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Submitted by dbaker on 2 February 2008 - 10:05am.
Style / Type:
freeform
“Awakening Dream”
I awoke to find myself holding new born poems in my arms
Not unlike a parent cradling a child.
They whispered stories under my chin
I felt their warm breath on my throat.
Each poem a song chanted from before days counting
yearning to be sung once more.
Full of life straining to be heard in the ears of men, like
A bull’s neck strains when confined in a rodeo chute.
They hold their own visions of life as a poem
when Turquoise painted men with red eyes strode across
snow dusted playas.
Telling of a time when visions become the reality
opening and unfolding Lotus
petals in a mornings garden.
Chanting those moments when despair seems to be our soul mate
opening our hearts to Badger’s jaws.
Those are the times when poetry saves
when it redeems us from having to live in darkness.
In-nakedness truth,
In-truth purity
In-purity beauty
In-beauty lies poetry
Waking with visions laying on my chest
telling me life is always in the moment.
These poems whisper to me poetry is not defined by rules
Anymore than a sun rise is…
For my visions I have paid my sacrifice of blood
Like a Spring time lamb I have been cut away
from my mother earth
Now able to fly above my native land with Raven’s eyes
I see paths taken by the living and the dead.
Clutching my visions
my songs
my poems to my chest
each a child of my birthing
Every song has a time to be sung
I await those moments to set them free.
-DS Baker
I awoke to find myself holding new born poems in my arms
Not unlike a parent cradling a child.
They whispered stories under my chin
I felt their warm breath on my throat.
Each poem a song chanted from before days counting
yearning to be sung once more.
Full of life straining to be heard in the ears of men, like
A bull’s neck strains when confined in a rodeo chute.
They hold their own visions of life as a poem
when Turquoise painted men with red eyes strode across
snow dusted playas.
Telling of a time when visions become the reality
opening and unfolding Lotus
petals in a mornings garden.
Chanting those moments when despair seems to be our soul mate
opening our hearts to Badger’s jaws.
Those are the times when poetry saves
when it redeems us from having to live in darkness.
In-nakedness truth,
In-truth purity
In-purity beauty
In-beauty lies poetry
Waking with visions laying on my chest
telling me life is always in the moment.
These poems whisper to me poetry is not defined by rules
Anymore than a sun rise is…
For my visions I have paid my sacrifice of blood
Like a Spring time lamb I have been cut away
from my mother earth
Now able to fly above my native land with Raven’s eyes
I see paths taken by the living and the dead.
Clutching my visions
my songs
my poems to my chest
each a child of my birthing
Every song has a time to be sung
I await those moments to set them free.
-DS Baker
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
(1 vote)
” In nakedness truth , in
” In nakedness truth , in truth etc” excellent reasoning , your comparison of poems and your children is perfect . I have chided many that have written a poem only to give that poem a title of”Untitled” I f you had a child would you not give it a name. Here you have echoed those sentiments. Your poem is beautiful pacing was perfect an your ending was lovely
The combination of an
The combination of an overall intimate image [ie chidbirth, nurturing etc] with broader spritual/ritual associations works very well - as if poems have rites of passage guided by you, their maker/guardian. The reasoning is clear and remarkably smoothly developed. A very good read my friend.
Mike
Thank you
Thank you both!
It is rare but I literally dreamed this poem. My wife woke me up out of a dream and told me I was speaking this poem aloud. Luckily I was able to run to my lap-top and jot it down before I forgot what I had been dreaming.
There has been little or no editing in this piece. Which for me is rare. Normally a poem of mine starts out like a short story and then gets chopped down to a manageable length.
Thank once again for taking the time to read let alone comment on my work.
-DS Baker
This has a classical power to it
Yet strangely it touches me little. My poems are willothewisps that dance enticingly around my head and more often than not disappear before I get to pen or keyboard.
And once written I feel little contact with them, almost like they belong to strangers.
It takes all kinds of poets and this site is blessed with most of them.
cheers,
Jess
Dreams can be important...
Its ok, Jess. My poetry is not for everyone. I don’t know if it is the Celt in me or not, but I have had prescient dreams on and off most of my life. I take dreams very seriously.
One dream that stands out that I had-I was standing around a 3/4 size Swiss style Chalet home in the middle of a wooded area. The men and I were all wearing combat fatigues and eating what appeared to be a catered lunch. We had all slung our M-16’s across our back and had the most serious looks on our faces as we ate.
Six months later I had joined the US Army. A month after joining I was standing around what is called a “Range Shack” that looked like a 3/4 size Swiss Chalet, eating chow before going back to training on my 105mm Mortar…
All the best!
-DS Baker