HYPNAGOGIC PATTERNS

 

Here is a revised poem about sleeping and the chance to dream. I was not happy with the end of the last version. The final line, I realised, I had used once before, many years ago. I did not feel comfortable recycling myself.

Also the Secret Poets suggested removing the numbers that demarcated each section. In truth as soon as I read it aloud I realised the numbers had to go. Thank you Secrets.

the night in five segments

hypnagogic patterns

or people endlessly morphing

projected on the cave wall of my skull

always I wonder if I’ve seen them before

weigh their significance

fall into the black

...

but for not as long

as you might expect

just one hour or two

hydrangeas flood the house with the smell of winter

the night is still

...

so I don’t look at my hands

though there is something I must do

this buzzing internal puzzle

I walk through that door and

am under the ocean

...

awake at three or four

this house a dreamscape

the floor boards in the bathroom

wooden warm smooth

the tree dances in the street light

...

this final waking

in the winter’s miserly light

ritual begins

the rich day waits

at the kitchen table

I think it works now.

I had forgot one of my rules- always read the poem aloud. If it does not sound right then it is wrong and requires redrafting.

I seem to have gotten over my dry period, I am glad to say. A new poem next post.

Anna Ternheim has been releasing acoustic versions of songs from her last album recently. Here's When You Were Mine.

Until next time.