I DREAM IN POETRY

I DREAM IN POETRY

 

Stifled truth in conversation,

Preserving friendships cordial path.

I shake my head, but keep my counsel,

One man’s right is another man’s wrath.

 

Marching under many banners,

I’ve left the papers all unread.

But when I sleep, I dream in poetry,

And when I wake, I count the dead......

 

When day is done, and night time comes,

Thoughts, disjointed, anointed with visions

Appear from I don’t know where.

But there’s the rub,

When muse is sought In light of day,

I find little to convey.

 

Yet, when bed beckons, ablutions disposed,

Fractured prose finds me unexpectedly, as

Evening recollection of rigged election,

Competes with mindless massacre

Of children in Manchester,

And West Bank abomination.

 

Where dose Art end, and life begin?

When I in my reverie, bring rhyme and juxtaposition

To inner voices;

Transforming menace into poetry,

‘Till memory of Grenfell Tower immolation

Startles me awake,

And I feel their pain.

 

◄ I WAS LISTENING TO NEIL YOUNG ON THE RADIO

IT'S HARD TO BELIEVE ►

Comments

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Dorothy Webb

Fri 8th Mar 2019 10:25

Trevor
There is so much truth in your poem - many will relate to "inner voices"
and the last four lines are indisputable.
Dorothy

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keith jeffries

Wed 6th Mar 2019 15:52

Trevor,

Prior to sleep I pass through a period as you have described. Somewhat muddled yet coherent. The seeds of future poems and prose.

Thank you for this

Keith

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