another input to the piece was a series of fairy dreams I'd had. None were like the fairy in this piece, though. In fact, once I had determined the idea of emotional expression and decided it would have a fairy-like character, I deliberately went for bold action. My dream fairy -- a soul symbol, I realized -- was rather wounded. And I wanted to experiment, if only in fantasy, with less deep and agonizing ways of relating to things than my dream fairy went through. Even as I took the dream images seriously.

The last influence on this piece -- what a lot of input for a small piece -- was the Flower Fairies artwork of Cicely Mary Barker (the fairy above is one of hers). I'd just discovered her work and found it delightful. I still have a couple of her fairy pictures up in my home.


She had always been fascinated by what scintillates there, at the surface of things. She flitted through life like a fairy, gathering aspects of mind as they reflected or refracted and gave them each names. This ruby she rolled fondly around in her pocket she called "Rage." It was her most recent acquisition. She had found it blooming gloriously on the face of a friend. And she had swiped it openly, lifting it surely from him as one might pluck a ripe apple. Then she had frolicked away, gleefully ignoring the pink surprise spurting where rage had once grown.

* * * *

Resource: ArtMagick "is a virtual gallery dedicated to the continual quest of seeking out obscure 19th century artists and long-forgotten paintings showing a 'magic world of romance and pictured poetry.' The majority of the content in the archive covers the Pre-Raphaelite and Symbolist movements."

‘til next time, keep dreaming,


[aka: Patricia Kelly]

****If you wish to copy or use any of my writing or poems, please email me for permission (under “View my complete profile”)****My other blog: ROSWILA’S TAROT GALLERY & JOURNAL.

Saturday, July 22, 2006



From September 1987 to December 1990, I had the joy of teaching creative writing once a week at The Lighthouse, The New York Association for the Blind, Adult Leisure Education. When I was interviewed for the position I was asked if I had any questions about teaching the blind. I said that I knew I had a lot to learn about it and that I imagined the students could readily teach me. And teach me they did! Most of the time, though, I was not even aware I was the only “normally” sighted person in the room. Until I’d hold something out to someone and realize they weren’t taking it because they couldn’t see it. Or I’d forget some endlessly patient guide dog was under the table until I’d stretch out a leg and bump into him.

To inspire creative writing in class, I would sometimes bring in one of the musical instruments from my collection and play it, then pass it around. That usually went over extremely well. I even introduced them to creative visualization, which was mildly successful. Yes, some might wonder why I tried a visualization exercise with the blind. But creative visualization is, after all, imagination. And everyone, blind, sighted, or in-between, has at least some imagination.

I was intrigued to learn what dreaming can be like for the blind and visually impaired. From what I gathered from my students and other blind folk, what dream content is and whether it is recalled, varies as much among the visually challenged (to be P.C. :-D) as it does among the sighted. Of course, those who have been blind from birth do not recall visual images. But not all the dream content of the sighted is in visual form, either. Visual is just the most commonly recalled type. I listened sadly one time as a student said he still dreamed in visual images, after losing his sight sometime earlier. But that he was beginning to feel that he was losing his sight all over again as his visual dream images were fading and becoming less frequent.

At the end of each class I’d offer an idea for creative writing during the week until we met the next week. As the first summer approached, when there would be no classes, the students expressed how they’d miss these suggestions. So I put a brief exercise each week on my telephone answering machine during summer breaks. This was not only a hit with the class, but with my friends and others who called my home. The vast majority of the writing resulting from these suggestions and in-class exercises was prose, which generated some interesting conversations when I would share poetry. Especially about what the difference is between poetry and prose, given modern poetry rarely has rhyme, meter, or a particular form (like a sonnet).

At one point I was so “jazzed” by the writing the class was producing I approached The Lighthouse about my designing a small chapbook of their work, also to include artwork by a visually impaired student. I was astounded when the printing was funded. I found out much later that a fellow staff member had cut her own budget to make this possible. She had requested that her gift be anonymous and I was only informed of her generosity at her memorial service.

Below are just two pieces from that chapbook: VISIONS.* The title was their choice, though I chose the work to be included with their approval.

by Rose Francis
[the result of a suggestion to write about shadows]

His head barely reached the table. He stood there eyes wide. A wet pamper hanging below navy shorts. He stood there, his skinny legs in dirty white shoes, unaware of the tragedy. His mother was gone. It was December: she probably would have taken him to Macy’s. To see Santa Claus. Perhaps she had planned to buy him a teddy bear. A train set. Maybe a big ball.

His birthday was near: had she bought him a new coat to go to church on Sunday? What had she dreamed for his future? College. Football. Law? She had talked of the priesthood.

He stood there. His hair in baby braids, smiling. He came toward me when I reached for his hand. I picked him up and held him. His Mommy was gone. And I would begin the walk in her shadow.

by Thea Wolff

Have you ever stepped over a moonbeam,
when there was no stepping to do?

Have you ever stopped
to pick something up,
and a sunspot made fun of you?

Did you ever sit
on your bed in despair and deep sorrow,

hoping that the sun –
will be there again tomorrow?

Follow me where you’ll find
knowledge and care,
friendships and true understanding,
help and encouragement never ending.

Soon you’ll walk through the moonbeam
and tease the sun galore,
what else are sunspots for?

* * * *

Ultimately, I may have learned more by teaching at The Lighthouse than my students. It was a delight to work and explore with both staff and students during those three and a quarter years.

* From the back cover of the chapbook (printed probably in 1988 or '89): “The Lighthouse, The New York Association for the Blind, is the largest voluntary multi-service agency serving blind and visually impaired people in the nation. The Lighthouse Adult Leisure Education program offers 50 different courses covering a wide variety of recreational, artistic, social, and cultural activities for adults seeking to develop leisure skills or simply to enjoy themselves.”

Resource: There does not appear to be a website for the New York Lighthouse with up-dated information, so here’s a link to the parent group, Lighthouse International.

‘til next time, keep dreaming,


[aka: Patricia Kelly]

****If you wish to copy or use any of my writing or poems, please email me for permission (under “View my complete profile”)****My other blog: ROSWILA’S TAROT GALLERY & JOURNAL.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006


[mandala used by permission: Zodiac Arts]

Just a simple short poem today. The heat wave we’ve been in reminded me of it.

The scene described was during a work commute in the middle of a heat wave 16 years ago. Walking into a subway station during the summer can be like walking into a brick wall. Especially after a day of work in an overly air-conditioned office. I am so glad to be out of that, being retired now. I still have to cope with the heat at home, but at least I’m in my home space and on my own schedule.

Back then as I anchored my own hair up, I remember thinking that the other two women looked very placid for such a hot and stressful situation, very like the High Priestess card in the Tarot, one of whose traditional meanings is intuition. I also briefly wondered what their musings and intuitings were about; mine were on the Tarot.


We wait, and wait.
The train platform steamy and crowded,
and oddly quiet.

Then one, two, three women,
strangers to each other,
each in her own time
lifts her long hair off her sticky neck
and twists, wraps, anchors
her tresses in an artful bower
with only her fingers
to guide her:

all this deft weaving
at the back of the mind.

* * * *

Resource: Poem of the Week, international poetry, with archives of previous poems of the week.

‘til next time, keep dreaming,


[aka: Patricia Kelly]

****If you wish to copy or use any of my writing or poems, please email me for permission (under “View my complete profile”)****My other blog: ROSWILA’S TAROT GALLERY & JOURNAL.

Sunday, July 16, 2006



The past is always present for me,* but never more so than recently. As the ending image of the poem below states, it has been "invading my dreams" even more than usual and more obviously. Decades of experience have taught me that this "step up" in the past's incursions on the present indicate some sort of important realization or change is in the offing. As the end of the poem also indicates this makes for some anxiety. Though experience in the years since I wrote this poem has made the waiting somewhat easier, knowing as I do now that anticipation is worse than the actuality.

INVOLUTION is at least 20 years old. The dream that inspired it is described in the first five lines. The initial draft was much longer. (I wish I had that early draft as it might be very interesting to see what I cut and what got changed.) I shared the draft with an office friend who was a wonderful writer. He very tactfully suggested I write another draft without reference to the first one, and just let what comes, come. When I shared the result of doing this he said in a laughing but vaguely dismayed tone of voice "You've cut off its head!" He never was one to give either outright praise or criticim so I knew that was all the response I'd get. And as I was content with the result his suggestion produced, I left it at this version:


The red ball you chased across
the long green lawn of your youth
plunged each time off a cliff
and you blindly after it,
a heap of hieroglyphic bones.

They are knitted now, those bones.
Their fracture lines knotted
into finest filigree.

Their labyrinthine patterns
invade your dreams nightly,
tattoos breathing
on a sailor's impending chest.

* * *

P. S. The word "impending" occasionally generated puzzlement when I'd share this piece at poetry readings. Back then I considered changing it to "hovering" but that doesn't, at least to me, carry the subtle menace that "impending" does. So, I left it as is.

* I don't think I've mentioned on this blog how I have a sense that life moves in a spiral fashion. Forward or upward or downward (and at really bad times turning so that it knots itself up entirely), but always coming around again to integrate whatever we need to from our pasts. I've posted this little aphorism to my Tarot blog about The Wheel of Fortune:

passing our pasts
on each turning
of the spiral,
we gather in
and move on

I read recently about a South Amercian Indian tribe whose language and body gestures have traditionally placed the past in the front, before them. As opposed to what has been thought to be a universal constant of the past being metaphorically to our backs. Backs To The Future, in the UCSD news.

* * *

Resource: Literature Online, classic literature library.

‘til next time, keep dreaming,


[aka: Patricia Kelly]

****If you wish to copy or use any of my writing or poems, please email me for permission (under “View my complete profile”)****My other blog: ROSWILA’S TAROT GALLERY & JOURNAL.

Friday, July 14, 2006



I'm an American "mutt," being Irish/with some English on my father's side and German/Polish/Russian Jewish on my mother's side. This sixteen year old story felt at the time as if I'd channeled it directly from an actual Russian ancestor. I'm not sure exactly how much I believe in channeling, i.e. the jury is not in yet on this point for me. However, I have had experiences that I would describe as channeling.

I clearly recall sitting down to write with no idea about what, and having the first line of this piece "fall out" of my pen. The subsequent lines trailed smoothly behind. This is highly uncharasteristic of how I write. Another reason it felt channeled is how very little editing it seemed to need. Which is also rather unusual with my writing (prose or poetry). Lastly, although I tend to "see" whatever I write, the scene in this story was, and still is, a more than usually vivid mental image.

Ah, well, I didn't set out to make a case for the piece having been channeled. I only wanted to share a bit of background on a story that connected me to a distant part of my heritage, if only in fantasy.


My great-great-grand Aunt reads tea leaves by lantern light. The bright colors of her clothes conspire with the twilight to hide her tatters. The lantern sways in the fall wind, swiping at the dark. Her husband calls angrily from their wagon and startles her customer. The name he slices the air with is never her real one, her proud Jewish name. The name she does not even whisper to herself when she lies pressed beneath the night, like flowers between the pages of that book she had once owned. When she was young. And still very beautiful.

She had enjoyed sharing her body then. Especially with that sweet young man who gave her the wonderful book she could not even read. But she knew, as she had always sensed what the tea leaves and Tarot cards said, that there were stories there to die for, to live for. And when her sister's family pulled their roots out of starving Mother Russia for that golden land across the seas, she did not hesitate. As she had not hesitated to give her body for the book, and she passed it on to her shy sister. Surely children raised in that rich young land, far from famine and war, would work miracles with such a book!

My great-great-grand Aunt reads tea leaves by lantern light. From their old wagon her husband yells again into the night that name she answers to but has never owned. She nods reassuringly to her anxious customer. The lantern swings, casting light, then dark, then light across her carefully bland face. She completes the naming of her customer's future. Then rises, once again, to forget her own.

* * * *

Oh, and I just realized there is an unintended -- though probably unconsciously urged -- minor connection between this post and the post to my Tarot blog today (link at bottom of this post). The "Resource" I listed for today is by the Russian occultist P.D. Ouspensky.

Resource:, for free "fortune telling" readings, including Tarot and Runes.

‘til next time, keep dreaming,


[aka: Patricia Kelly]

****If you wish to copy or use any of my writing or poems, please email me for permission (under “View my complete profile”)****My other blog: ROSWILA’S TAROT GALLERY & JOURNAL.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006


My previous post was a poem about an office experience. So is today's. The woman I am speaking to in the poem was a co-worker (well over 20 years ago) who'd become a good office friend during the weekly lunchbreak poetry workshop I led. The poem was my response to her developing cancer. Ultimately and blessedly, she was cured.

The pieces of my own past I reference in the poem were how I'd taken care of my best friend and roommate as she died of cancer. My co-worker knew of this, and I sensed her worry that her illness was, therefore, too hard for me to bear. I wanted her to know that I would bear whatever was necessary to support her. I am not sure she ever really understood what I was trying to say, either in this poem or to her directly on this subject. I do not say this critically or even with any regret. I am reminded of a saying I ran across recently that "People do not have our kind of love to give, only their own kind." (That's a paraphrase, but it is the gist of it.) And that went both ways between my co-worker and myself, of course.


At times your eyes are like
fragmented mirrors,
sharp pieces of my own past protrude.

And your words ring the loud bell
of memory until it cries from
the wilderness echoing your pain.

More terrible yet is my impotence,
against which I am wrecked
again and again,
a phoenix against her death.

I cannot save you,
cannot make your life over,
cannot rescue you from your struggle.

I can only promise I will not swerve
from these collisions:

they are my gift to you.

* * * *

Resource: Poetry Soul to Soul, this is the web site of a good friend of mine, Joneve McCormick, and has a wonderful collection of various poets' works. I'm delighted she's included some of mine.

‘til next time, keep dreaming,


[aka: Patricia Kelly]

****If you wish to copy or use any of my writing or poems, please email me for permission (under “View my complete profile”)****My other blog: ROSWILA’S TAROT GALLERY & JOURNAL.

Sunday, July 09, 2006



One of the first things that hit me as I prepared to retire several months ago, was just how long I'd been working. I went to work right out of High School and I graduated early, at 16 (I was considered extra-smart in those days :-D). So that's 46 years, not a few years longer than my roommate has been alive. Given this, I realized recently I'd not posted much here about the work world and my experiences in it, which have been various -- to put it mildly -- and mostly very difficult.

Had I to do it all over? Yes, it would have been wonderful if I'd had the presence of mind to choose a way to earn a living more in synch with my nature. As it was, though, I can't imagine myself having made any other choices than the ones I did. And given all the challenges I've met and survived, I respect myself for having made it to retirement. However, I'm not going to focus here (at least not yet) on those difficulties but on those experiences that helped me "keep on keepin' on."

The below short piece was written at a time (the middle 1980's) when I was still very much effected by the radical politics I'd been involved in earlier, including a union organizing drive. However, it is more about about one of those sweet moments of quiet human communion.

When I'd read this piece at poetry readings I'd sing the song lyrics. This was a frightening experience. I always suffered from terrible stage fright, especially if I had to sing anything. On a couple of occasions I "copped out" and had a friend do the singing instead. So why, you might ask, did I do readings/performances at all? Because, like the punch line to the old joke, "It felt so good when I stopped!" Seriously, though, because I would usually calm down once I felt a rapport developing with the audience, and I enjoyed (and needed) the ongoing community and feedback.


The oppressive workday was almost over. Joan hovered wordlessly by Dina at her terminal, seeking the creature comfort of proximity. Daniel, arriving late for the night shift, collapsed his tense frame into the neighboring workstation. The silence between the three co-workers attenuated, waivered, and settled like briefly stirred silt.

Then Daniel's sweet, tremulous tenor rose gently above the intrusive clacking of his keyboard, "We shall o-ver-co-o-ome, we shall o-ver-co-o-ome...."

Her elegant posture undisturbed Dina joined Daniel, "We shall over-come some da-a-a-ay...." The clacking of her keyboard a steady counterpoint to his.

Joan held her breath, then slipped seamlessly into their soft singing, "O-oh deep in my hear-ear-eart, I do be-lieve...."

Sadness was an almost palpable undercurrent which sought to move them closer to each other across the gulfs of history and isolation.

There, in the very belly of the whale, they sang. And the whale turned fitfully in its sleep.

* * * *

Resource: Tell Me A Story, by Geraldine Amaral, how to use the Tarot to help you write stories.

‘til next time, keep dreaming,


[aka: Patricia Kelly]

****If you wish to copy or use any of my writing or poems, please email me for permission (under “View my complete profile”)****My other blog: ROSWILA’S TAROT GALLERY & JOURNAL.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006



As I was going through my files for ideas for today's post I ran across this old piece, written in 1984. The memory it references is of a Fourth of July in my childhood, so it seems appropriate to post it now, if a day late.

This piece is not what I would call successful writing. I've edited it many times, both expanding and contracting it, and finally left it as the flawed but deeply felt piece it is.

I am also hard pressed to categorize it. It's not a short-short story, nor is it really a prose poem. So I'll simply leave it as a childhood memory; maybe, a vignette.


The evening is dreary. A car slips by spewing water across the sidewalks. Its headlights briefly splash twin asterisks of light on my rain wet window pane. How much they look like sparklers...

I can still smell the pungent odor of the last sparkler my father lit. My spirit jumps in sympathy with my towheaded brother's rabbit path around our father. "Please, please, please Daddy, one more, one more!" Phssst, fizzle and Daddy answers his plea. We all stand, momentarily content to be silent and together as the brief beauty burns down...

Long after the bright stars on the window have gone, a tender glow remains, cradled by the night.

* * * *

It just now struck me as I proofed this post that its nostalgia echos the card for today on my Tarot blog (link at bottom of this post), which is about The Six of Cups.

Resource: New Pages.Com, Online Literary Magazines, listings for online publications.

‘til next time, keep dreaming,


[aka: Patricia Kelly]

****If you wish to copy or use any of my writing or poems, please email me for permission (under “View my complete profile”)****My other blog: ROSWILA’S TAROT GALLERY & JOURNAL.

Sunday, July 02, 2006


A New Approach, by Robert P. Gongloff

Llewellyn Publications, Woodbury, MN; 2006;
ISBN 0-7387-0818-6;

After many years of dream work, reading of relevant literature, writing stories and poems based on dreams, and so on, I was excited by the idea of a new approach to dream work. On reading "Dream Exploration" I was not disappointed.

If one comes away from this book with only one thing -- how to determine the theme of a dream -- one will have gained a great deal. Gongloff’s descriptions of how to determine a dream’s theme clarified why some of my own dreams seem to "unzip" with ease, while others remain relatively closed. That in the former instance I am identifying the theme: the underlying question that one needs to be asking and addressing in one’s waking life.

Gongloff also makes a somewhat uncommon recommendation to keep a day journal -- notes about the day before going to sleep. This is an extremely valuable suggestion. I have been keeping a detailed daily journal for many years (for other reasons than dreams) and find it a tremendous aid to dream work. I stumbled across this deeply reciprocal relationship between my day and dream journal by accident, working it out as I went along. Gongloff outlines clearly how it can be done.

However, Gongloff’s system is not for the casual dream worker. Though I hasten to add that it does have a tremendous amount to offer, if one is willing and able to put in the time and effort that would be required to learn and apply his elegant and detailed system. I believe it would be ideal for a dream worker who likes or wants a prescriptive approach. Someone new to dream work who has the requisite dedication, could also do quite well with this book as it covers the basics and outlines a very clear structure for the process.

This book includes many charts, sample dreams and possible evaluations of them, instructions, categories, a good bibliography, and so on. Gongloff is also very thorough in offering practical ways to apply what you gain from dream work to your waking life.

In fact, given the breadth of his system I would say this book is ultimately not about dream work, but about life work – day and dream work. About listening for the questions and where they direct our attention, so that we may grow into those souls we sometimes glimpse in waking mystical moments and in the most numinous of our dreams.

* * * *

‘til next time, keep dreaming,


[aka: Patricia Kelly]

****If you wish to copy or use any of my writing or poems, please email me for permission (under “View my complete profile”)****My other blog: ROSWILA’S TAROT GALLERY & JOURNAL.

Saturday, July 01, 2006


As I have said in previous posts about dream haiku, I am still working out the relationship for me between the haiku form and my dreams. My tendency still is to favor the dream, so I am aware many of these may give those knowledgeable about haiku heartburn. However, there is something to be said for experimentation, for stretching the limits of a form. And even as I do so, I work very hard to honor the haiku form -- a form I continue to learn about, by the way. Given all this, my dream haiku notebook looks like a much-edited inter-state highway roadmap! (What the dream needs to be saying comes through very readily; its getting it into "proper" haiku form that can take lots of thought.)

I should mention that these haiku were not necessarily written on the date they were posted, nor were their source dreams dreamt on that date. I choose a dream haiku to post on any given day by looking through my handwritten notebook and picking one that appeals to me for one reason or another. The dream haiku in this little notebook are based on dreams I had from yesterday all the way back to many years ago. I do have the month and year of the dream recorded with the haiku so I could sort all these dream haiku in date order of their source dream should I ever want to.

June 30, 2006

her hidden horse is not dead
only starved

June 29, 2006

the evil tree
can’t tolerate saliva
spit fire

June 28, 2006

he takes her toy
inchworm from her hand

June 27, 2006

the old horse
can only see to the side
circuitous path

June 26, 2006

double indemnity
dwelling on a simpler time
that never was

June 25, 2006

translucent white globes
ring the solar system’s edge
crowded offing

June 24, 2006

cool morning breeze:
dream clings of being
half man, half woman

June 23, 3006

strange bedfellows
the disaffected thieves
make love

June 22, 2006

she finds the hurt boy
beneath a sheltering tree
deep haven

June 21, 2006

she writes
the old URLs in script
living links

June 20, 2006

futile effort
she painstakingly staples
the trashed image

June 19, 2006

the villains
closet the full moon
lunatic fringe

June 18, 2006

she asks her father
to point out the bus stop
there’s no place like home

June 16, 2006

crowded subway train:
fear makes the tiger

June 15, 2006

she does not want
to be like other women
sour grapes

June 14, 2006

the rope-like scar
down the middle of her breast
one twist too many

June 13, 2006

William Shatner
has had a sex change
she runs the show

June 12, 2006

women bend saplings
to fling themselves over
bridging the gap

June 11, 2006

a newborn kitten
nurses at her blouse button
blind faith

June 10, 2006

two Buddha statues
lie together broken

June 9, 2006

George Harrison
sells cakes across the veil
soul food

June 8, 2006

the air at the edge
tugs as it rushes by
fear and elation

June 7, 2006

we urge the foal
to separate from Pegasus
a crucial grounding

June 6, 2006

the snakes’ bites
put her in an altered state
strangers ask questions

June 5, 2006

little footprints raise
on my friend’s pregnant belly
a new path

June 4, 2006

all she sings
are someone else’s songs
her spirit wilts

June 3, 2006

sheet after clear sheet
offers more clarity
on a roll

June 2, 2006

the plague survivors
fling windows open for air
starting yet again

June 1, 2006

Matthew asks questions
I wake
and he dies again

* * * *

P.S. of 1/8/07--I just noted there's no daily dream haiku for the 17th of June. I know I posted one, however, I obviously forgot to enter it in my word processing file from which I make the full month's post. There's no way I can figure out which one it was. Sigh.

‘til next time, keep dreaming,


[aka: Patricia Kelly]

****If you wish to copy or use any of my writing or poems, please email me for permission (under “View my complete profile”)****My other blog: ROSWILA’S TAROT GALLERY & JOURNAL.

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