There ought to be a better way of living To find catharsis in these twilight years, But I am no misanthrope, My dreams can give me hope And help to wipe away my tensions and my tears.
So let me lead you now into my dreamworld, A land where vanished wishes can come true. Where life and love and pleasure, And all those things we treasure, Will follow from our final rendezvous.
A land where angels sing glad songs of romance, Where the bells remember chimes they’d long forgot; Where they now forever ring, And with those angels sing, And we at last are happy with our lot.
For my frequent dream is one of youth recurring; A new start in life to live it once again. To eliminate the stress, To start again afresh, And live my life devoid of stifling pain.
But the place where dreams are stored is fast receding, A library of books once felt and read. Now they will never come to life Before they meet the pruning knife, And all those thoughts they bred remain unsaid.
My mind enfranchised in sleep liberated from rationality and conscious executive decision my unconscious set free to roam my history.
The blurred narrative picks and chooses what it wants to portray to examine to reconnoitre.
Personae and locale juxtaposed regardless of sequence of time and of place
A current friend a past acquaintance someone who is no one brought together and the scene is set.
I wander amongst its passage ways through its disjointed scenery meeting both friends and strangers so unclarified and yet telling a minimal story its sequence uncontrolled unfettered by personal decision moving on at leisured pace subject it seems to no control seemingly governed solely by its own momentum no decisions involved in the flow of events linked by no conscious reason aware of scenery of being somewhere half-known but insensate unaware of how I feel towards it.
Then, an arbitrary end to these inconclusive series of events; sometimes just a fading; but at other times an abrupt cessation of the out-of-focus story’s flow an abrupt end often in mid event.
And I am left with traces vague recollections of where indistinct awareness of who no understanding of why no connection to past no sense of a future
Just dreamland half-remembered soon forgotten altogether lost in another time another life a parallel reality or even outside reality but it must be my reality.
My mind enfranchised in sleep liberated from rationality and conscious executive decision
My unconscious set free to roam my history. How that happens to be
“Do you think I’ve gone round the bend?“ “I’m afraid so. You’re mad, bonkers, completely off your head. But I’ll tell you a secret. All the best people are.” ― ‘Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland’ 1865 … Lewis Carroll
A BIT OF NONSENSE
NONSENSE VERSES . . . Just playing with words & triple rhymes
A very long song is quite wrong But a terse little verse is worse So why try to cry, ‘cos You know I’ll feel low when you go.
It would seem that I scream when I dream So why can’t I try to be shy It’s unkind when I find you don’t mind You will know it is so when I go.
It is sad when a lad turns out bad But a joy for a boy to annoy; Why disguise all those lies I despise, Tell me why you don’t try to comply?
Please desist and don’t twist my wrist You can kill my goodwill with that pill I can tell you’re not well when you yell Lose your head, you’ll be dead, it is said.
Try to recall your fall in the hall, I could tell you weren’t well when you fell. Don’t sigh, that is why, by and by If you’re kind you will find I won’t mind.
The cop had to pop to the shop To get runny honey for money; But today he’s away at a play, So tomorrow, in sorrow, he’ll borrow.
The girl with the twirl and the curl Denied she had tried not to hide, But the boy full of joy with the toy Asked to play, if he may,every day.
When the man with a can saw the fan I know he gave a slow blow He looked swell till he fell in a well; He’s unwell I can tell by the smell.
It is fun to run in the sun, If you try to fly you’ll see why. But begin to sin, you won’t win; No, you shouldn’t, you wouldn’t , you couldn’t ,
Bliss in a kiss will not go amiss It serves and deserves, to comfort the nerves. But let me repeat, you’ll meet with defeat When time and chime no longer rhyme.
It’s absurd when a bird can’t be heard It’s a sin when an inn won’t serve gin. It’s a pity this ditty‘s not witty I endeavour to be clever however.
They live on in dreams Friends who once enriched my life Ghosts of Christmas Past
Ghosts of Christmas Now Fill my days and haunt my nights Bring both joy and fear
Loves I’ll leave behind Ghosts of Christmas Yet To Come They are my future
Form of poetry
Senryū is a Japanese form of short poetry similar to haiku in construction: three lines with 17 morae. Senryū tend to be about human foibles while haiku tend to be about nature, and senryū are often cynical or darkly humorous while haiku are more serious. Wikipedia
our world is not always a nice place to be so let’s take off for paradise to do that we must dream so make a wish and dream the dreams made from memories choose daydreams for they are made from pleasant ones precious jewels of remembered moments of childhood pleasures recreated in golden colours under warm and generous skies for what is nirvana but bliss a perfect quietude remembered from that golden age when cares were so far away as to be invisible and joy was present in the simplicity of a walk in a spring meadow in hesitant steps across a bubbling beck in that breath of early evening air bringing the scent of heather and with it the rustle of new leaves bursting to catch the evening air amongst the rolling northern hills the cradled landscape of that now distant home forever a part of my being both bedrock and comfort of my present and succour of my hopes for the future
Once upon a sublime time when daylight lingered long into night’s advance shadows crept from silent space wrapping themselves around the foothills of my youth their clutch clinging to my burgeoning hopes with silky snake embrace promising to smother all ills to suck the poison from my advance and still the waves that beat upon my summer shore
But now with time progressed and prospects passed with what avails me slipped away that promised land the unproven myth shown for what it is have I learnt nothing from my dreams has expectation become ash youth’s promise proven pallid yet stubbornly remaining to bolster what is left to me of life and give me strength to persist and hope for glory yet