Tag Archives: poem about dreaming

#382: Poem on April 8, 2021

The prompt for today was to write a monologue from the p.o.v. of a deceased person, in the style, say, or at least inspired by, Edgar Lee Masters’ Spoon River Anthology. That’s a pretty good idea. But my heart’s not in it–my computer was shut down and I was trapped in the study with dogs while my partner taught a piano lesson in the living room. Away from the prompt and finding myself going back to a physical notebook, I picked up a pen and wrote about last night’s dream. It’s rare that I remember dreams vividly–especially all through the next day, so I thought this one might be worth recording.

Poem on April 8

Last night I dreamed
I was drinking a beer.
I was fully aware
that I was five days shy
of my goal of 100 days
without alcohol
and part of me
was ashamed
and another part
of me just
didn’t care.
I want to be high
on something,
I said, and, not
being one for smoking
or other kinds of
chemical amusement,
I was drinking a beer.
It wasn’t even a good beer.
And something else
was wrong. I was at
a writer’s conference
at which no one
was writing. The people
I met there didn’t know
the first thing about it.
I was in the wrong place
or in the wrong time
and I was drinking a beer.
I think the dream was
a sign that I should go
the full 100 days
without alcohol.
Before that day arrives,
on the eve of that day,
I will dream of a tumbler
of whiskey, and I will
be some place, any place,
really, where people know
who they are and
exactly why they’re
writing or drinking
and it might even be
the same reason.

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#283: I Dream of a Song

dreaming

It was crazy.
I dreamed
I had written
a song
fully formed
and recorded
about my mom
and then my dead
friend called me
on the phone
and wondered
about copyright
permissions because
I think she wanted
to use it for some
other purpose.
I wish I could
remember the song,
the lyrics, the tune,
why my dead
friend wanted it.
All I know is that
I felt it was a
very good song,
maybe my best,
and it was about
my mom who is
very ill and it reached
my friend on the other
side and she called me
on the phone.

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#38: Last Night I Dreamt I Was Awake and Unable to Sleep

dreaming

I’m not especially skilled at dream interpretation, probably because I don’t invest the time. ¬†However, here’s a poem about one of the most annoying types of dreams in my personal repertoire. ¬†True story.

Last Night I Dreamt I Was Awake and Unable to Sleep

Last night I dreamt
I was awake and unable
to sleep.
In the dream, I got up
and decided to watch a movie
and I landed on a new
film by the performance artist
Laurie Anderson
in which all the dialogue
(which was really a monologue)
was delivered in reverse
chronological order.
I love Laurie Anderson
but I was too fatigued
for this particular experiment
and decided to go back
to bed where I was already
sleeping to try to get some sleep.
In many ways, dreaming
about not being able to sleep is the worst
kind of dream, a disequilibrium
of purpose, the sensation
of not doing a thing you’re
actually doing, like teaching
sometimes, or living, loving,
all manner of things attempted
and fallen short,
like dreaming you’re awake and trying
to sleep,
not quite like sleeping,
not quite like waking.
And in the morning,
when you realize that the whole
time when you thought you were awake
you were actually asleep,
you feel better, but not sufficiently:
happy, but disappointed, cheated, and tired.

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