Category: dreams

Midsummer Night’s Trap

I am no Titania,
whose mind poisoned
by Puck’s subterfuge,
finds your asinine
nature alluring.

You once slaughtered
all rational instincts,
beheaded my sensibility,
paraded my gored heart
like a trophy oozing blood

Thought to seduce me
anew, so confidant in
your primal charms,
my carnal libido, but no
flowery fog deludes me

you are not a guileless
Bottom, but an incubus
maliciously motivated,
a destroyer of souls,
conquest a side sport…

So willingly we entered
that midnight garden
of lust – me, innocent
as Helena, you a serpent
in the plot, more twisted

than Puck’s foiled plan;
I fear I have not removed
myself far enough from
that enchanted dystopia,
am grasping to reach

something stable, sane…
a solid security that defies
magical notions, grounds
me in respectability, a return
to a banality that precludes you.

(Image:  classicmoviestills.com)

 

 

 

Business Venture

Victim, whose season is always Autumn,
bloodied tears like fallen leaves trailing;
and Martyr, for whom worship and self-
sacrifice is a dietary requirement; propose
to venture into retail ownership – recreating

a former failed attempt; believing that if
you build it (again) they will come, as Ego
has promised.  “Well, it worked for that
Kevin guy,” Victim agrees; Martyr’s eyes
shine with adoration and eager anticipation.

Spirit says:  Let it rest.  Leave the past
where it belongs; there is a time for
everything and with patience your
future will reveal itself.  No need to
grasp; learn from failure and move on.

But Victim is headstrong, has something
to prove, believes her finest moments
are in the past, is certain she can change
it all if given another a chance, and Martyr
well, she goes along willingly, has faith…

They’ll serve the public, create a niche
that no one can ignore, save the world
with each item they sell, market health
and cure-alls, and invite miracles to
grace their square footage and forget

about reality, and bills, and licenses –
refuse to let overheads dictate downfalls,
convinced they are divinely guided,see
evidence in the motley crowds drawn
to their recycled vision, scheme to find

a new location, mooch off the unsuspecting;
Victim swearing not to repeat old patterns,
Martyr offering up her life, her family, to save
the dream – It will be okay, Ego says; It will be
okay, Victim echoes; It will be okay, Martyr beams.

Spirit emits a silent sigh, has watched this
carousel ride for some time now, has a strong
inclination as to where this road will end, yet
knows that lessons can only be offered, and
perspective only gained through release.

 

 

Enrolment

If life was an English class
I’d enroll again for high school,
concentrate on the editing,
hope to gain something
the second time through

I’d excel at the assignments –
experience adds so much maturity
to the written word – and teachers
would deliberate and decide
that I don’t belong, and where

would that leave me?
Both the rigidity of self-judgment
and my softer, creative side
lecture me on the futility
of repeating past success or failure,

but; what else is there in life
to desire; what options lie ahead
for this diseased self: imposed
rest feeds my reflective side,
my mind regresses unwittingly.

I could study psychology, finish
a program once started, then
abandoned (a pattern I loathe),
but what merit lies there –
another backwards movement.

And what is this damnable urge
to perfect what has been, rewrite
the past, excel in the literature
of my own story?  I am destined
play a secondary role, foibles

contributing to the charm of
my character – maybe I should
enroll in a course on acceptance
learn to embrace the folly of
my youth, point myself forward.

(Image: www.bbc.co.uk)

 

Resort

If only life were a resort –
catered to meals, bed maids
who shuffle out of sight so as
to not disturb the illusion

that life is magical, comfort
a finger snap away; I’d refrain
from interaction, recognizing
celebrity amidst the guests –

imagine the surprise if one
should notice me: this fragile
ego pressured by the praise
would gush volumes, convince

me of genuine interest, ignore
glazed eyes, fail to appreciate
the bombs of emotion spewing
from my war-tattered mouth –

insights always come too late
to save me: my words, like drugs,
an excessive expense; my soul,
undervalued, strewn across

computer screens; I am Paris Hilton
regretting the exposure, trying to
keep afloat in a sea of superstitious
idiosyncrasies – an artist’s bane –

an acrobat, needing to balance
performance with observation,
resorting to bouts of self-
deprivation – no vacation here.

(Image: www.extravaganzi.com)

Water Tales

Bring the children to the waters’ edge,
let spirits that dwell there enchant,
sun glistening on star-filled eyes…..

teach the essence of dolphin breathing,
the presence of manna, how to question
roots and behold miracles of fish that fly

and colours that shimmer below the surface,
and sons that walk on water – there are stories
to be told by tides, whose rhythmic waves

follow a primal chant; the ocean’s whispers
reminders that survival is a game for the living
and that in death all return to its vast depths.

(Image: www.shallowwaterexpeditions.com)

Let Failures Lie

Pampered, socially supported
education would have been preferable
but I don’t belong to the elite,
and this malaise disrupts
any hope for success.

Learn best in the trenches,
dragged-out combat over hobnobbing
– can relate to the broken,
other-abled, survivors who thrive
despite challenges.

Know a man, who without
speech or behavioural norms,
moves others – inspires
(trapped as he is) love
and forgiveness.

Have loved others, projected
goodness into selfishness, been
betrayed,  watched friendships grow
where mine was cut off –
bore the burden of blame,

still I will share myself –
adverse to saying no –
in restlessness, seeking others,
when I should be nurturing self –
Who’s really at fault here?

A mother, once faced with immeasurable
tribulations, never giving up –
is not to be found, cut down
by illness, misfortune having culled
her optimism, her enthusiasm –

What is there to do now?
I kick aside the ashes of former
identities, contemplate the meaning
of failure, the loss of ambition
this locked out alienation:

Is it hurt, I feel…
abandonment…guilt…shame?
Absence of former friends
echoes in the empty cliffs of
rejection…questioning

all that has been –
do they feel it too, or
is it merely personal mire?
What choice is there
but to embrace this solo journey?

miscalculated distances,
energy deficit, and yet,
I continue…until straight
and narrow meets clover leafs
and learning dawns –

paths cross over, crisscross;
life is about movement
and choices, and change
and endless possibilities –
there is no going back.

(Image: alone-alone-alone.blogspot.com)

Off Stage Fright

Point me towards the boards;
watch me improvise – calm
rehearsed, funny mastered,

catering to audiences a forte’,
command performances key
to locking out this perusing

soul’s wordless angst – will
unleash soliloquies, cleverly
unscripted quips to delight

well-attended audiences,
on queue hijinks, will not miss
a line, or quit the show, find

refuge in the wings. Spotlights
motivate me, trigger adrenaline;
save me from an interminable foe

that stalks behind the curtain
sneers at applause, assures me
ovation does not to me apply.

Compulsive

Malls possess a certain allure –
contentment-in-a-bag offerings,
an opportunity to escape reality,

except gossip travels in crowds
and I tend to shop for obligations,
will latch myself onto any drama

and take ownership  – it’s small
town training:  I am a passenger
on the responsibility rail – would

kill my own mother to gain lost
authority, be the person in the
know…lose these thoughts of

failure to the distress of disbelief
that we missed the signs, lacked
insight, could have been there for

someone more needy… Have you
seen me, browsing stories?  Career
changers are good, fired up youth,

father’s foibles… Don’t be taken
aback, I can be officious, intentions
not misguided – just need to fix one

piece of brokenness to assure myself
all is not totally lost – this shattered
core, this fictional characterization.

How much simpler life would be
if I shopped like normal people,
found relief in mall discounts…

(Image: tropicalcyclocross.com)

Watery Fate

Unconsciousness –
like an iron anchor –
has dragged my lifeless
body, abandoned her
on the ocean floor

I am afraid to stir,
even a little, certain
that pieces of me will
break away drifting into
the unknown, irretrievable.

Somehow, I have learned
to breathe under water,
have memory of wholeness,
but am unglued, earthly
images floating past –

years spent in study,
hoping to be somebody
but like Dickinson, I am
nobody; only sediment
now, contemplating

girlhood dreams, memories
of parading in wedding white
mothers encouraging from
sidelines – I watch, sidelined
with muted amusement

so many dreams, now losses
the ocean’s flow a steady
stream of forgotten tears –
a watery graveyard for
shipwrecked vessels.

What fate awaits me
should immobility win –
will I disintegrate, particles
becoming algae, ever-reaching
tentacles of desperation?

Or, will I evolve into coral –
fragility guarded by venom,
attach myself to colonies –
life fragmented, now sustaining –
one existence traded for another?

Or, shall I gather forces – will
defying fate – propel myself
upwards, lungs and heart pumping,
mind commanding limbs, declare
myself substance, face another day?

(Image:  aquaviews.net)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unrequited

Met in high school, when popularity
equated to lovability, awkwardness
a given – tender hearts sailing a course,
letting love transport them – she was
his pride and joy, he her universe…

stumbled over declarations, hearts
beating an unsteady noise – he shone
in athletics, she called herself a loner;
confessed their love – infatuation filled
with promise – fateful idealists, in time

would be crushed – blinded by beauty,
they floated past her broken pieces on
wings of borrowed confidence: vows
of worldly treasures he offered her,
couldn’t see her limitations, should

have known her particular brand of
crazy would reject him, resistant as
she was to intimacy’s openings; he
would have stood by her, had planned
their future – didn’t know they were

staging a melodrama, slapping hope,
the memories he was sure they were
building, believed in, already growing
cold behind the curtains of her moody
eyes – failure becoming her reality…

madness took her in the end, his light
too vibrant for her darkness; wrenched
herself from his embrace – a violence
that left him reeling, shuddering in its
aftermath – still dreams of her, wonders

how he failed her, looks for her spirit
in the eyes of others, a trail of lovers,
one as unsatisfactory as the next, heart
never completely mended… and, she
settled for a man who could not love,

found safety in emotional distance,
told herself this the was the best that
she deserved, still dreams of him
while lying in her barren marital bed,
her oblivious husband beside her.

(Image:  www.dailytelegraph.com.au)