List Poem

[Wednesday, 29 December 02010 -- severely pruned]

[Later: Just noticed that Dave linked this on his Smorgasblog, which always makes me think: hmm, this must be better than I thought. With that in mind, I've put the first version below the cut.]

 

 

· dreamlist ·

· the world is a dandelion, releasing its seed ·
· a feast of birds ·
· the infant speaks in tongues ·
· once this all was mine ·
· there is too much for me to carry ·
· this is my mother’s house ·
· this is my grandmother’s house ·
· rabbits hop from the lion’s mouth ·
· is anyone out there? ·
· I speak a language I do not understand ·
· you tell me you have nothing left to believe in ·
· why are they so elusive? so quick to slip away? ·
· you kiss me, but I know you are pretending ·
· I keep trying to gracefully leave ·
· you can see everything inside ·
· the Shaman cuts the cord ·
· I measure out what I cannot do ·
· I think it’s time for me to not share her garden ·
· how do they do it, manage against great odds? ·
· will we ever evolve to see things as they really are? ·
· the spaces between ·
· survivors in the ruins ·
· there are things of value outside the spheres ·
· what is the point of this? ·
· a disembodied, silver head ·
· I am left behind ·
· so tired. almost home ·

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This week's prompt was to write a list poem. So many lists come to mind, especially this time of year, especially resolutions, planned, met, unmet ...

I decided on dreams. This also pushed me a bit further than usual on form; somehow I wanted a dreamy form for this dream poem.

Critiques welcome.

 

P.S. We are, presumably, a collection of our memories. Does that include memories of dreams? Is our dream self the same as, a part of, our waking self? Or another self altogether? Are our dream memories the same as our memories of what "really" happened? Or are they different?

[original version]

· dreamlist ·

· the world is a dandelion, releasing its seed ·
· the Shaman cuts the cord ·
· who is Indian and who is not? ·
· a feast of birds ·
· the infant speaks in tongues ·
· I wander a familiar house ·
· once this all was mine ·
· there is too much for me to carry ·
· this is my mother’s house ·
· this is my grandmother’s house ·
· rabbits hop from the lion’s mouth ·
· is anyone out there? ·
· I speak a language I do not understand ·
· you tell me you have nothing left to believe in ·
· help never comes ·
· we are lost in a shopping mall ·
· why are they so elusive? so quick to slip away? ·
· you kiss me, but I know you are pretending ·
· I keep trying to gracefully leave ·
· you can see everything inside ·
· she seems fine, but then slides away into dementia ·
· we are befriending outcasts ·
· the sea is filled with strange creatures ·
· I measure out what I cannot do ·
· I think it’s time for me to not share her garden ·
· the doorbell rings & rings ·
· the streets are dense with frightening men ·
· a child with the voice of an angel, a stolen child ·
· how do they do it, manage against great odds? ·
· will we ever evolve to see things as they really are? ·
· the spaces between ·
· survivors in the ruins ·
· there are things of value outside the spheres ·
· the competent, committed women have been purged ·
· he’s back and I don’t want him ·
· what is the point of this? ·
· a disembodied, silver head ·
· I am left behind ·
· so tired. almost home ·

 

Comments

[Cathy]

Very interesting poem with all it's different layers. This line I love the best

I speak a language I do not understand ·

Next time, you are on Facebook you'll see a friend request from Catherine McGregor.

That's me!! Back on Fb under another name.

[sb]

Hi Cathy,

I think this one needs some serious pruning, which I may or may not get to in the next few days. But -- how 'bout that photo? I worked hard to get those nightmare bunnies!

[Cathy]

Ah the bunnies look too cute be a nightmare!