DREAMPOEM
in a corner of my bedroom
grew a tree
a happytree
my own tree
its leaves were soft
like flesh
and its birds sang poems for me
then
with warning
two men
with understanding smiles
and axes
made out of forged excuses
came and chopped it down
either yesterday
of the day before
i think it was the day before
By Roger McGough
I found this poem today. I read poetry whilst sitting on the toilet. The thought repulses my friend, she is probably right, but poetry is right for this occasion, when you don't have long and but like to read and take your mind off what you are doing. Poetry on the toilet gives me little insights into wonderful language bytes that would otherwise be 'wasted' (sorry terrible pun). Anyway it got me thinking about dreaming and how I love to dream. I love to dream when I am asleep and am lucky enough to remember most of my dreams and I love to day dream even though I feel guilty about wasting time.
Sometimes my dreams are so real that I can not distinguish them from reality. I have dreamed someone is dead and then been really surprised to see them alive and breathing. Or dreamed I have done things and been generally surprised that I haven't - even accusing people around me of undoing them.
Back to dreaming per say. I realise what I liked about the poem is that someone is sums up how I feel about my dreams. But for me it is not two men who take away my dreams but my illness. When I am in the 'darkness' and sit and sit and sit for hours and days to think- the dreams are taken. When I long to escape into 'the corner of my bedroom' into 'a happytree' it is gone. It escapes me and makes me even sadder. And dreaming feels like a tree, somewhere strong and grown with age and experience, somewhere to be whoever you want to be, to be whatever you want to be. And when dreams are gone it is impossible to pin down th day when I stopped dreaming - 'i think it was the day before'.
I love the idea of a happytree - I might make a happytree to hang in my study, I will put pictures and ideas and nice things on it and pin my dreams on it.
That will be nice.
D
1 comment:
Wow!
Love this poem. I totally get what your saying about the dreaming. The point when the imagined world within you has disappeared is so full of emptiness it is hard to remember what it felt like to be surrounded by your dreams.
I might have to write something on my blog to follow on to this.
Thanks Di. Beautiful
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