How dreams smell on late afternoons
In through the open window, from under
The bed, by way of tree and moon and
Unsettled desire. How the afternoon fled
Its clothes and put a fork in numerical
Sequence, leaving us with what we know
Of odd and even. I think the stars are awful
And pretty, even awfully pretty, but seldom
Do they give chase to dreams.
~
A dream pivots on improperly assembled words,
And one could in effect
Produce a similar attuned sensory program
Say in a poem
Or standing in a field,
A leap from a rhetoric height will do,
Plainly sandwiched between the universe
And time itself, if time even exists at all.
Superb! I especially love “How the afternoon fled / Its clothes and put a fork in numerical / Sequence, leaving us with what we know / Of odd and even”.
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Thank you! I’m glad you liked it.
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a wonderful assembly of provocations, Bob, but the one that hits home for me is’ a dream pivots on improperly assembled words ; often our best, most engaging works are those that arise out of the incidental congruence of objects that are not associated with each other: strange congruences :)’
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I totally agree. Strange congruences..love it. Thanks John!!
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Simply stunning poetry, Bob! I would give anything to write as beautifully as this.
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Thank you so much Ezekiel. That is very kind of you to say.
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You’re very welcome.
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Wow!!! Love this one. Fabulous images. A lovely conversational tone. And the two stanzas are so different and yet both beautiful and extraordinary.
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Thank you so much Worms!
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I love how you describe a dream as coming through the open window like it’s related to the wind and all the wind rubs up against….touches so much and those little scraps it touches somehow end up in our dreams. I’ve been having recurrent dreams of never being able to find my way home followed by a dream like I had the other night of not finding my way home, but discovering a new place to swim and then meeting someone new.
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Drams are funny that way, all that happens to us, churned and rearranged by us at night. I don’t think I’ve had a dream where I got lost. Seems like that dream hit home for you.
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Unfortunately, I think you’re right. The being lost dream is a recurrent theme for me, but then strangely, I’ll have some where the route towards home is clear and I make my way there. Maybe it’s a symptom of mood swings? Maybe I’ll tell myself before bed or insist to myself to find my way home. I’m reminded of that Blind Faith song “Can’t Find My Way Home.” That’s a great song and a great album, the only one they did. Change of topic. I missed the super bowl. All the hype turns me off. I prefer regular season games. It’s like your poems, the way you connect regular, transient everyday items with things that last forever like wind and stars and what not.
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I didn’t watch the super bowel either. Like you said, too much hype. I’ll stick with the transient everyday items and following the routes home in dreams.
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I agree with what John said in his comment about the second stanza. For me, that stanza felt like a kind teacher in a classroom offering advice. And the first stanza was like waking from a mid-day nap, the transition from dreaminess to the “real” world around us. I enjoyed this one 🙂
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Thanks so much Dave. I thought John’s comment really summed things up well too. Much appreciated!!
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Beautiful lines ! Dreams are like that .👍
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Thank you Priti!!
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😊🙏
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Always beautiful. Always immersive.
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Thank you!
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