Blog On Dream Poetry
Dreams, Imagination, Write On, Write On
Night's call to arms, sweet echoes before death
Waking to live, glory in dawn's first breath
Dreams, imagination, write on, write on
Life is a gust of wind, then it is gone.
Gone as a dying flame, a lonely ghost
The dark unknown we rightfully fear most
Dreams, imagination, write on, write on
We are but hope and shreds of broken bone.
Yet something rare exists in that first breath
Rising to morn's sweet call, defeats night's death
Dreams, imagination, write on, write on
As the wind blows forth, Hope's power is grown.
Can one live, love and thrive until ones death
Feeling the joy of each precious breath
Dreams, imagination, write on, write on
One must live, love, not hide under a stone.
Dreams, imagination, write on, write on.
Robert J. Lindley, 11-21-2020
Rhyme, (Born From Dream Poetry)
Note- 11-20-2020
A distant voice, in a sweet dream it spoke
With hope as your shield, fear becomes a joke
Hold thee true, in life, love and faith are key
With such as armor, one never has to flee.
******
Golden Echoes And Quiet Serenity
Sweet memories, youth and glorious days
Dawn and the hours spent in Nature's abode
Life, love to be, coming romantic plays
Mysteries solved down the winding roads
Palaces found in dreams of sweetest tastes
O' the golden echoes of that first love
Rush and rushing, afraid- no time to waste
Sun beaming but soon storms ripping above.
Youth and glorious days, treasures of life
Soothing serenity of morn's first hour
A calming respite from yesterday's strife
Dear hope of youth and its happy towers
A fortress built to fight both time and fate
O' the blessings and delight of first kiss
No worries, no grief- the innocence we ate
Such gems of certainty, days we now miss.
Youth honey sweet with the wonders of yore
Twas' but a dream, a mere blink of the eye
Yet in this heart exist a hole it tore
Ripping the days before this soul may die.
Robert J. Lindley, 11-21-2020
Rhyme ( Born From Dream Poetry)
Note:
A memory, a treasure to never release
Yes, time and fate this castle did invade
To tear asunder, consume piece by piece
Replacing heart's sweet glow with darkest shade.
*****
Pray I, A Prayer For My Sweet Release
All is sad, night's blacken sorrows abound
Marked by the raging roar headed my way
Thus I beg, crying where on earth is found
A faster way of reaching break of day?
The walls vibrate with Dark dancing about
Through to window black-moon surrenders not
Golden beams to uplift, force darkness out
Before night's dark veil, heart feels the deep shot.
Clock ticking, these drowning hours penetrate
The feeble shield this olden soul has made
Calamity comes brought by hands of Fate
Into abyss, this weeping soul soon fades.
Pray I, a prayer for my sweet release
For an illuminated path to flee
Welcome beams of divine Light to gift peace
From the depths of this accursed wicked sea.
All is sad, night's blacken sorrows abound
Marked by the raging roar headed my way
Thus I beg, crying where on earth is found
A faster way of reaching break of day?
Robert J. Lindley, 11-22-2020
Rhyme (Born From Dream Poetry)
Blog on, Writing Dream Poetry
With this recent break I have faced many obstacles in my path.
Serious medical issues both for myself and my beloved wife.
Writing was cast aside to deal with such but it never lets me walk away.
Soon poetry invaded my dreams and the harder I fought to flee the
More often it came to invade. I finally decided to write about the dreams
The memories that came in my dreams of my youth, my distant path on
this spinning blue marble. The first three poems are a start. How long
it continues is not currently known to me.
Maybe it stops now, or goes on for a while. Something had to give!
I had to let the words come and each poem gave me a release, a most
welcomed temporary spell of relief. Robert J. Lindley, 11-22-2020
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(1.)
‘The Dream’ by John Donne
Dear love, for nothing less than thee
Would I have broke this happy dream;
It was a theme
For reason, much too strong for fantasy,
Therefore thou wak’d’st me wisely; yet
My dream thou brok’st not, but continued’st it.
Thou art so true that thoughts of thee suffice
To make dreams truths, and fables histories;
Enter these arms, for since thou thought’st it best,
Not to dream all my dream, let’s act the rest.
As lightning, or a taper’s light,
Thine eyes, and not thy noise wak’d me;
Yet I thought thee
(For thou lovest truth) an angel, at first sight;
But when I saw thou sawest my heart,
And knew’st my thoughts, beyond an angel’s art,
When thou knew’st what I dreamt, when thou knew’st when
Excess of joy would wake me, and cam’st then,
I must confess, it could not choose but be
Profane, to think thee any thing but thee.
Coming and staying show’d thee, thee,
But rising makes me doubt, that now
Thou art not thou.
That love is weak where fear’s as strong as he;
‘Tis not all spirit, pure and brave,
If mixture it of fear, shame, honour have;
Perchance as torches, which must ready be,
Men light and put out, so thou deal’st with me;
Thou cam’st to kindle, goest to come; then I
Will dream that hope again, but else would die.
***************
(2.)
Edgar Allan Poe, ‘A Dream within a Dream’.
How can we separate reality from illusion? What if, to quote from Poe’s poem, ‘All that we see or seem / Is but a dream within a dream’?
One of Poe’s more famous poems, ‘A Dream 
within a Dream’ muses on the fragility and fleetingness of everything, and asks whether anything we do has any lasting or real effect. As Poe concludes:
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
****************
There will come soft rain and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone.