Dreams. Who Needs Them!

 

I am a DREAMER.

Are you?

I am certain that we  become what we DREAM.

 

Our DREAMS offer INSIGHT into who we are.

What do we think about

when we are wide-awake?

Where will our life journey take us?

Our DREAMS show us our PAST, PRESENT and FUTURE.

Can you relate to this statement by  Henry David Thoreau?

I learned this, at least, by my experiment: that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.

My poem, “In My Dream,” appeared in the Spring/Summer edition of Magnets & Ladders Literary Magazine.

You can listen to me reading this poem by clicking on this voice recording.

In my dream

I am standing on the mountain

near the terrifying edge of the precipice,

sit down to draw in my sketchbook.

I see Alpine villages in the valley below,

scattered like multi-colored Tourmaline stones.

 

In my dream

I am in death-defying situations

It is always winter and I struggle.

icy winds and dicey slopes

without a pathway.

 

In my dream

my solo flights are joyous.

I push my heels downward

launch my body into the sky.

Hover. Dive. Swoop. Circle.

No need for feathered wings.

 

In my dream

I climb upwards

on the ladder I stumbled upon

in the woods one afternoon.

Earth disappears

the ladder is unstable

“Keep it straight up,” I whisper.

“Keep your body centered. Stay poised.”

 

In my dream

a cerulean blue dragon kills stealthy leopards

I touch the Dragon’s horny face as we fly

full-speed ahead through throbbing pain

I’m a midnight rider on rain-slick highway

headed home.

 

In my dream

I hold asymmetrical yellow wildflowers

planted by birds and wind in open fields.

A white dog guards the entrance to the Underworld.

She sleeps under my bed

guards me on long narrow journeys.

 

In my dream

I rest in the shade of Hemlocks and ferns,

gather water-worn grey stones from the river bottom,

glide on the surface of the Allegheny river

in my red canoe.

 

In my dream

I watch the movements as dusty stars

leave tracks on a snow-covered path.

---

 

Essay and poem by Lynda McKinney Lambert. Copyright May 6, 2018. All rights reserved.

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