clouds and memories, a poem

jet trails2

Draw me gently to your chest
my heart will linger there;
across the ages, along time’s trails,
the memories ever return.

Wait for me!—oh, wait for me!
the plaintive echo pleads.
When least expected, awakening
to memories in words of a poem.

Oh tell me—where do they dwell?
Among the dreams and reveries
apart from the wrack of reality
forever a blend of torture and joy.

©Sometimes, 2017

Promise in a Poem (Cee’s Odd Ball Challenge entry)

 

I am unique among my peers
having arisen from the Winter
more or less intact… if a bit bedraggled.
One might say the word—disarray?
to describe broken remnants
and staring, bleary rimless eyes
askew and discolored
arrangement of my limbs and leaves,
disheveled scraps of nascent green
tones, silky serrated edges of hemline.
Better days have been….and will be again
and my modest Winter garments
will have fallen to the ground.
Please don’t judge me—for who among us
can preserve the beauty and newness of Summer
beyond the ravages of rain and snow
and Cold from the relentless winds?
You are invited to return in half a year hence,
and feast upon my resurrected beauty
as new green foliage  and velvety petals
of red and white roses prevail.

© Sometimes, 2017

Cee’s Odd Ball Photo Challenge: January 22, 2017

dsc00052

 

ever wonder if all is really “but a deam?”

Day 9, 2017.

Dreams are still one of the great mysteries of life—probably will always be.     Thoughts are paths leading through the dim reaches of our sleeping brains, bringing joy and fright, often even in the same dream.     OK, I admit to having an affinity to Kermit the Frog, with his songs about rainbows and his “lovers, and dreamers…and me…”

Enough of that kind of nonsense, I suppose.   It’s just that my nature runs to the beautiful and kindly connected features of life in general and life-on-the-edge in particular.    Sometimes it seems that no matter how terrible the evening news gets to be, there is some sense of surreality that tinges the horrific details with fuzzy edges that lend a hint of humor, at least ridicule, that belies the other-worldy bizarreness.

Occasionally I will think of something, a conversation or place that I have been, and it takes awhile to realize that the incident had actually been a dream.     An example of this phenomenon occurred for me at the time of the 9-11 attack on New York City.   During the day the news channels were playing the footage repeatedly in which the second airplane hit the Twin Towers, flying into the side of the already burning building…like a Frisbee sailing toward its mark endlessly on a giant loop.

I had entered into a fitful sleep, having watched the 9-11 tragedy over and over all day.  Also, coincidentally a family crisis was evolving closer to home, involving my adult children who were present at the impending death of their father (my ex-husband,) in a hospital in Michigan.    More than once I got out of bed and turned on the television to reassure myself that it had been in a dream of my own that the jet passenger plane was slicing into the tower …but each time I checked my TV the horrific incident was happening again in real time.

A similar reality-dream happened to me again in November of 2016, when I was awakened by a dream on election night.  I had not waited for the final count to come down before turning in, but I did have a long and detailed dream about the election…but my dream did not reflect what really happened.    In the morning CNN came on with news that was the opposite of what I had been dreaming.

Every now and then the thought recurs—that maybe Shakespeare was right about
life and dreams and the interaction of the two concepts alternating in the realms of reality and make-believe.

never say never

One of my favorite places where  I’ve never been
on the deck of a sailing ship, out on the ocean.
The boards are thick and smell of pine,
as a ballroom floor with satiny  shine…
o’er looking green hills that slope to the sea.
Where sweet maidens whirl in fine silk dresses
in powdered faces and warm shining  eyes,
dancing in time with the orchestra’s strains.

Back on my ship with the music still dancing
and humming gay tunes that remember …
my heart yearns for places that might have been;
for the deck boards of pine that echo sweet tunes
wafting o’er the salt-tinged breezes of  memories…
or dreams…of nights that might have existed
in one of my favorite places where I’ve never been.

© Sometimes, 2016

dreams of day

Days go by in dreams…
more complicated, it seems,
day-dreams pass away…
are replaced by dreams of day.

Not intended to be obtuse,
or in any way clever, or to abuse,
by flippant tries to make a verse,
or to neglect decorum in place of subterfuge.

Dream places are often familiar,
if not in actual points of reference,
at least recurrent and commonplace
locales to retreat for reassurance.

© Sometimes, 2016

A Re-blog of “EU Mission to Mars; no thanks” by Calers. With commentary from a space-nut.

Here is an interesting post by Calers, one of my favorite bloggers…who always manages to stretch my imagination. Like Kermit the Frog, I subscribe to the like of Dreamers and Lovers and all of the many songs about rainbows and the sheer joy of speculation and imagination that is an innate part of our Human Intelligence. Or as my late husband once suggested: maybe I am just “nuts.”

 

Calers's Blog

The EU has many urgent needs. A mission to Mars is not one of them. Greece may need another bailout. The EU is trying to form an army. There is massive illegal immigration. Many EU states have terrifyingly large deficits. The PIGS (Portugal, Italy, Greece and Spain) still suffer from massive unemployment. Among the young this is beyond massive. We need to turn to green energy.

The USA already has missions to Mars. It is wasteful for the United States too. There is no need for the EU to copy such profligacy. It is part of the EU’s small man syndrome. The European Union often tries and fails to rival the United States.

The EU is better than the USA in terms of dealing with poverty and providing healthcare. We have a far lower murder rate and a better human rights situation. Why do EU fanatics feel impelled to take…

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Dreaming imaginary Prague

(original title: Dreaming imagination)

I have never been to Prague, except in daydreams…
but my impressionable mind is easily led
into the magical world of zithers and Gypsys,
of violins singing and wailing in ageless melodies…
music of joy and abandon…or sadness and melancholy.

Put on your hat, my girl, and come along with me…
We will trip the light fantastic (or is it a Fandango?)
whirling, twirling and dancing …and laughing at nothing
as our echoing soles  click and ring among  the cobblestones…
back to the days of fancy and intrigue.

Halcyon days of exquisite youth and passion for it all–
sordid or glorious, respectable or ridiculous–
days when common sense stayed at home amid the quiet
and comfortable over-stuffed chairs…and crackling radio static
never quite able to drown out the strains of an orchestral tune.

Prickles of goose bumps remind of running with n’er-do-wells
and bad influences…those mysterious, exciting  ones that
never existed, masquerading as “ladies” and “gentlemen,”
life’s forbidden (or at least frowned upon) adventures
among the brilliantly dark recesses of shadowy corners.

The mere mention of Prague always brings unseen wonders–
half-vision, half-dream.      There are Ladies in satiny dresses
and impossible shoes…. dancing away the nights, until dawn.
They sway with the music of instruments with no names,
enticing dangerously handsome partners with unknown designs.

But I digress, as is my wont…
the thoughts of romance and mystery subside–
old Prague returns to an idea that lives on
for dreamers…and poets.

©Sometimes, 2016

Caves of Memories

Back in my Cave…cave…cave…cave…
Safe and sound and daring to breathe..
Here the sounds reverberate from walls,
deep inside the endless complex of caverns….
meandering through tunnels  far from reality.

Here is where My Life lives, a collection of times,
past loves, beautiful memories, painful losses.
All of the things I have learned…and forgotten…
the songs of my life, the cast of characters once known—
both real and imagined.

Strains of music, whispers of love…tender and urgent,
snippets of verse penned in neat finished hand,
ragged untidy stacks of paper—or still in thought forms
of reason and nonsense, within the echoing silence
in the mine of the untapped Memory Lode.

©Sometimes,2016

Seven Sometimes, a poem

Sometimes I feel like crying
but all the tear drops are dry.

Sometimes I feel like singing
but have forgotten the words.

Sometimes I feel like flying
away from everyday.

Sometimes I feel like dancing,
but my feet refuse to move.

Sometimes I feel like laughing
but I just don’t get the joke.

Sometimes I feel like writing
and hope my Muse will concur.

Sometimes I feel like dying
but there’s lots of living still!

©Sometimes, 2016

Summer Dreaming

[For Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Heeding Haiku With Chèvrefeuille July 7, 2016. This poetic form is called a Haibun, which is a combination of prose and Haiku forming a story of 75-words or less…including the Haiku.   I did borrow keywords beach, and hot summer night suggested by the host.]

The sand is warm, like a lullaby
The essence of Summer warms the skin,
dreams flicker on slumbering excursions
from out of the hot summer night.

In a reverie my heart remembers
the tantalizing  passage through Time
My soul considers departing its current bunting,
dreaming of return flight to the halcyon days

days of Nirvana,
slice of lifetime in rapture,
perfection as One.

© Sometimes, 2016

Mobiüs

There was a time
that remains as a moment
frozen in a vignette
that plays over and over
in an endless loop.

At times that time
remains in its box,
waiting to be played again.
The stage is set,
the music is low
and the stars are bright above.

Right on cue the door opens
I walk inside…there you are,
ever young, smiling in anticipation,
seeming to know how it all begins,
and I know too.
No one considers the end.

Where have you been for all of this lifetime?
Your presence is oddly familiar.
We know each other in a way eternal.
That loop has been here before,
paused on a turntable, soft and enduring.

© Sometimes, 2016