COHORTS OF THE SUN
the tide's cresting on a backward
swing these days, intense daytime
recall of people floating up from the deep
ocean of the long gone and facing
me as if sugar wouldn't melt in their mouths;
while later, the dreams that people
the night plummet like lead sinkers
leaving no imprint on
the sea's turbulent surface;
of the two, give me the dreams
any day (rather, any night)
at least I can make poetry (of a sort)
from them; it's true the dreams no longer
look or feel the same in daylight
as they did at night, still
there's a pleasure in them all,
even the painful ones dancing
like Zorba the Greek
on the beach of the page;
but these harsh daytime memories, bah!
how I wish that poems would crest as readily
with their rise as they do with dreams,
making these messy cohorts of the sun
more amenable to the music of change
[Free verse poem inspired by a decrease in dream recall and an increase in waking, old memories, written & posted 9-13-15 -- re-posted 8-14-18 (with a wee bit of tweaking). In a way, it was a relief to run across this old poem as it exactly addresses what I've been going through for many months now. But also, of course, sad. I read somewhere many years ago that getting into one's dotage can negatively impact dream recall. I'd hoped I'd escape that given my life-long romance with night dreams. But aging is aging and the brain does what it does. And I've not lost all recall and do still have an occasional night of very well-remembered dreams. Usually, however, it's goes like last night: I'm acutely aware of dreaming/having dreamed and even have some extremely vague recall that is often not very compelling to either think or write about. E.g., the only image I'm left with from last night's dreams is that of trying to organize the paper records of a search for the right or better new home/house. The important thing seemed to be the papers. I could see them clearly: black font on white pages. And there was something in my boss's attitude implying I was wanting too much. I.e., who was I, just a "lowly" office worker, to be expecting a better home. And all this had happened before, was all too familiar. Oh, tell a lie! There was also something else about trying to get a boss in my new office to assign a clear area where I and others can hang our coats. She denied my request. Making it clear it was too much to ask, even though I'd identified an out of the way area that would accommodate a lot of coats. Hm, these two dream fragments could actually be worked up into poems. (Were they actually part of one dream?) Especially the second one. So maybe the "lack of recall" I've been complaining about would be more aptly called a "lack of interest and energy." As now that I've typed those notes about the vague dream recall from last night, I'm encouraged to work them up into poems.) Photo "Midnight in the Scriptorium" (4-13-18 018v2) & Poem by Roswila]
PLEASE NOTE: in most browsers you can click on the above image for a larger version. Also, the photo accompanying a post is not necessarily meant to illustrate it, but to reflect some small, even slant aspect of the verse, similar to Japanese haiga (illustrated haiku).
There are many other sorts of posts on this blog. I indicate which are about or influenced by dreams. Some non dream focused posts are book reviews, "regular" poems (some by other writers), scifaiku, writing exercises, Tarot haiku, photos, haiga, and so on. However, most of those are in much older posts. There's a listing by month going back to early 2006, at the end of the sidebar.
* * * *
until next time, keep dreaming,
[a/k/a 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”). Roswila's other blog (dedicated to her photos only, i.e. no poetry or other writing; daily post); TRYING TO HOLD A BOX OF LIGHT.
