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

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.

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