Poetry

Arms crossed behind head

Leaving his chest free, open

Heartbeat uncluttered

This morning I woke from dreaming, and felt strangely good. It was not a good dream. One of those where I’m separated from the crowd, but have the company of a friend, but then the friend leaves to join the crowd. And I angry and hurt, lash out at the friend for abandoning me. And they don’t see the hurt, just the anger, and thus grow more distant. But instead of the dream ending there, someone surprised me. Someone I hadn’t expected made room for me in the group, found a seat at this fictitious wedding. And I woke-up liking that person more than I ever had before. So, maybe the dream wasn’t really bad, maybe it was a good dream, a redemptive sort of moment – not that the person has ever wronged me, or that I wasn’t already fond of them. It was more a moment of envisioning something that I’d never seen in them before.

All I’m saying is, even bad dreams can turn out to have some sort of lesson, and I never thought that they impacted how I see someone in reality. And it has me thinking about whether or not my subconscious affects other interactions. I remembered this dream. Most dreams I don’t remember. But remembered or not do they still have a bearing on daily life? There’s probably a plethora of information on the inter-web about this topic, covered by some psychologist with far more years of thought on the topic…maybe I’ll take a look-see.

However what I really wanted to write about is poetry, but I got side-tracked by dreaming or maybe it was the dreaming that made me feel poetry. Anyhow do adults still write poetry? I loved writing poems when I was a kid and a teenager. But then once I got to university, and began the journey to adulthood, I stopped (writing and kind of even liking poetry). Especially doing that darn English degree. It was hard writing essays about great pieces of literature and feeling like there was any room left for anything new. So, ten years later I’m finally removed enough to think that writing poetry is cool. Whether it is good or bad, it is something that I find wonderfully self-indulgent, next payday I’m going to buy a book of poetry, support something bigger than myself. And maybe, just maybe work on my own crap craft.

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