Tag Archives: Dream

Last Night I Dreamed of Leonard Cohen, Poetry by Margaret Lonsdale

Genre: Dream

Last Night I Dreamed of Leonard Cohen
~ Margaret Lonsdale (@fhaedra)

Last night I dreamed of Leonard Cohen
in silhouette on a park bench in Montreal
He had a paper bag beside him
in his hands he held nothing at all

I thought to just keep on walking
as I have never met Leonard the Man before
But in the dream I took a place beside him
and he asked me ‘Who’s been keeping score?’

In a hush I answered, ‘I am still learning,
but like you, I am not so sure of this game.’
He smiled then so slowly as he buttoned his coat
‘It’s alright now. You are not to blame.’

(Hey hey what can you say? I’m going down to the river to pray.)

We watched as the moon turned to ashes
its fragmented silver covering cool ground
A cowboy drummer sprinkled orange peel
served us steamed honour, words without sound.

From the bag there rose up a bluebird
spreading her wings as she soared for the stars
An accordion player tipped his hat as he passed
He was late for the night train to Mars.

Knowing without knowing the possibilities in dreams
I sat next to the Poet Melancholy like a friend
Collecting silver sage for my own guarded house
Food and drink for my Garden of Zen.

I dreamed last night of Leonard Cohen
and me sitting on a park bench in Old Montreal
a choir of two howling in dissonant harmony:
‘Je ne regrette pas rien!’ the final lament.

And I wondered if that was all could be True
or if it was only circumstance made it so
a rhythm maker’s journey through Eternity
gathering the heartbeat of the song
for reclamation to the Tower of Song.

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

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What if life was an illusion?, Poetry by Abhishek Jha

Genre: Life, Dream

What if life was an illusion?
by Abhishek Jha

What if life was an illusion,
And everything that we saw was just a mirage,
The tree, the mountain, the rivers,
Never actually existed,
Which we thought were the very pillars of our mother earth.

What if it was all just a giant dream,
A dream too good to be true,
But only if it was broken,
Would we come to know what actually is true,
But are we real or we are all an illusion as well,
Well, in that case its a question on our existence,
But we don’t care, do we,
Because we are all lost in the worldly things.

And then I ponder on the fact,
That the mankind being materialistic is infact a good thing,
Even though it might be considered a bad virtue,
Coz had it been, people thinking about real stuff,
There would probably have been even more confusion and chaos,
So as I conclude this prose,
I leave you with a thought – “Is rose really a rose?”

    * * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

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Dusty Bones, Poetry by Kate McClelland

Genre: Nightmare/Horror/Dream

Dusty Bones
by Kate McClelland

I have a recurring dream

That I wake up from every time

In sweaty, heart-pounding panic

I am lying in my bed

On the brink of sleep

And realise in my semiconscious state

That someone is standing over me in the dark

It’s a different person each time

Leaning to stare

Or maybe to study me?

I have not figured that out yet

I get the impression

That I am an exhibit

In a local museum

A pile of dusty bones

That now and again

Sees the observer

Staring agog

And for one moment –

We see each other –

And realise we are both being observed!

There is a moment of comprehension

I see their faces wide eyed

With horror and dreadful surprise

See their ‘about to scream’ face

And that’s when I wake up

To find myself sitting bolt upright

And shivering in my bed

My ears catching the last remnant

Of the scream

And with shock realise –

That it’s me that screamed

God knows what they see –

(For I feel they are real people)

A skeleton screaming back at them?

Or just a feeling of being observed

By a preserved corpse

At a local museum

Dusty bones, in a glass cabinet

Kept in a gloomy annex

Not ‘dust to dust,

Ashes to ashes’ for me

But an unnamed relic

Just a sticker on the glass box stating:

‘White, Female, Homo Sapien Sapien – 21st Century’

On exhibition, never to rest

Screaming silently again and again

© Kate McClelland 2015
© Kate McClelland 2015© Kate McClelland 2015© Kate McClelland 2015© Kate McClelland 2015

    * * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

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MAJORITY, Poetry by SANIJELA MATKOVIĆ

Genre: Spiritual, Dream, Inspirational

MAJORITY
by SANIJELA MATKOVIĆ

It was raining, although the announced wind.

Regardless of the insensitive time, dreams are still

were declared clear.

One name, one address, one look …

Perhaps it would be enough, and half of the verse

for some,

at least a half-hearted beginning of the story,

that began less than eighteen years.

Yes,

an entire majority stood in the heart.

Waiting for you spring,

that reality boldly and pollinate flowers

joy.

Can you ever go back …

From this view,

of this now.

Backwards eighteen summers

and even more of printed collections of songs that were inadvertently

went into the wind.

Well, not disappeared.

The canopy memories hide them in their secret

compartments,

for a time better than yesterday.

Can a first kiss,

love at last look,

the first handshake,

unjedriti hugs fangs years.

Perhaps,

somewhere,

However,

There is a clock that returns time yesterday

subtle and it combines with this now !?

This reflection is not a hypothesis, a thesis is even less.

The story is about this one dream.

About regard,

which lasted a whole age of majority.

* * * * *
Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

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