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A Poem For Wednesday: Dreams in Sequence

5/12/2021

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Dream One
she leaned back into his arms   he held onto her weight like a plastic love doll  arms wrapped around the waist band of her faded grey sweatpants his hand slipped down between her thighs     and touched   pushing himself against her     the temperature    the texture    the response   all too real     waking him for the first time to who she really was    a flash of light   then the darkness of his room
 
 
Dream Two
She stood there talking   no words were coming out of her mouth   the way a baby moves after feeding   but he listened anyway    intended to make sense of it some how    transfixed on the way her lips moved   on the way her eyes rolled around freely making her face seem more rounded than oblong   he didn’t care what she said    only that she was talking    no words    then a noise   then silence of an empty room
 
 
Dream Three
They kissed   nothing passionate    nothing hard    just a simple kiss    the kind of kiss men give babies they don’t know but feel obligated to give when they’re pushed into their faces    the kind of kiss you give the Queen on her hand  it was light    and warm     the smell of breath    the feeling of a heartbeat awoken and confused     someone’s parent looks in distain    a stranger’s eyes fixed on an even stranger reality   a pillow stained when the sun broke through
 
Dream Four
Awoken by sleep    then awoken by a cry   ​
Picture
copyright: Adobe Stock photo

this poem is by the author of this blog. it was written sometime in the 21st century. and yes, he knows that there are some dreams missing from the sequence. those dreams were most likely nightmares that would have scared any sane person and were left out intentionally. 


Dream Five
They’re just sitting there  looking forward     looking ahead   the world seems to be spinning    the sky blue    moving like time lapsed photography    he’d seen stuff like that on television before    but never in a dream    his hands are on his knees    holding himself in from running out of things to say    hers are crossed   legs out    they seem complacent    she seemed relaxed  
 

Dream Eight
She punches him in the arm    he wakes up
 
 
Dream Nine
He stands confused looking around the room for her    she is in a grey cocktail dress made of silk    she holds two drinks out knowing there is a good possibility she will stain the fabric    he knows she’s there    it’s a feeling he has    she knows he has arrived    it’s a feeling she has    she smiles as she turns to catch his eye   he blinks    and she is gone    on the ground are two smashed glasses    bleeding to death in a pool of vodka    the busboy bends down to clean the floor   his tail pops out of his pants   he is not real    but the emptiness is
 

Dream Twelve
he walks up from behind and smells her hair    it smells like sunshine   the day is grey     but she lights up the world   he breaths    his breath warms him    inspiring color to paint his imagination   like a muse to a writer    she whispers  “it due”    as he reaches out his hands     and grabs her from behind     filling his hands with her    she spins    it’s not her    he spins     she returns    they bow to each other and dance    she spins   he bows    she walks away   he is awoken
 

Dream Fourteen
Spread out over weeks    she was no longer there     an affair in full color slipped back into black and white    the lines    no longer blurred   all point in the same direction    what should have been torture turned out to be the best sleep he’d had in a long time
 

Dream Fifteen
He sat in the boat fishing  he doesn’t fish   he pulls out bait    it’s a baby   he cast into the endless water    and waits    then pulls out a child from the water    unhooks it    and drops it on the bottom of his boat   reaching for more bait the child becomes a woman    she hands him his reflection in the water    he is old and grey    retired   and tired   he opens up the bait box     and pulls out another baby   cradling it in his arms until it is a grown woman    another muse
 
 
Dream Twenty
He is alone     and doesn’t remember the dreams from this point on   she is gone   at least for now
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    Ian Macdonald

    An ex-copywriter turned punk rock pastor and peacemaker who dedicates his life to making the world a better place for all humanity. 

    "that they all might be one"  ~John 17:21


    “Prius vita quam doctrina.”
    ​~ S
    t. Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274)​
    * “Life is more important than doctrine.”


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