Are You the Dreamer to My Dreams - short poem

  mhall46184@aol.com

Are You the Dreamer to My Dreams?

 

Moonlight, magnolias, and melatonin

And the symphony channel – all sweeten my dreams

But without you, is there any point to dreams?

If you tell me yes, then it is so

No, It Wasn't the Medications - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim's Journal of Life, Literature and Love

Home - Hello Poetry

 

No, It Wasn’t the Medications

 

 

If we do meet again, why, we shall smile

 

Julius Caesar V.i.28

 

 

Last night my friend and mentor was dreamed to me

He was himself again, and so was I

Among Spenserian fields and forests and friends

In a summer world all warm and green

 

In a time of waiting rooms and surgeries

Slow days of headaches and painful awkwardness

Appointments, lab reports, diagnoses

He came as a comfort, a vision of what will be

 

We did meet again, and we did smile

And so, just so, we all will meet again

Some Nights Around 0400 - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Some Nights Around 0400

 

Some nights around 0400

The silence calls you up for a dreamless dream

About your future and about your past

About that somenight when your dreams are done

 

The dancing figures of the flickering past

Figure across the pages of the night

Some as happy memories

Some in sorrowful rebuke

 

Your scope of activity is limited now

But what will you do in the morning?

If You Pick Up a Dream - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

If You Pick Up a Dream

If you pick up a dream, it might explode
Shooting pulses of light into the skies
And winds of words to wheel among the wings
Of truths in flight above a moonlit night

If you pick up a dream, it might explode
Into disasters unimaginable
But realized all the same, in smoking ruins
Of fragile constructs thoughtlessly knocked down

Be careful, then, along your pilgrim road:
If you pick up a dream, it might explode

War Chariots at Dawn (and a Three-Hole Paper Punch) - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

War Chariots at Dawn

(and a Three-Hole Paper Punch)

A friend was given a dream in which there was:

Deep darkness and an infinite silence
And then a soft, soft, subtle tingling sound
On the horizon impossible blue
And then more light and then a jingling sound
A line of chariots in silhouette
And led by Three in ancient robes, afoot
And all advanced upon my friend who was
Three in himself, but not capitalized:
A boy afraid, and a middle-aged man
And an old man too, to complete the three
The uncapitalized three, in the darkness
The men then urged the reluctant boy forward
For he was fearful in the face of the Three
And of the chariots on the horizon -
And there the dream ended, all unresolved

And I was given a dream in which there was:

The three-hole paper punch gone missing from
The office (of old and unrequited dreams1)

1a play on The Colony of Unrequited Dreams by Wayne Johnston