Monday, April 30, 2018

Are You Awake Now?



By Jorge Barrios - Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2205818




Are You Awake Now?




You can’t read while dreaming, or tell the time. In our dreams we only see faces that we already know. As he was falling, he waited for the wings to spread. Falling dreams typically occur at the beginning of the night. Abraham Lincoln dreamt of his assassination. King Henry VIII slept with a gigantic axe beside him. The nightmare was the same every time. Learning exactly how to control your dreams is a crucial part of lucid dreaming. You have no sense of smell when you're sleeping. Flying dreams are older than airplanes. One day he would fail to wake up before he crashed. If you die in a dream, do you ever wake up? Recurring dreams indicate the presence of an unresolved conflict. He hoped it wasn’t today. Everybody dreams. A man drove 22 miles and killed his cousin while sleepwalking. Can you think you are awake when actually you are asleep? Folklore suggests placing a knife under the foot of the bed. Are you awake now? Ancient Egyptians used slabs of stones as pillows.





GloPoWriMo Day 30 - a poem that engages with strange and fascinating facts



Sunday, April 29, 2018

The Tap Root



roots
Photo Credit: David Meurin Flickr via Compfight cc



The Tap Root


"I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root:
It is what you fear.
I do not fear it: I have been there."
Sylvia Plath




I am the tallest branch,
the image in the mirror.
Down here everything is the same, just dark.
The earth is soft.
Here I sleep.
It might surprise you, but I dream in colour.
Here things long dead are transformed.
I am the mother of them all.
Deep in the dark cellar of my mind,
I imagine them.
Green leaves under a blue sky,
the pink blossoms, the fruit.
I hear them grow and bloom.
They will return to me, one by one.
They will fall long and deep.
They always fear the oblivion.
I would love to tell you that I bring them back,
just as they were,
but that's not exactly what happens here.
I am not sure you are ready for the details.
The miracle of life is a messy job.
There is dreaming involved.
Let's leave it at that.






Saturday, April 28, 2018

The Postcard




The Postcard




This is where you wait. I can see that much hasn’t changed. Waiting requires patience, as I am sure you know by now. You have been here for a while, I can tell by the colour of the paper. Good things are worth waiting for, you have been told, but you are beginning to wonder. You step off the pavement to leave, but your eyes are still on the street. The street has changed a lot, only the monument is the same. We call it The Horse. I am sure your name was more dignified. Yours were dignified times. You had real horses back then, which was nice. I wonder why the street is so empty and quiet. The police are there, maybe they are waiting for something to happen too. The man on the horse is showing us the right direction to go, but you can keep waiting if you wish. Everyone is allowed to wait as long as they want, that much is still true. You cast a very long shadow. The stamp on the margin claims that this is the exclusive right of someone named Wilhelm Goerka. I have decided that you are Wilhelm Goerka, I am just still confused about the meaning of this.




GloPoWriMo Day 28 - a vintage postcard

Friday, April 27, 2018

Hiding in Plain Sight




Hiding in Plain Sight



This is a useful skill to learn.
There are many methods.
You could pretend to be somebody else.
Or, even better,
you could really become somebody else and pretend that you are still you.
Shapeshifting is another way.
You can turn yourself into a wheel
or a river
or a wolf.
Anything, really.
Or you could learn how to vanish,
disappear from the landscape completely,
then pretend you have no idea why the sun is crying.
By far the most useful skill of all
is to hide within yourself.
You might have to stay there for a long time
until everyone gets tired of looking for a deeper meaning
and accepts what they see
as the truth.




GloPoWriMo Day 27 - Tarot

Thursday, April 26, 2018

The Process



IMG_0026.jpg
Photo Credit: Lee Edwin Coursey Flickr via Compfight cc



The Process




You don’t turn into a pile of rubble overnight. There is pain involved. Cracks on the wall take years to show but you will feel them from the start. A slight itching under your skin, tiny wrinkles on your ceiling. A whiff of mould that only you will notice. Ants crawling over your feet, those mysterious cramps in your belly. And still nothing visible. Then the tiles will start to fall out every time there is a storm. Next, a hornet’s nest in your mailbox and tall grass where your driveway used to be. That’s how you become invisible. There will be more cracks and this time they will hurt. Your doors and windows will become unhinged. Draft will get everywhere and you’ll be forever cold. Once they stop visiting, it is only a matter of time. Time is relative here, it can take long. Now the pain will be constant. One by one, you will lose all your windows and then you will no longer be able to pretend that this is not happening to you.




GloPoWriMo Day 26 - images that engage all five senses

Wednesday, April 25, 2018

How to Choose the Right Tree



By Bruce Marlin - Own work: http://www.cirrusimage.com/tree_Arizona_walnut.htm, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5729597



How to Choose the Right Tree




It is not easy to choose the right tree.
Some trees are so fragile a storm will uproot them.
You don't want those trees near your roof.
Some have a shade so dense they’ll choke other trees.
Then there are those that will take over
and turn your garden into their own turf.
Some trees will poison and kill their neighbours.
Others are greedy and always thirsty.
They break your pipes in search for water
and leave your back yard barren and dry.
Never plant a tree so close to your house
that it can thrust its roots through your floorboards
and spread its limbs over your windows,
and block the sun.




GloPoWriMo Day 25 - a warning

Tuesday, April 24, 2018

What poetry was for

By Jefimija (c 1350. - c 1405) - http://www.spc.rs/Muzej/Tekstil/pohvala-v.jpg, Javno vlasništvo, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12872453



What poetry was for





Embroidery requires good eyes and a steady hand. It is best done by an open window on a snowy day. The thread should be made of gold. Everybody knows that. This is how poetry was written back then. With gold letters on a red shroud. Or, at least, this is how women wrote poetry back then. Maybe it’s just how this woman wrote this poem. On a red shroud with a gold thread. A needle was required too. Maybe she pricked her finger, maybe not, we don’t know. The poem was embroidered on a funeral shroud. This is what poetry was for. Or, at least, it’s what this woman wrote this poem for. The woman was a nun at the time, though she hadn’t always been a nun. The woman's name was Jefimija. The funeral shroud was for a man who had died in a battle. The woman had her own battles too, and she fought them in silence, sitting by an open window on a snowy day. 




GloPoWriMo Day 24 - an elegy
This poem was inspired by Jefimija, the first Serbian female poet.