So, I had an experience lots of us have the other night. I woke up from a dream where I was writing and I had the idea that this great piece of writing was slipping away. These I was, in the dark, annoying my husband and desperately trying to recapture the piece on my iPad, glowing brightly on my face.
In the dream, I was at someone’s house on a poetry retreat. Very suburban, which seemed a bit odd. But the back yard was a vast field, which was inspiring our poems. Anyway, at the point I woke, we were working on taking our previous poem and adding something about how demons (?) are involved in seasonal change. Well, it was a dream. That my explanation for that; what else can I say?
By way of comparison, this is a poem I wrote a few years ago:
The older one picked her sounds from
The buffet I laid out for her
Did not sever her ties
With rebellious choices
The younger one hates my sounds
Rejects them all with faces
Holding her nose and making rude noises
Oh, how incredibly awful they are
She can slice the cord to me
She has me tethered in other ways
I was really only able to recall one line from the dream, but I knew the poem rhymed and wrote the other lines in the middle of the night before the feeling left me. With a little editing to balance the lines, it goes like this:
Politely pulled from vases inside
Wilted flowers are tossed aside
On the wind of dreams seeds ride
Chilling fingers of cold will reside
Bees and bugs from grasses aligned
Soon hibernation will not be declined
Bitter winds crackle branches on high
Bringing echoes of storms soon to be nigh
Maybe I should write all my poetry at night. My husband will be thrilled.