Tag Archives: dreams

27: Electric babyland (may offend)

I got lotsa babies in here she says to me.  Her voice comes from the ceiling, but I can see her lips move.  Yellow teeth.  No irises.  On the cracked linoleum floor she stands, in stained sweatpants and a T shirt that goes to her navel.  She shifts from one foot to the other, as if she needs to go to the bathroom.  She drums her fingers on her tight beachball belly.  Lots.  Inside here.  

No smile, though.  She looks angry, crazed.  I lie on the floor, bound and gagged, while stark Tesla trees of pale blue crackle and branch about the ceiling.  She kicks the side of my head with a bare foot, and, just before I black out again , I see her turn and walk down the hallway.  My swoon is only seconds, I think,  because I hear the sound of someone peeing.  Then a flush.

The slap of bare feet comes closer and she reenters my room, this time wearing only the T shirt.  She squats and bows her head, greasy hair dragging the floor.  There is no moaning or groaning as she gives obscene birth.  Only the repeated sounds eck, eck, eck.
Small wet things dangle and drop.  Sharp yellow teeth, no irises.  They tear at my restraints with piranha frenzy.  I gain my freedom, but am paralyzed in stiffness and horror as they set upon their unwilling mother and begin to eat.

 

Barricades

I dreamt this morn’ of fences
They’d been put up while I slept
But the fog obscured my senses
And I stumbled ’til I wept

The urge was strong for going on
So I got up and I leapt
O’er barb-ed wire, until the dawn
Its promises had kept

The fog had burnt away from there
The barricades were clear
The wind was passing through my hair
And freedom was so near

“Awake me not”, I prayed to One.
(The Spirit in me now)
“I’m almost there, I’m nearly done”
Then lost the will, somehow.

This thing within my soul has made
The devil grin with glee
He’s scripted well this whole charade
To gloat his victory

Awakened was a new resolve
That I’d not lose the fight
The clock, its circle would revolve
And I’d join the dream next night

Cassandra’s dream

Gerald.  My Gerald, my boy.

I seem to wake on this snowy night, and, my boy, my little boy, you are deeply asleep, but you float in my room.  You are a balloon boy on a string, and, bumbling against the ceiling, you drift toward my open window….why?  why? did I leave it so?

I grab onto your string….ah!  my little boy!…..but you are taken fast out into the night.

I climb out quickly,  something is tugging you away, away.  I hold fast onto your lifeline, and run stumbling out into the cold white.

A seething throng, out of the birch forest, all pale, all living death, all grasping with bony hands, all floating, has come to take you.  

They pull, they pull, they sighingly say you belong with them.

Gerald, your eyes open and you are in fear, my son.

How comes this visitation?   What have I done?

My dear dear boy.  My life.

***

Art by Michael MacRae

The Seventh stairway

Furtive and troubling, the rustling of things,
Imagined, perhaps, in the dark.
And close now, the flapping of leathery wings,
And the hounds are beginning to bark.

Some thing keeps them at bay, at least for the while,
As I gather my breath near the top
Of the seventh of stairways, to the narrowest aisle.
I dare not consider to stop.

I know not the agent that’s let me go free
From the poisonous pits down below.
Perhaps entertainment, for somebody’s glee-
Is the hope I’m beginning to know.

There was a faint glow on the steps further up,
But now it is bleeding away.
The guttural growls are without interrupt,
And the bats are denying the day.

How much life I have left in these limbs to go on
Is in doubt, as I climb once again.
To such dizzying heights, trying to make it to dawn,
And the Order of everyday men.

With a desperate run up the last of the stairs,
There’s a light I see glowing once more.
Through a portal there’s flowing the sweetest of airs,
But a Presence is guarding the door.

Its radiant blackness, its absence of eyes,
Its telepathy shrivels the spirit.
Its figure of nearly impossible size
Says that doom is upon those who near it.

“Ah, me!” did I cry, to a nebulous Savior
That I always had held in such doubt.
My faithlessness; all of my wretched behavior,
Had brought this misfortune about.

Wake me up!  Wake me up!  Let me out!

Image credit to:  https://www.flickr.com/photos/arthakker/8720100528

A dream of northern climes

Twenty years have gone by, such a passage of time,
Since I dreamed the most singular thing.
You and I, we were natives of a far northern clime,
And we traveled from winter to spring

Our huts we would build out of snow as we went,
And we’d live off the fish and the seal.
When the weather’d relent, we would set up our tent,
And we’d both have a bountiful meal.

Secure in each other is what we had felt:
Two adventuresome souls on the trail.
But I would not wait for the spring ice to melt.
I’d a place I must be without fail.

You knew this was coming, and I would but go,
Still you stayed with me all of the way.
We picked up supplies at the local depot,
And we pulled them back home on the sleigh

A good sturdy team of some strong husky dogs,
With a sled they could pull all the day.
And I needed them all for the hard lonely slogs
I would face, many days, up that way.

Yukon gold, I was after, and swore I’d be there,
Before anyone staked their own claims.
Already I’m missing your presence so fair
And must go while the time still remains.

So we stand at our parting, in the twilight deep blue,
With the heavens’ great dome overhead.
The snow is so sparkling, with this beautiful hue;
I must go many miles before bed.

There’s no need for our tears, or our unspoken fears,
As I hitch up the dogs to the sleigh.
I whistle a tune, it comes back to our ears,
As if spread by the starlit array

I did not look back, as I put on my pack,
And departed this heartbreaking scene.
I saw not your face, but remembered your grace,
And your wonderful soul, so serene.

Photo credit to:  https://www.magneticnorthtravel.com/blog/details/the-arctic-and-the-polar-night

Wanting to stay

Slovenly sleep, or so it seems….
in the lightening shades of darker dreams.
Delicious lucidity, floating the soul
over depths of disturbing finality.

Let us stay in this state, where spirit flies,
where youth has returned to our watery eyes.
Still granted our wisdom, our memory whole;
a vacation from earthly reality.

In the glow of the warmth, where the cold never bites,
a candy shop counter of spirit delights.
Release and forgiveness, that’s been our goal,
and the cure of the pain of our malady.