i dreamt of yellow roses
fragrant suns of misted dawn’s
dew kissed petals
that promised summer
as you sailed on the morning
shafts of light
that painted the speckled air
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dream
In my dream
In my dream
we found the lake at sunset
the light like stained glass
behind the whispering trees
in my dream
the shining water’s ripples
refracted upon your skin
and imagination seized
in my dream
the world hummed a bossanova
each note would wet my lips
with the song of our kiss
in my dream
the dance we danced consumed
and with every passioned step
heartbeat’s almost missed
in my dream
we became one after dark
the fresh spring night
our blanket sheets
in my dream
you dreamed me too
so we’d wake to morning’s touch
and make both dreams complete.
A dream, if not of heaven, then what?
I stood upon a pier
no waves below but clouds
in form and hue
my mortal senses could not conceive
but which I watched ebb and flow
between boards worn bare
by countless feet
walking toward eternity.
Attempting to Capture a Dream of Bidston Hill in 1983 (part one)
In my dreams
there came to me
a big green
double decker bus
and there upon
the upstairs deck
was sat together
teenage us
I think it was
the Forty Two
or perhaps
the Twenty One
in waking haze
I can’t be sure
so many years
have come and gone
French Toast
Dahlia Lavi’s coffee machine
David Hemmings eats baked beans
Aznavour writes it down
strikes it out and passes round
his freshly buttered toast.
The Hunt
the tiger stalks my dreams
her muscles tensed in readiness
lithe lines on striped flesh
her claws unfurled knives
to slice through my defences
breath shallow and quiet
yet warm and hungry felt
through the undergrowth
of my subconscious
we know of each other’s presence
but neither makes a sound
for what seems an eternity
as we prepare ourselves
for the hunt.
Dream #17,730
I dreamt of comic books in braille
and naked ladies riding snails
and trains, because I always dream of trains,
and birds that spoke of countries new
court jesters painting the town blue
and that French film with all the kissing in the rain.
I dreamt of eyes that stole the world
and as my dream slowly unfurled
I understood the symbols I could see
at first glance each vexed up my mind
so I let them completely unwind
and each image breathed a sigh of you and me.
Nightmare
the unseen spectre
creeps uninvited
into my night time
icy fingertips
tap like freezing rain
incessantly upon
the windows
of my soul
which open wide
to the dark,
the home of shadows
which in daylight
bare me no ill will
but at night
desire only
to tear my heart out.
Dream Sequenced
Recurring themes
of trees and rain
forgotten dreams
of sex and trains
(thanks Sigmund)
of regrets and death
insecurity symbolised
in tooth decay
and chase sequences
they bleed again
from the open wound
of my imagined pen
which tears the flesh
of my soul’s blank page
in the effort
to regain them
and in some cases
banish them
from my psyche
at least for a while
waved by, by the cocky watchman
I awaken
still lost
in the maze
the illogical
geography
of a dream,
leaving me
questioning
all but my own sanity,
which I know
for a fact
is still
intact,
as undisturbed
as a fenced off
row of condemned
terraced houses
“This Site Is Patrolled By Dogs”
(which are never,
never ever
heard to bark)
