Tag Archives: DREAMS

SLEEP’S DENIAL


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Sleep withholds.

She finds ways to deny dreams

She finds ways to bury light

Sleep tosses and turns

Her rosy breath shares the dragon’s fire.

Paired to remind of her volatility

Her fickle nature revealed.

Her power of dark and light

There is no forgetting her enchantment

Her etherial veil of soft comfort

The way she lays fairy dust on the eyelids

for magic to dance under the moon.

Oh how the dreams she gives stir to

A life yearning for mystery

A life hidden in daylight

in those uninhibited visions

Of ecstasy and horror shuttering

in the deep subconscious sweat of dreams

welcomed and unwelcomed

as She pulls you in and down

In and down in a story hungry

for understanding lost to waking.

And then she withholds

Giving no rest, no slumber

No gentle thought to mind and body

in the toss and turn of those rumpled 

sheets and sweaty pillows

night after night after night

You beg her to come and swallow you

to come and ease the daily grind

behind the closed eyes and prone body

you try to tease her into you.

Tease her back into the magic only she knows

in the willingness to give every inch of self

to the night’s death for replenishment

You die to her and she withholds.

Oh sweet Sleep dance me under the moonlight.

COPYRIGHT, jeanne adwani

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Filed under DREAMS, HIGHLAND CEMETARY, michigan, SLEEP, SPIRITUAL, YPSILANTI MICHIGAN

CITY OF BUSES


2 oct 2011   >  16/7   >    Tower/Chariot

 

How can you get to the top if you haven’t got a solid bottom?

How do you imagine yourself successful?

Are you over vigilant?

 

I am so grateful for dreams I remember even if they are weird, dangerous, disturbing, and just WAT?   I had one this a.m.  That I can still hold the memory of it in all its frustration is a big YIPee.  Any of you remember your dreams?  I was in a dream group for a couple of years, 20 years ago.  I kept a dream journal.  Who knows where that thing is now.   Very gestalt dream work.  I learned a lot about what bubbles to my surfaces in dream time: that stuff that never quite finds itself during awake time.  All the symbolism that I can give to my life with enhanced meaning.  mmmm….   sippy the coffee.   This poem is a very short expression of what could take pages to tell.

 

~~~~~     *****     ~~~~~     ***** 

A city of broken buses 

filled with a city of 

broken people.

 

Left over lives gathered

in the left overs of

the Great Storm

 

The lost and forgotten

The old and the sick

those that stay cause they can

 

Transient wayfarers

curiosity seeker

vagabond children

 

Comb the stacked and broken

scavenge for treasures lost

make the the worse to the best

 

For awhile passing through

for awhile making home

for awhile living raw

 

Gathering their bounty

they leave the city of buses

trek days to civilization

 

The airplane leaves soon

paper work needs order

no identity no departure

 

Coming from nowhere

to get nowhere fast

left behind to go back

 

To the city of broken buses

filled with broken people

left overs from the Great Storm

 

Back to find out who you are

in the black bag that 

holds your identity

 

The black bag that is gone

scavenged for another life

that seeks itself

 

Finding yourself broken

in the city of buses

looking for who you are

 

 

 

 

copyright jeanne adwani

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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