Do you think that your dreams are past memories from another life or are you being haunted by someone who needs a mystery resolved? You are not alone about having dreams like this. Thank you for sharing. What a wonderful or scary mystery this is.
as the steel regard of morning
pulls my tired soul from dreams –
another life beyond the reach
of lowly expectation
stirs within the mystery
and I close my eyes again
flirting with the patterns
where faded roses bloom –
across some great tomorrow
tis there my longing burns
letters curve unsettled
on the page –
by memories returning
of places not yet lived
light beyond the shadows
of my room
. . .
Author’s Note: Those who know me well are aware of recurrent
dreams – of a house in which I have never lived, on a road I’ve never traveled. Yet, so familiar is the dream that I know the steps from the porch to the gate, the slant of the yard into the trees. I know the count of roses on the faded wallpaper, and the pause between drips into an old basin. Once asked, ‘Do you…
I grew up in farming country in New England and we would go to our neighbor’s farm and feed the chickens and milk the cows. It was wonderful. Chickens are really interesting to watch how they do seem to dance around each other. I like your short poem. It made me remember my childhood.
I reblogged this from something I wrote almost a year ago.
What is poetry and its place in the human psyche? Poetry and prose, I believe, magically transports the reader to visualize vividly a very personal place in time, bringing to life every possible emotion seared into the psyche that the reader may have experienced in real life, wished for, dreamed of, or feared.
This is what makes poetry so emotionally beautiful and painfully true. We get it and it can be transforming. But, where does poetry fit in, in the whole scheme of our human experience. Poetry reflects our romantic inclinations, our troubled history, our social truths, politics, and the most beautiful of all philosophies – who and what are we anyway, in the scope of all there is under Heaven and Earth.
Poetry is romantic. The great writer and poet, Percy Bysshe Shelley said, “Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.” It is, also, I believe, as Robert Frost wrote, “when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.”
Poetry is more than a history of human desires. “Hence poetry”, wrote Aristotle, “is something more philosophic and of graver import than history, since its statements are rather of the nature of universals, whereas those of history are singulars.”
Poetry is often compared to the ultimate in what is truth. “Poetry”, wrote Joseph Roux, “is truth in its Sunday clothes.”Leonardo da Vinci, believed that, “Poetry is nearer to vital truth than history.” John Ciardi wrote, “Poetry lies its way to the truth.”
Poetry is political. “All poets, all writers are political”, writes Sonia Sanchez, “they either maintain the status quo, or they say, ’Something’s wrong, let’s change it for the better.”
Poetry is also philosophical. John Lennon believed that, “my role in society, or any artist or poet’s role, is to try and express what we all feel. Not to tell people how to feel. Not as a preacher, not as a leader, but as a reflection of us all.”
However, even though all the above quotes bare witness to the impact of poetry and prose on the human psyche, yet, no one has described and defined poetry and prose as beautifully as William Shakespeare, who wrote that poetry is, “The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, doth glance from heaven to Earth, from Earth to heaven; and as imagination bodies forth the forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen turns them to shape, and gives to airy nothing a local habitation and a name; such tricks hath strong imagination.”
Poetry and prose, I believe, represent the wonder of human imagination and all that lies between heaven and earth as we struggle to understand what it means to be human in a world that is constantly changing the definition of what is humanity and what it is not.
This is a quick post to let everyone know that I am attending the 2018 Writers Digest Conference in New York City this weekend. I will be pitching my YA novel The Ameriad: The Monastery of Knowledge at the agent pitch session. Wish me luck!
In Part 9, Milly continued her visits to school. The children and Gloria were always thrilled when it was a ‘Milly day’. At last, after years of quilts that went away to places of honor, Milly made a quilt, “Our Towns” that hangs at school. Declining health continued, yet I summoned the courage to ask Milly to make another Peace Quilt. She was thrilled, and with her renewed energy and enthusiasm, we were off on another adventure.
Part 10 – The Final Curtain.
“Lets make the image with children and their family looking out a big window at their images of peace.” Milly’s idea was brilliant, and that’s exactly what we did. Honestly, that quilt with butterfly wings that moved, real chains for swings, raised and puffy hearts, and striking colors and images, was Milly’s best. It was her crowning glory.
In Part 8, Milly and the children were guests of honor at the one-year anniversary of the Boston Fisher House. With a full crowd in attendance, including members of the Fisher family, we presented the God Bless America quilt. And, a Command (Challenge) Coin was pressed into Milly’s hand. Shortly thereafter Milly became sick.
The following year Milly made many trips to school, playing with children. Gloria was always thrilled to see her BFF.
Milly taught the children how to sew, using plastic needles and yarn on cardboard punched with holes. She was the queen of Go Fish and Bingo. Every Milly visit was a very good day at school. Often the children made things for Milly. We were in the middle of learning about kings and queens, and children wanted to make Milly her own crown.
Our director had always wanted a Milly quilt at school. …