Such a dreamer,

he was going to some planetary body, he said

when no one was looking,

with that old tortoiseshell suitcase with the stickers.

He saw himself en route

bound by purpose and a strange sense of gravity.


Had packed his case with all he held dear,

significant papers and artefacts:

old perfume bottles his wife thought thrown away,

a diary or two, hand wound travelling clock,

coins he had tossed with luck,

all cherished items.


On the day he never woke up

the suitcase looked out of place under the bed,

no one knowing what to do with it

as it was really with him somewhere amongst the stars

telling its story

to those who would listen.




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Fri 26th Apr 2019 17:33

hi Trevor, and thanks for delving, a great compliment. I am drawn to a certain sense of mystery, and I like to convey that, as I feel it challenges us to go deeper. Often I want to just be in a surreal area. Thanks for looking in.


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trevor homer

Fri 26th Apr 2019 15:16

I like the way this poem deals with the illusory nature of things - it is possible to leave glimmers of an open door in a poem, hoping others will step in, not knowing what they'll find. This works for me on that level. Trevor

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Mon 15th Apr 2019 22:27

Hi Rachel, missed this latest comment sorry. Thanks for taking the trouble to expand the point about time. It is so hard not to feel like we're swimming in the ocean when trying to assess what time means - perhaps if were goldfish we would feel differently - they have their place; the airy and watery regions are a challenge in the sheer size of their compass. Ah well, time presses!



Thu 11th Apr 2019 10:51

I won't deny that I've been a bit curious in the past, but personally, I find science to be of comfort and a good way to both indulge my curiosity and protect my sanity...



Take care, Ray,


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Wed 10th Apr 2019 17:56

Thanks Des, jeronth and Dorothy for stopping by !

Hi martin. Always good to get your feedback knowing that my stuff can appeal over time!

Thanks Steve. You must enjoy weird perhaps. that's me.

David, you look different today! All astute points thanks. Any dark place will do for me. I like the analogy of the Pharoahs, obviously on a more modest scale and either way impossible in actuality - but why let the facts ruin a good belief system? The jazz background was variations on French classical themes, hardly audible but it stopped half way through. Not really planned. Cheers..

Rachel, Hi. In the psychic canon there are the Akashic records, a sort of imprint in detail as you describe. Worth checking out while some sanity remains.

Thanks Hazel - glad you liked it and the afterthought!


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Hazel ettridge

Wed 10th Apr 2019 09:23

Your comment "the music has stopped now..... sadly" definitely felt like the perfect ending to this beautiful poem.


Tue 9th Apr 2019 16:20

"..it was really with him somewhere amongst the stars..."

They say time is really a figment of our imaginations--a feeble attempt at placing parameters through which we can wrestle some understanding of the universe. It's said that every moment that ever existed, or ever will, is captured within a frame like a photo, though we aren't prepared to perceive.

"We are stardust..."


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Martin Elder

Mon 8th Apr 2019 14:57

There is a real wistful sense in this poem not just in reading it but also listening to you reading it. I love you attention to detail here Ray and the way in which the poem is delivered.
Nice one mate

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