Saturday, January 12, 2019

SOMETIMES Poetry Becomes Real . . .


I've been trying to get out of the habit of commenting on my work - somehow explaining it in advance.  The work should speak for itself, yes?  But I do want to say that this poem was inspired by a real devil of a week, and a real late afternoon nap where I dreamed like I had not in well over a week. In that magical dreamworld, two dear friends came to me . . . 


Dream Therapy
by Judith Cullen
© 2019

Dragging the week behind,
doubt, fear, sorrow, and pain
thudding at each labored stair,
an accumulation of fighting
weighting every step, till I drop.

Subsiding into dreams, expecting
more monotone wanderings -
tears unexplained, unshed and
more steps, more labors till
somehow the fog would clear.


Instead, you stand waiting
calm, smiling, patient, present,
navy clad in the light rain.
No comment or condoling;
"I am here for you" unspoken.

Defining my steps limitations,
you guide them onward instead
till somehow, there you were too.
We three now joined outside of,
defying: time, distance, and pain.

The pines moist and pungent.
Colors vivid, varied, and joyous.
We walk together in laughter.
Conversation and silence easy,
energized with fellowship.

Birds create music with the wind.

The rain cleanses, but does not chill.

Children pour shimmering pitchers of gold.

We wait, one for the other turning
corners to new delight, senses
filled and satisfied, and refilled,
amazed by magic that follows
pulling bright moments from mud.

Red, blue, violet, green, yellow
"I remember there was this time,"
Iridescent elation worn simply.
"Are you coming, my friend?"
Communion of conviviality.

Waking, all I collapsed with
has vanished with the day's sun.
Outside the window, bright pink
fringes the horizon of a gentle
star specked dusk sky.

One final wave from my dream.

I breathe freely once more.
##

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