My poetry is dreams

· by · in free verse, poetry. ·


My dreams are tar
remaining underneath my fingernails
resisting efforts of the brush
My dreams are itch
right between the shoulderblades
where my fingers cannot reach
My dreams are news
printed boldly cross the frontpage
screaming blood and death.
My dreams are words
cutting razor wounds in sentences
we said in anger
My dreams are ice
freezing with a silent echo
when we ceased to talk.
My dreams are rust
flaking with procrastinated deeds
I will fail to do today.
My poems form from dreams
with a pinch of salt
of Nordic winter.

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Ella tells us about the Kumulipo at real toads. A chant about the creation, going back to the embryo of the creation. The prompt is to do the same going back to that creation and apply it to our own poetry. The embryo of it all. I said in a comment that I would have to think about my dreams, and often my nights are filled with nightmares I cannot remember… and that is the blackness coming from my pen, I guess being born in Sweden in January my pen glows better in darkness.
—
February 7, 2015

32 responses to “My poetry is dreams”

  2. Agh! This is wonderful, Bjorn. Definitely a new favorite–dreams and poems are very mixed for some, and oh the frustration, but also satisfaction– I love the mixture of the personal and metaphoric and the circumstantial here, that good old Nordic winter. Thanks. k.

  3. I think I’d have to go back to dreams also but I feel too distant from any other sense of creation.

  5. Reading about your dreams, I am glad I don’t sense that I dream (though I am sure I must?). This poem expresses ‘nightmare’ to me in so many different ways. This is a GOOD poem, Bjorn, rich with excellent metaphor. I cannot choose a favorite among them, but am glad they do not appear in my dreams…

  8. I love the tar, the itch, the resisting edges you shared. I wanted to shout, yes, yes, when I read your poem. It is under the surface waiting to develop, to breathe- Bravo, Bjorn~

  10. So well done – truly a chant – My dreams are….My dreams are…. Being born in the fall, that melancholy seems to paint/taint my work as well. I was moved by this poem of yours. At the end I reminded myself, that sometimes My dreams are cherry blossoms sleeping in the cold, knowing spring will come….This poem struck deeply with me on so many levels.

  11. i learned the word anaphora today and see you using it to good effect

    my nightmare are never of terror – but always of frustration and longing

    excellent poem, my friend

    cheers
    jzb

  12. The imagery here is stark and personal and yet also manages to be flamboyant, the way a bright red scarf makes the snow whiter and the wind wilder. I love your deft use of repetition,Bjorn, and the way the poem’s structure frames the thoughts.

  14. This is a really wonderful write…..the combination of influences and sensations that wind up in our poems…..I especially love the closing lines, “My poems form from dreams with a pinch of salt of Nordic winter.” Perfection!

  15. Wow…Bjorn…this is a powerful piece…I love the way each set of ideas causes strong imagery and feeling…vivid and your comment, ” I guess being born in Sweden in January my pen glows better in darkness.” I love this…Great writing and thank you for your visit, too! 🙂

  16. My dreams are ice
    freezing with a silent echo
    when we ceased to talk.

    It can be cold and one gets stuck. But somehow it has a way of working out itself with brilliance. You’ve done it always with great lines Bjorn!

    Hank

  19. Your poetry may have the dark edge of arctic winters but it retains the beauty and singularity of living at the extreme edge of the world.

  25. “My dreams are rust
    flaking with procrastinated deeds
    I will fail to do today.” Wow! Searing and impactful. Cuts to the core of abandoned dreams . . . with a wallop.

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