Dreams & Fantasies

                              Birdcage

Oh, the luxury!

lustrously finished

thin sticks

barely more than splinters

of luscious-coloured

old-growth

rainforest hardwood

still somehow exuding a faint, musty pungency of the tropics

woven together

into an architectural fantasy –

a Middle-Kingdom conceit –

an avian pagoda of generous proportions and endless details.

Beyond the veranda where it fills space, the harbour lies in darkness,

darkness hardly relieved by a few piddling points

of light from lanterns, cook-stoves, and small boats.

The plumage of

the birds inside

the stick-house

on the breezy veranda

provide such colours

as vermillion, aquamarine, fuchsia,

and of course canary-yellow,

that capture the eye –

whatever shape that eye might be –

as they jitter about

and sing the same songs repeatedly,

never changing a note.

         No Answer Here

The place definitely seemed familiar;

I knew I’d been there often before.

The people seemed familiar, too;

I knew that I’d done things for some of them

and had let others down in the past.

I also knew that I was asleep,

but not bloody likely to wake up soon.

I approached one of the people there,

a dignified woman with an engaging manner,

and asked her if this was an

alternative universe,

or just an imaginary one.

She didn’t answer me.

                   Soaring Away

A long time ago,

when my soul was less encrusted

with life experiences

and pain,

I had a recurring dream,

or something,

in which I would jump

lightly off my toes

and sort of float, sort of soar,

under easy control,

changing direction by shifting my weight,

ever higher

into something of a void,

and just as I was reaching an apogee,

and I was feeling as if

gravity would no longer hold me

and I’d break free, irrevocably,

through the void,

filled with excitement and wonder and apprehension,

my trajectory would return downward

until I’d lightly touch ground

with the toes of one foot

and spring back toward

the void

again.

What I want most of all right now

is for that dream,

or something,

to take me soaring at least one more time,

but only, maybe,

never to touch down

again.

    Only The Details Are From A Dream

She’s my friend,

I think,

despite all our obvious differences,

but I never really knew this

until she dismounted her caparisoned horse

as the parade went by

and came to where

I was squatting on the ground

amidst the faceless crowd

and offered me

a piece of round, dark, rum-soaked cake,

chatted with me about

important matters of little importance

before remounting

and riding off.

The unrelated nightmare came later.

           Almost Kissed Twice

She had a relatively longish face,

short, light-brown hair –

one of the underprivileged adolescents present

called her a blond,

but she wasn’t –

glittering, intelligent eyes,

and seemed to be in charge

of the surprisingly extensive situation.

Twice she approached me,

even though I didn’t know her name,

put her face close to mine,

and indicated unambiguously

that she wanted to kiss.

Both times the effort it took

to get my arms out from under the covers

to draw her to me

woke me up.

I was fortunately able to get right back to sleep each time.

It was too good a dream to abandon.

After all, she was buying everybody pizza.

Mine was with feta.

   Early Morning Incident

Their father tried to affix

giant screwcaps onto them

to seal off their souls

and to prevent anything

that was really them from

escaping.

I remember the panic in their eyes

as he went about this task,

imploring me for help,

but I could do nothing.

It didn’t work, anyway,

as within seconds

the pressure of their

selves

escaped like tendrils

hissing from under the caps’ edges

and released them.

                         Gina

She was small and blond and cute and sweet,

which fooled shallow people

into thinking she was shallow, too.

She fell easily, against her will,

for an older bloke who flirted with her,

as he did with everyone,

never for a moment considering

that anybody would take him seriously.

Her childhood sweetheart scattered her ashes

on the floor of his terrarium,

where his lizards and newts frolicked,

if that is the word,

upon and over and around them.

           A Magic Fart

It was after three in the morning,

and, after a close call there in bed,

coming out of a dream,

he felt it was time to get to the loo to shit.

When he settled on the throne

comfortably in the dark,

he discovered that his body’s

immediate concern involved gas instead.

The fart first emerged

as a small, round ball of gaseous matter

about 35 millimetres in diameter,

glossy black in colour,

hanging in the air.

As his body expelled more

of what it wanted to get rid of,

accompanied by

complexly structured music,

the ball steadily grew wings

as black and glossy as itself,

about thirty-five centimetres long each,

which themselves grew

decorative rococo flourishes,

with curves and countercurves

of curling leaves and twisted shells.

It was a light, airy thing

despite its glossy blackness

insubstantial despite its aesthetic substance,

and although still there when he returned to bed,

was gone when the morning broke.

            Is He Still 46?

My daddy came to me in a dream

We were going to play some game together

I think it was softball

But then, just as the game was about to begin

he wasn’t there

and I looked for him everywhere

but couldn’t find him

and it was then that I realised

it was only a dream.