Dreams
This was written for Read Write Poem prompt #45: Word Fishing. This challenged me a little, and I have to admit, I had fun.
For this exercise, we had to read five poems by the same author, or one poem each from five different authors. We chose a word that jumped out at us, then wrote it on a slip of paper or a card, and then shuffled the cards, drawing one randomly. That word was to be a part of the first sentence or line we wrote. I cheated (a little) and wrote more around the meaning of the first word rather than literally put it in my first line (although I did eventually use it in the first stanza).
My fives words, in the order that I drew them (with the author and title of the poems the words came from), were as follows:
- “transcendence” (from “The Path to Beauty” by alfaro)
- “legion” (from “Celebration of the Lizard” by Jim Morrison – as it appears in The American Night)
- “Fahrenheit” (from “guiltless” by Bill Campana)
- “bruised” (from “Certain People” by Louise Robertson)
- “kingdom” (from “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allen Poe)
Enjoy!
-Nicole
———————————————-
There is a place above our minds,
a thin, translucent realm where our
eyeballs roll up into every night to
watch dreams emerge from a foggy
womb. We all go there to
watch the spectacle of unreality and
surreality emerge and dance before
us, fresh, wet, and sloppy. This is
TRUE transcendence, yet it is so
fragile – a butterfly’s wing, a
gossamer thread in a windstorm.
It disappears in an instant,
the moment we break above water
and smell the surface of reality – steam,
sun, and salt. Sometimes, mixed in with
acrid smog and pungent, nose-bruising shit.
We dreamers, we humans, are a
legion of gossamer threads, poised,
nervous, vibrating in the jaws of a
Moirae’s shears. Me, I hang
above death as sugar rides my blood
waves into oblivion. If they erode
my shores, then my eyes will become
blind, my kidneys will become necrotic
levees that no longer function, and my
toes will dangle dangerously above
the scalpel, a sword of Damocles. I
am a Fahrenheit wonder torn asunder
by bruised expectations and hollow eyes.
The Jabberwocky strikes – teeth sink in,
and I know not what to call what bit me.
Yet when I dream, I reach above
kingdoms, weave them together, and
create my own shiny palace of temporary
exile. Azure coasts, golden glint dancing
on mirrored lakes, and blue above the blue
seduce me into staying forever – but that
is when the thread will be cut and I will
fall into death, for death and dream dance
cheek to cheek on either side of the same
thin line of consciousness. I know
that I cannot stay.
So the next time that I am in those
butterfly wing dreams before daylight
violently rips through them, before its
knife crosses the boundaries of thin,
somnolent flesh, I know that if I look
hard enough, I will see…you.
And you.
And you.
And the rest of the souls crowding
our nervous, uncertain plane of being.
And for once, I will stop feeling alone.
Written 9/21/08
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.
I love the idea of butterfly wing dreams, I’m rubbing my eyes right now. This was gritty and brittle at the same time.
Nice work!
Raven, this is gritty and brittle as Sweet Talking Guy said and so much more. This is so human and in depth I cannot express how much I liked this poem. It’s incredible. Have a nice day.
You completely caught me up in the images and emotion.
You capture the dream world so well. Many stand out lines. I particularly liked these:
gossamer thread in a windstorm.
It disappears in an instant,
the moment we break above water
and smell the surface of reality
Great word play.. Some really wonderful lines in there!
Someday
Great contrast between the “shiny palace of temporary exile” and reality. And I like where you take it at the end, drawing in the audience.