0155 Dreams, Dreams, Dreams...
The phone’s just rung: ‘Hi this is Rosie
you’ve been selected for a five-day
luxury cruise to the Bahamas’…
dreams, dreams, dreams
one of the few things all religions, all philosophies
are agreed on: it’s the state
between waking and sleeping.
beyond that, they’re rather coy.
for Freudians, precious clues;
for Jungians, universal archetypes;
for other theorists, just
a mental and emotional shit, conveniently
achieved without a convenience
but for religion and philosophy, pretty much
a keep-off territory: maybe there’s a church somewhere
where they sway and sing
ah’m dreamin’ YOU sweeet Jeeezuzz
and if so, does it work?
and we seem to have such individual dreams:
mine are such a bore, forever
missing that last train; the more I walk
the further home’s away…
whereas a friend who lived through the Nazi occupation,
beloved, inventive grandfather,
actor, writer, director, teacher,
dreams without cease of killings, murders –
surely he deserves better of his dreams?
another friend claims he never dreams;
this annoys me intensely for some un worthy reason:
but how can I prove him wrong?
maybe it’s the last frontier for
the good starship Commercial Enterprise:
‘Dream yourself to all you ever wished
in ten easy lessons: send
a stamped, self-addressed rainbow
to Somewhere Over Inc.…’
do we really have to leave it to Hollywood?
must all our dreams these days be violent daydreams,
regardless of expense? or do we need that violence
to wake up to a loving kiss; to love life’s pastel shades;
to smell the roses round the door?