Naydeen and Jordy are preservice teachers in Secondary English Education at Oklahoma State University. Jordy is from Norman, Oklahoma. As she begins teaching in an English classroom, she also would like to coach high school volleyball. Her goal in her own classroom someday is to help every student find their voice in their own unique way of writing. Naydeen Trujillo is from Oklahoma City. She hopes to be able to help students achieve their goals in and outside the classroom. Ms.Trujillo wants students to be able to relate to the reading and writing topics that are discussed inside her classroom.
Inspiration
As we were thinking of an inspiration to write about for today, we fell into a conversation about the dreams we had the night before. Some people remember their dreams while others do not. Today’s inspiration comes from the idea of what emotions do you feel in your dreams/ nightmares? Prompts that promote feeling emotions allow people to use words to describe their difficult understanding of those feelings that can occur in a simple dream! .
Process
Make a list of things you dream of, simple dreams such as having a cup of coffee in your hand all the way to what you dream of for your life. Think about an actual dream you may of had that you enjoyed.
Make a list of nightmares. These may have occurred more in a dream. What are some fears you have? Heights, snakes, loneliness?
Now that you have briefly made lists of dreams and nightmares, come up with adjectives to describe the emotion that those dreams and nightmares provoke. Try to use at least 3 of those adjectives in your poem for the day! We also ask for the poem to exceed more than 15 lines.
Jordy & Naydeen’s Poem
Fears: loneliness, heights, demons, and darkness.
I remember the night as clear as day
The lady on the bridge.
She wants to fall.
She is wearing black clothes.
Her eyes are dark.
She looks confused.
She won’t stop looking at me.
I want her to stop looking at me.
I don’t know if I can help her.
She keeps looking over the bridge.
We have a common interest.
There is a strange little girl below.
Her hair is tangled.
There is fear in her eyes.
She gets up and walks into the road.
There is a car coming rapidly.
Why won’t she move?
I want her to move.
She’s gone.
The lady off the bridge falls.
She’s gone.
Why would they leave me?
Write
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
There is nothing like “knowing”
Everything will be alright.
Peaceful inclinations that
All will be right with the world.
A longing, with patience,
Of what’s to come.
Successful adult children
Whatever that looks like to them.
Their hearts and minds stayed on God
and the love of Jesus…the prayers of their mother.
Anticipatory eagerness of resting
In our own emptiness.
Excursions here! Hops there!
Where should we go next?
Hopeful inspirations of what
The future holds.
Lovely dreams, Donnetta. Knowing becomes hopeful inspirations. Yes, there always is a smidgen of wonder in our dreams for the future. We can’t be sure, but we have hope. As you know, Hebrews 11:1 says, “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.” Keep praying!
Surrounded by a velvet pool
Of deepest green and darkest blue
Floating just above the waves
I sit here and enjoy the view
A wooden paddle at each side
And under me a brown canoe
The only wall between the deep and I
I feel the ripples start to form
And rock the boat in which I sit
His pitch-black head now breaks the surface
Rising so his face is lit
I hold my knees into my chest
And pray the wooden boards don’t split
And as he breaches, water fills the sky
The beast now thrashes all about
And makes the waves grow ten feet tall
My vessel staggers to-and-fro
In raging waters, weak and small
The beast is angry and immense
I scream but no one hears my call
Into the empty air I send my cry.
Walking endlessly
Through this long hallway
No ending in sight
As I walk I get further and further away
The floor like a treadmill
pulling me back to the void
I don’t know what lies in that dark chasm
I trip every time I make progress setting me back
Hope is lost that I will escape this torture
I trip and embrace and wait to embrace the void
Floating in nothingness
My mind wonders about what I am doing
This was inevitable
No sense in fighting it any longer
How could I stop this from happening?
Ryan — You have definitely created a tone that is disturbing… the not knowing and “nothingness” and “escape” and “void” — all those unsettling words. The image that gnaws on me the most is that of a “floor like a treadmill.” That is a wicked sensation! Let’s not have this dream! Yikes! Thanks for setting such an eerie sensation. Susie
Thank you, Naydeen and Jordy, for this wonderful prompt today. It was easy for me to share my dream because I didn’t have to justify it or apologize (it was just a DREAM). Then reading others’ posts, I felt the strong emotions the dreams elicited. This will be a great prompt to use with your future students! THANK YOU!
Dreaming of Laurie
Laurie was my college roommate
a head-swiveling cheerleading blonde
petite disco dancer
home ec major
who belted out
Bacharach and Streisand
and laughed at pretty much everything.
I was twice her size
with half her coordination.
She tried to teach me to dance
wanted me to sing along
settled for hours-long games of Spades
into the wee hours
as we hid from due-tomorrow projects and papers.
Laurie had just finished her second year of teaching
married for barely a year
due to deliver her first child
when eclampsia
squeezed and wouldn’t let go.
Her baby girl survived
Laurie didn’t.
It was two years later
when I had a child of my own
that Laurie came to me
in the night.
I could hear her laugh
as we showed
each other
our
daughters.
Allison,
I was fearful to read on because I knew it was going to take a turn. You words pulled me in and in and in.
I’m so sorry. But you’ve honored her beautifully.
Allison — If I’m remembering correctly, you’ve written about Laurie in the past… losing that dear friend. This poem touched me so this morning. It felt so right to “hear her laugh” and share your daughters in this beautiful way. The memories of a vibrant, “laugh[ing]” friend in these lines are so vivid…I can see her and hear her…she seems in motion from line two through the end. I love that you have this kind of memory to continue to bind the two of you. Thank you, Susie
Susie, Laurie was my college roommate who died at age 26 from complications of eclampsia five days after giving birth. Laura was my dear friend who died of brain cancer almost three years ago. Two of my life’s dearest friends were both Lauras, and I miss them both–and I’ve experienced comforting dreams of them both. <3
Allison,
A powerful poem, and a theme so many can relate to with college roommates randomly chosen. Strong specific characteristics which brought me to see Laurie, and care for her. My favorite line; ‘and laughed at pretty much everything’… I love that, it’s simple yet to the point. It made me immediately feel kindness towards her. And I love, “Her baby girl survived, Laurie didn’t.’ I like how your stances are short and clipped when we come to that part of the poem, like ‘pull the band aid off quickly! Thanks for sharing
This poem caused a strong emotional reaction. I couldn’t stop the tears. Well written. I’m so sorry.
Running
Into the dark tunnel
What is chasing me?
What am I running towards,
from?
Either way, I still run
I cannot stop for fear of being caught
More like… caught up to
The pain in my chest tells me one thing
This is a sprint, not a marathon
Incoming deadlines, due dates, project meetings
Dropout, dropout, dropout
Angry expectations
Hereditary failure
Will I make it to the finish line?
The finish… stage?
Suburban bliss?
No, ecstatic and overwhelming sense of
accomplishment
Winning the terrifying game of life
Elizabeth, I FELT the terror of the running in this poem. I STILL dream I have missed assignments, can’t find my way to class…You took me there. This sequence grabbed me:
“Dropout, dropout, dropout
Angry expectations
Hereditary failure”
When I read the section about due dates and deadlines I can relate to that with constanly having to check my calender every time. I feel the stress and axiety from this poem. Great job
Childhood Anxiety
By Donna Russ, 4-13-2020
I am playing outside with my brothers and sisters
something inside me begins to scream
you better go, you better go now, or else, it’ll be too late
I turn and run as quick as I can go inside, straight
for the door just as it closes and locks on me
I pound so hard with fists until my mom, quietly, says,
“You had better stop that pounding or you will regret it”
I understand that she just doesn’t get it
I need get in there, and I need to right, NOW!
The door opens, slowly, and fear grip me deep within
So, I step way back to let Mom pass to keep her from seeing me
Then with horror, I hear the door close once more and I begin to cry
“Whoever you are, get out of there, now, or you are gonna die!”
Grandma gasps and then just chuckle knowing an empty threat when she hears one
I whimper and cry, “Sorry, Grandma, please, let me know when you come out, please.”
I don’t want Grandma on my case, that I cannot endure.
Her looks and her belts are worse that my Mom’s for sure.
The door opens so quickly I jump back to keep from getting hit.
To my dismay it closes, again and I am not on the other side
My youngest brother laughs and shouts from within, “You move, you lose!”
I threaten, death and hell fire, but to no avail.
He stays inside for as long as he can, no matter my travail!
He soon emerges and I grab the door before anyone else could
Go inside and keep me from my long- awaited goal
I take a breath with a sigh of total deep relief
And just as I am about to sit down and feel that sweet release,
A loud voice from deep within shouts, “WAKE UP!” Alas, too late!
Donna, thank you for this visceral recreation of your nightmare. I was pulled along and in. You drew from me such empathy for the speaker (I assume was you). The repetition of closing doors hurt my heart.
Oh No!! Been there, done that! You had me engaged throughout the whole poem. Great writing.
Danger is coming,
Some shadow or menace without form.
I only want to run, sprint,
But my legs won’t move. The muscles and nerves are unresponsive.
It’s exhausting. How ironic as I am at rest.
Then I am crawling in a cement corridor, too small to stand.
Once again, there is a deep internal dread,
Pushing me to move forward through the tunnel.
There is light, but not enough. Everything is gray.
I’ve never been here and I don’t know which direction is safe.
Blindly choosing right, then left, then right again.
All these escapes sap my energy.
Now where am I?
Here it is, the “waiter dream,” the one where
I am racing from table to table,
No one is happy,
Everyone needs: more coffee, hotter soup, ketchup, water, a clean fork…
Awake! Wet from sweat!
I forgot that lady’s refill of Coke…two weeks ago…
Your poem sounds like an American Horror Show, jumping from one fear to another. Loved it! I especially liked the end line, “I forgot that lady’s refill of Coke…two weeks ago..” It leaves one to wonder is this “two weeks in real time or dream time! We may never know!
I dream a fairytale
not of a castle and a handsome prince,
not of blissful paradise,
but of merely existing … together
I dream a fairytale
not of a sleeping princess awaken by “true love’s kiss”
but of a conclusion to your languorous naps,
where you wake up and participate in life … our life
I dream a fairytale
not of a love potion or healing elixir
but of a day where gaming ceases to be your flickering opiate,
where shouting obscenities at other man-children,
engaged in FPS games is no longer your sustenance,
where the resurrection you crave
is not for your character but for yourself
I dream a fairytale
not of ballroom dances and magic slippers
but of an end to outings alone
where I fabricate excuses for your absence
I dream a fairytale where
you are no longer numb
where you love yourself enough to truly live
I dream a fairytale where
I am no longer weary of no longer
needing you
Tammi, the shift in the last stanza from him to you speaks volumes. Each one of us deserves our own fairytale, don’t we?
Tammi,
I love everything about this poem, beginning with the repetition and the litote throughout. But I also find this so heartbreaking. The lines that really gobsmacked me are
“but of a day where gaming ceases to be your flickering opiate,
where shouting obscenities at other man-children,
engaged in FPS games is no longer your sustenance.”
I think these shocked me because my husband doesn’t play video games, and it never occurred to me they could create such strife in a marriage. Many years ago a student asked if I would ever remarry, and when I said I didn’t plan to she asked, “Aren’t you lonely.” I responded, “A bad marriage can be a very lonely place.” Your poem made me recall that conversation.
—Glenda
I’ve been laying low because I’m in a bit of a funk, but I decided to try writing today to cheer me up. Maybe tomorrow will be my lucky day! LOL
They come when I am happy
They come when I am anxious
They come when they will-
When I’m with a houseful of family celebrating in Colorado
When I’ve shared a delightful evening with my husband
When I’ve hiked Machu Picchu and am finally able to rest
The Night Terrors
They come without warning
Insidiously creeping into my psyche
Tugging at fears that are buried so far below the surface
That I didn’t even know they were there
They prod, they poke, they push frantically
Until the bony hand of the man chasing me
Grabs me so tightly around the throat
That I can’t scream
Although I’m terrified,
I’ve never been one to keep quiet
So I try
And I try
And I try
To be heard
Until at last,
The low-pitched groan releases from my throat
Turning into shrill, ear-splitting scream
That wakes the house
Welcoming them into my nightmare
Hi Mo,
Terrifying I’m sure. Sorry that you’re in a funk, and I love that you shared that. Our raw emotions are everywhere. I hope you can get a peaceful night’s sleep. ❤️
Mo,
Here’s to hoping your funk subsides. Don’t you just hate when ya ain’t feeling it.
The last line of this poem is a whopper!
Misspelled words
lead to sarcastic comments
“And you’re gonna be an English teacher?”
Forgetting what the heck a gerund is
when getting asked on the spot
“…what’s your major again”
Grammar errors
make me nervous when I speak
“Are you not an English major?
Slower reader from fear
I will say a word wrong
“See students, even English teachers
make mistakes”
Jessica,
There isn’t a teacher out there who hasn’t misspelled words and forgotten basic parts of our work. Whether a dream or a reality, it’s so jolting when it happens, but we are human, and we are not perfect – dream or life. Thanks for sharing!
Jessica, ditto what Kim said. I once had a teacher tell me I’d never be an English teacher because my paper contained a comma splice! I love your attitude. I think it helps students learn when they know it’s ok to make mistakes.
So true! You’ve articulated my exact same fears so precisely! Knowing other English teachers have similar fears, makes me feel less critical of myself. Thank you for sharing.
This kind of fear spans all genres. I, as a vocal major, had the exact same fear of being judged for not hitting every note! It’s like dreaming of being on stage and realizing you are naked! Your stage is a classroom, but, I’m sure it’s the same fear. Your theme progresses throughout your poem, but what tugged my fear strings was the line, “Forgetting what the heck a gerund is”; forgetting words, meanings or whatever, when you are on stage is the terror. You expressed rear fear in a lighthearted way.
Jessica,
I think we’ve all had these fears. Early in my career an administrator criticized me in an eval for having a typo in a handout. This was long before computers. The first ten plus years of my career I typed everything. Since I’m snarky, I told that administrator I’m not a secretary and will occasionally have typos on my handouts. That never changed in 38 years. However, I do believe English teachers should know grammar well, and because I worried about making mistakes, I studied grammar thoroughly my first few years teaching. I was a better speller before I started teaching but learned to ask kids how to spell a word when I was unsure and often blamed bad spellers in my early teaching years for ruining my spelling. ?
—Glenda
What have you dreamed this night?
What have you dreamed?
I forgot to show up this morning.
All hell broke loose in first hour.
Chained like a bear by torpor, I watched
Mayhem supplant me in the classroom.
Then, like the seeds of a dandelion
The vision floated away.
They landed way down in Hughes County
On the windowsill of my grandma’s kitchen.
She was frying me an egg.
The wrinkles in her skin formed shapes for me,
Diamonds and tracings of tic tac toe.
From the spatula slipped a perfect sun.
“What have you dreamed this night?
What have you dreamed?
Katrina, I love how you open and close this poem. The opening is surely a nightmare I can relate to. I am amazed how well you shift the “poem” “dream” to your grandmother’s kitchen. The shift is “dream-like”….suddenly, just as in dreams, we are moved to another place, event, etc. The imagery and word choices throughout are outstanding…”like the seeds of a dandelion”…”wrinkles in her skin formed shapes for me,/Diamonds and tracings of tic tac toe” ….simply genius. I so enjoyed reading this!
Katrina, I love your opening lines and your circular ending here. Those dreams of teaching – – the bear chained adds a feeling of immobility and powerlessness to act. The dandelion seeds scattering adds to the transformational shift from immobility to floating and dreaming of familiar places. This is beautiful!
Dreams these days feel more like reality
Than my real life does.
My waking hours are spent
Worrying, stressing, full of fear.
Dreams are my only escape now.
I can float on clouds,
Laugh with old friends,
Drink wine with Reece Witherspoon,
Swim in the Pacific,
Accept my Oscar on stage,
Cuddle with my missing cat,
Crowd surf at a concert,
Eat sushi with Allen Ginsberg,
Walk in the Olympic opening ceremony,
Bake banana bread with Stephen King,
Do anything my imagination creates.
I can forget about my troubles.
Waking up seems more like the nightmare lately.
Lauryl,
That first line is everything! “Dreams these days feel more like reality.” My dreams are stirring what I am repressing, so I am glad to hear the dreams are an “escape now.”
Love these lines:
Cuddle with my missing cat,
Crowd surf at a concert,
These are wonderful dreams!
Sarah
Lauryl, you flip the reality and dream states in such an unexpected and true way. The list of things you dream about – – baking bread with Stephen King 🙂 and cuddling with a cat – -works so beautifully here to show a more pleasant day than that we all face watching the dismal news. Rock on!
In times like these poems like yours give us a lifeline. You remind us that dreams are a way of escape from the cruel reality of life. I think I will go to a concert tonight. Thanks!
where are the dreams?
why is it when we lie awake at night
our dreams rarely fill our minds?
those are not the things
we tumble over and over
in our heads
rather it’s the things weighing heavily
on our minds
the calls we haven’t made
the bills we haven’t paid
the person who’s feelings we’ve hurt
where are the sunny afternoons
on the beach
the anticipation of the time spent with
my daughters in bed drinking coffee
or
around a table on a sunny day drinking cocktails?
Jamie, your opening question, “why is it when we lie awake at night
our dreams rarely fill our minds?”
is one most of us have asked, and few of us can answer. Why can’t we dream when we want to? Hmmm>
Great question, Jamie. You’ve also reminded me that I should keep a note pad next to my bed for when these thoughts creeps in. Side note, last night in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep, I watched a live stream of the Northern Lights- very soothing!
The nightmare crept up on me
The screams echo in my head
The face reappears
Sleepwalking at its finest.
I can’t escape.
My door is locked,
The face reappears
He’s trying to kidnap me
Scream so my roommates can run
I can’t move, I’m stuck in fear
Scream, try to run, scream hide
Finally, my door is unlocked
I run to my roommate’s room
Banging on her locked door
Fear struck
He tries to escape through my window
as I am escaping my night terror
“Jordy, Jordy you’re fine! No one is in our house”
But… But… He was in my room
No, you’re sleepwalking again
You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine
“Jordy, you have got to stop listening to Crime Junkie”
Jowdy, You’ve identified one of the characteristics of my dreams in your lines,
I can’t move, I’m stuck in fear
Scream, try to run, scream hide
For some reasons nightmares include the inability to escape danger!
Before leaving my mother’s home where she was in hospice care, my sister and I told her she didn’t have to hold on any longer. We would be okay and she could go on to heaven. My stepfather left right before we did. We drove away, leaving my son and mother with the hospice nurse at her side.
Living the Nightmare I’ve Never Had
By Stacey L. Joy ©April 13, 2020
“Mom, hurry home. Nanny is dying.”
“What? No, we are only 10 minutes away!”
“Mom, HURRRRRRYYYYY…”
“Pam, drive faster, Mommie is dying.”
“She was sleeping when we left.
WHAT HAPPENED?”
“Just hurry. She has to wait for us to get to her.
She can’t leave us.”
(This is a nightmare. It has to be.)
Street signs, cars, and life blur past my eyes
Floating blobs of syllables
Caught in buckets of tears
Mind racing the replay of our last scenes
Morphine sleep so sound and safe
Her breathing slow and shallow
She would sleep the rest of the day
We had time to run a quick errand
(She is fine. I must be dreaming.)
“Park fast, we have to get out.”
Running on numb legs
And unguided feet
Pushing into the front door
Greeted with sobbing and an unfamiliar blank space
“Mom, she’s gone. Nanny is gone.”
“No, Mommie, noooooooo you were supposed to wait for us……..”
(Someone please wake me!)
Hospice nurse with trained hands
Arranges covers neatly over her warm body
Holding Mommie’s stillness with my palms
Feeling life in her cheeks slipping into chilly air around her
Screams, wails, whys drown the peace of her bedroom
“Mommie you were supposed to wait………..”
Heavy head on her chest hoping for heartbeats
(I can’t live through this nightmare.)
“She went when everyone left.
Waited for you all to leave.
Wanted her grandson by her side.”
“Mom, it was awful, you didn’t need to see her transition
It’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen. I’ll never be able to forget it.”
(My son relives the nightmare.)
Mommie, you did it your way
You knew what to do and when
But I had so much more to tell you
Now, when you show up in my dreams
You’re the younger you
You’re always so quiet
Does that mean I can talk to you
And you’re listening?
Mommie, are you listening?
Mommie, I need you.
Mommie, Mommie, please talk to me.
(Living the nightmare I’ve never had.)
Oh, Stacey – This is so hard. The urgency of needing and wanting to be there and the sense that every second is “running on numb legs… unguided feet.” You took me to the morning that my mama died…. I had just been with her…the phone ringing as I walked into my house…my dad sobbing (a big man whom I never ever saw or heard cry one tear) that “it’s bad….get here…she’s on her way to [the hospital]…” That maniacal drive…flashers going, accelerator floored, sobbing so badly that I couldn’t see….” only to get there and collapse to my knees when the doctor said “we did all we could do.” That you’ve painted a dream… a “nightmare…never had” chokes me into a nightmare sweat. Whoof. When I quit panting, I’ll send a calming hug. Love, Susie
Thank you Susie,
Yes, the sight of my stepfather and daughter (the strong ones) who crumbled is another nightmare of their own. So thankful your “maniacal drive” got you safely there, but sorry that you too had to hear those dreaded words. Hugs right back at ya! ?
Stacey, Your poem recreates those moments when we are unable to “be there” and the terror of missing something over which we have no control. Your closing lines suggest that, at times, life observing death can be a terrifying nightmare. Oh how our hearts go out to you as we read what you’ve written here.
Do let the fond memories of Mommie sustain you through the times you wish things would have been different.
Thank you Anna, it seems like it was yesterday. This was December 28, 2010. Every moment is still today’s, tomorrow’s, and yesterday’s. I will just be glad when she talks loud and clear in my dreams again. So true how we want to make things different, like the times we are in now. We have ZERO control and learning to release it is true freedom. Thanks again. I’ll read and respond to more posts later this evening. ❤️
Stacey, sharing these final moments takes courage and strength, and I so feel your pain in your mom’s passing. There are so many emotions at work here, and your use of parentheses to speak to readers more personally through the stanzas is a considerate touch so that we feel in touch with you. I was with you all the way home in that car (I’ve been in that car rushing home also……) I want to reach through here and hug you and just sit with you for awhile. We’re both in the Missing our Mamas Club – – and while it’s not a fun place to be, it sure opens the door to understanding and reaching out to others who have been there or are joining. It does give us a strong empathy for others. And I think our mothers would be happy about that part!
Missing Our Mamas Club! Love it. Thank you for the love and hugs! I feel it. We are here for one another. Our Mamas would definitely be happy about that.
Stacey — this really hit home for me. I’m literally still drying tears. I lost my mother a year ago, and we weren’t there for her when she passed. She had been sick for awhile with severe complications from MS, and I always imagined I would be there when she passed. Not being there is truly the nightmare that you describe. I really connected with your lines “She went when everyone left/Waited for you all to leave” because since my mother’s death my father and I have often talked about how my mother must have wanted it that way, so that she could finally let go. Thank you for sharing this.
Tammi,
Thank you for your shared support. The hospice nurse told us how important it was for us to tell her she could go. She said they fight to protect us. Hence, they don’t want us to see what they know is too much to bear. They know best, they always will. Hugs. Time doesn’t heal the wound, just go through all your feelings whenever they come. Eventually, you’ll be able to talk about it without sobbing or see reminders of her and not feel sorrow.
Grief shows them how much we love them. ♥️
Stacey, I tend to write late in the day and then respond to the other latecomers to make sure they get some feedback. But tonight I went searching for your poem. Your raw and anguished words remind me of the story my mother has told me so many times: leaving her (first, 25-year-old) husband post-op, despite his protestations, because visiting hours were over. When she returned, the meningitis had set in, and he never again regained consciousness. She has carried the sorrow and guilt of “not being there” for 65 years. I ache for you both.
Oh Allison, that’s absolutely awful. It took some time to come to grips with my grief and wonderings about why not me to be the one there for her, but I can’t imagine your mother’s sorrow. 25 years old. Too young to even process the pain. I’m so sorry. Thanks for coming back tonight and sharing with me. ?
Readers, I’m not too thrilled about this piece, but the nightmare is real. I’m wondering how many others have classroom terrors…..braless, naked, etc? I have these kind of nightmares more than any others. I’m either completely losing control and wondering why I’m behaving so badly, or I’m at the board turn around and I have nothing on top. These are truly terrifying dreams. I had this dream last week. It’s still hanging over me…especially because I never dream of my mother. She passed in 1991, so almost twenty years ago.
Classroom Chaos
I find myself
Suddenly in a classroom
Unprepared
I feel my breasts swaying
Beneath my blouse
I’m braless?
WTF!
I scan the room
Who are these kids?
I don’t know them
I realize
A Readers Theater
Is competing in a few days
I haven’t had one rehearsal
I don’t know the cast
How can I find them?
Can I get them all to rehearse on Saturday
Sunday?
I realize on top of this horror
I don’t know what I’m teaching
I plan something on the fly
Why am I braless?
My humiliation grows
This can’t be happening!
Then my mother’s face
Rises before me
“Mom?” I cry terrified
“Is this the end?”
Breathless
Terrified
I wake
Sweating in strangling sheets
I rise uneasily
To another uncertain day
Barb Edler
April 13, 2020
Barb, thank you for sharing your nightmare. Reliving nightmares is definitely not a fun thing to do but isn’t it crazy that our subconscious takes real-life things for us and transforms them into something we dread? Like being braless in front of a class! Thank you for being vulnerable and sharing this with us.
Barb,
I have soooo many classroom nightmares. It is usually about everyone ignoring me and with class sizes of like 100 students who are on their phones while I try to teach something.
This braless one, well, I can imagine that, too. Any situation where I am humiliated and the students hate me — I dream of that. These lines totally resonate:
WTF!
I scan the room
Who are these kids?
Thank you for this access to your/our psyche!
Sarah
the list of short lines gives energy to your panic, thoughts many of us can share and I love that you are braless
Barb, I just posted my poem and then scanned down to find the same manifestation of anxiety in your poem.
Your sharing of the dream brought tears to my eyes. (Though the bralessness is comical).
You really nailed the teacher’s nightmare.
Do you find that this type of dream kicks into high gear a few weeks before school begins? I do.
Katrina, I do not really think I have these kind of nightmares before school starts; but I do have them off and on. The one thing I really found terrifying was wondering how I was going to have a group perform something when I hadn’t even had a practice. OMG…terrifying!
Barb, the braless part had me in hysterics. I have back to school nightmares every year. Never been braless, I’m usually wearing pajamas and my classroom is suddenly bare, and I have rollers in my hair. LOL. You are not alone.
Loved “ Sweating in strangling sheets…” perfect visual.
Barb,
Thank you for this poem. I know the anxiety is real. I often have these fears too but the tone was light which I appreciate. “Who are these kids?” and “Why am I braless?” made me laugh out loud. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve actually gone to school with two different color shoes on before.
Thanks, Tammi. I’ve also gone to school with two different shoes on…and socks….although now that’s more in style.
The Bizarre
One night during second trimester
I took the growing life form out of my womb
and held her in my arms for a while.
She smiled up at me
cooing, a little bow in her hair
sweet and docile
a dimple on her cheek, like mine.
I wanted to keep her in the tangible world
but her umbilical cord was still attached
and she needed to keep growing
so I reluctantly put her back inside.
Rachel, What a perplexing poem. The line “I wanted to keep her in the tangible world” is so powerful. I also really like the specific detail of the second trimester as this sets the necessary background information. The poem radiates an uncomfortable and disturbing feel to it which I so appreciate as it contrasts so well with the beauty of a baby cooing and smiling.
I liked that you titled this “The Bizarre” because as I was reading I was enjoying the description of you holding your newborn baby as if it is in real life but then the “I wanted to keep her in the tangible world/ but her umbilical cord was still attached” was the bizarre I was waiting for! This was a great piece, thank you for sharing!
Rachel,
I really liked this poem. It was hauntingly beautiful. My favorite line was “so I reluctantly put her back inside.” I think that shows how while you wish you could be with her in that moment, you had to do what was best for her. It wasn’t time for her to join the world yet. Great poem. Thanks for sharing!
Rachel,
There is a tenderness here, a wish to meet the being that complete makes sense, and then these lines:
I wanted to keep her in the tangible world
but her umbilical cord was still attached
and she needed to keep growing
so I reluctantly put her back inside.
I imagine this is a literal-ish dream but the baby could be a metaphor for something else that still needs time to grow. Love how this can be read in different ways. When we teach our students to analyze ‘correctly,’ we can see how it is impossible without access to the author and, even the author may not know what they “really” meant in the poem. Our subconscious creeps in.
Sarah
Oh my God! Your title may be “The Bizarre,” but I find this poem/dream so beautiful. I was 37 years old, when I gave birth to my only biological child. Feeling so attuned to the life inside while desiring so desperately to meet him or her, I remember that!
This is really the stuff of nightmares for sure! It is Jacob’s Ladder creepy! I mean that as a compliment. Well done!
Rachel, I enjoyed the imgery that you used in this poem espcially when described the way she looked then the turn back to reality that yuo still have to wait. This poem was a treat to read.
*Today was the first day of “formal” online teaching. I was freaking out last night.
Anxiety creeps in
An incessant cough takes over
It’ll be a mess
I’m not prepared
How do I use Google Meet again?
Wha f a student acts out?
How many will show up
Does that mean
I’m a bad teacher
Urgh…I miss being in the classroom
This is not teaching
I miss the connection
When is this going to be over?!
It wasn’t so bad
It was actually quite fun
Google Meet, I love you
I loved “seeing” MY kids
The connection is back
We are a “family”
Some were quiet
Others were cheerful
Some were sleepy
Others ready to make jokes
One had Rex, his guinea pig
Who knew? In 8th grade?
An unexpected guest
but simply adorable
Anxiety is gone
Cough is better
Excited for tomorrow
Haha I loved hearing about Rex the guinea pig: “An unexpected guest / but simply adorable.” Sounds like such a positive experience. We aren’t doing real time classes here (yet!) . . . but I appreciated seeing the possibility through your poem, imagining all the potential challenges and triumphs. Just like a normal classroom – some quiet, some cheerful, some sleepy, some ready to make jokes. I miss that.
Monica,
Thank you for sharing this glimpse. I am struck by how many teachers use the pronoun “my” with students and move to the place of “family” with their classes.
Google Meet, I love you
I loved “seeing” MY kids
The connection is back
We are a “family”
This is such a powerful way of thinking about belonging and a little bit of “possession” but more so responsibility for beings, for other people’s children. It really makes me think about the saying “loco parentis” and (now I am going on a tangent from your poem) what that means now to be with teachers virtually while with parents physically but maybe not emotionally. So much here to unpack.
Sarah
I love the anxiety you shared – all of the unknowns, uncertainties as we seem to be calling everything now, last week was my first week back as a remote teacher and the weekend before seemed like the weekend before the first day of school – you’ve captured that in your poem
“still dreaming”
I’ve been dreaming a lot this last month.
And so, it seems, have
my friends
my students
my family
my dogs.
At first:
my dreams were taking up where
my ellipses dropped off
past relationships
past conflicts
past question marks.
Now:
my dreams are mostly “what if’s?”
maybe I’m catching glimpses from
the timeline of “now” as it
plays out in another
segment of the multiverse?
Some nights I’m the student
Some nights we’re in love
Some nights I’m the teacher
Some nights nothing is certain
Some nights I’m in a tizzy because
it’s fourth block and I just got back to our room.
Always I wake up missing.
You have captured the dream state of this pandemic. Truly insightful how you describe your first dreams “taking up where my ellipses dropped off,” and now they have switched into “what ifs” – it is as if you have captured true stages of this time. Perhaps it is time we all start dream journals, as we flow from one novel part of our past to another. What a nightmarish conclusion! “Always I wake up missing.” Wow!!
It’s almost hard to tell what is a dream and what is real life now, isn’t it?? I find myself getting so annoyed with my dreams at night, wanting to just get up so they’ll end; then I get annoyed during the day, wanting to go to sleep so the mental battle will end. I LOVE: “At first: / my dreams were taking up where / my ellipses dropped off.” And your last line is perfect. Thanks for sharing!!
Laura, I really loved this piece. You described perfectly how probably a lot of people feel in this unsure time with the pandemic. I know for sure you described how I feel. Especially with the last line, “Always I wake up missing.” This line is something I am very familiar with when it comes to heart aching dreams. Thank you for sharing!
UNDER THE BED
You tell me there’s a dwarf who lives in our attic
the small doors that are built into the knotty pine of our room
which I share with you
my oldest sister
You tell me my bed will be the first that he sees
and so he’ll end up killing me and
that you’ll run fast past
down the stairs to safety
You tell me he has a hatchet
and if I dangle my feet off my bed
he will come and chop them off
I’ll be left for dead
So I wrap my feet tightly
in the woven scratchy fabric
that matches all of our beds
and spend each night
tired, full of nightmares and sweat
You grow up
leave home
marry a man who takes you to Alaska
where I think of you huddled and always feeling cold
Til that day we go to visit you
your husband has called to say it’s time
which means there is not a lot of time left
You are dying
there’s nothing anyone can do
When we enter the house
we cannot get up the stairs for the clutter and debris
that is left there, almost absently
We step over books and papers and boxes
until we’re finally free
to head down the hallway to the last room
that has you
lying in a bed.
Your smile radiant as we enter
I rush to you, enfold you in a hug
bend over to kiss your cheek
I pull the covers over your feet to tuck you in
tight
and neat
whispering watery
I love you
Renee, Tears! The imagery with the cruelty of sisterhood is so powerful in the opening. The end is heart-wrenching! I was especially impressed with the way you connected the action with the feet; it is so poignant! So glad to see a poem from you today!
Thanks Barb!! 🙂 I wrote it quickly and didn’t spend anytime redrafting so it’s not tight, but it was fun to write and share.
Renee,
Wow, these lines:
You tell me he has a hatchet
and if I dangle my feet off my bed
he will come and chop them off
So visceral and real. You take us right into this scare that your sister put in you, reveal the power of an “older” sibling to plant images in our psyche that linger. The words in the last line are all one syllable, creating a staccato of abrupt, scary moves, but that is all contrasted with the final line of the poem, also all one syllable words: ” I love you.”
Sarah
Thank you Sarah for sending me your thoughts. I enjoyed the process of just writing and sending this time without rewriting or editing.
My Nightmare
(Incorporating Robert Frost “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”)
My nightmare is when imperative
To-Do Lists are not done
1) Turn in grades
2) Contact parents with missing assignments (Before #1)
3) Rewrite two virtual entrance exams
4) Write my lesson plan so it can be sent out virtually by 6 pm
5) Prepare for Teach Meet tomorrow.
6) Make a Flipgrid video sample for my students.
My favorite items on the to-do list
1) Write a poem on EthicalELA.
2) Comment on my fellow poets’ work
Didn’t make the cut
The nightmares are ruthless, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
See you tomorrow, friends.
Hi Denise,
This accurately echoes my mind’s lists. Only difference is our students’ age group. I wish so much to be able to do imperative items 1-6, but like you I stick with and accomplish favorite items 1-2!
This morning, the Flipgrid sample video was very much intended. Then I looked in the mirror and refused to expose my students to my morning face in quarantine. LOL. How about you?
The repetition of the last two lines is perfection!
And miles to go before I sleep.
Sure hope you and I can get some sleep and let the nightmares fade.
Thank you for this validation and confirmation that we are not alone!
Denise,
Oh, to-do lists. My daily nightmare as well. It is great to have something to look forward to every day. I like the repetition of the two lines near the end. To me, that shows a reluctant feeling of going to be in fear that the to-do list hadn’t been completed for the day. Thanks for sharing.
Denise,
I’m so happy to see that list of favorite items. And I love the way you borrow from Frost to keep the nightmares away.
—Glenda
When I am awake, I am feeling a bit like I am living in a nightmare, so I decided to opt for one of the dreams that brings me great comfort.
Tossing,
turning,
finally,
falling,
fading,
I feel the warmth
of the sun on skin.
I breathe in the
lilacs .
I turn to see
her smiling face.
She says no words,
because we don’t need them.
Just to sit together
is to understand
each other.
I reach out,
and she wraps her arms
around me.
I wake.
I whisper
I love you grandma.
Kate,
What a beautiful poem. These days it seems like dreaming has been easier than being awake, so I can relate to wanting to write about a comforting dream. That feeling of waking up and whispering what you wish you could say in real life is so bittersweet. Thank you for sharing!
Kate,
Thank you for this tender poem. I love how you use the pronoun, “her.” Made me wonder who this person is, your relationship, the backstory. This built suspense for me that was answered in the final line. Isn’t it wonderful how our loves stay with us in these moments.
Sarah
I love the image of “falling” asleep. It is such an everyday expression, but for some reason it stands out in your poem. I love how you create the need to see grandma and then present her in the final verse. I believe students could relate to this poem very well.
Kate,
This poem was great. I can relate to the dreans that you have had with seeing my grandma, I love how you pint the scene with your words and describe the types of flowers that you can smell. Thsi was a amazing poem to read
Kate, mI share your nightmarish feelings. I love the tenderness of your poem and the whisper in the alliteration of “finally, / falling, /fading.” Thank you.
—Glenda
I turn over to cough into my hands
so as not to disturb by love.
In the moonlight I see three
pearls resting in my palm,
feel around in my mouth–
teeth loose, gaps, grooves
of a root. Another tooth shifts
into the pocket between gum
and jaw.
I slide to the floor, crawl to
the bathroom, sweat beading
upon my brow, breath short,
tears pooling, hovering on lashes
as I plug in the nightlight
to see.
I lean into the mirror
eyes red, tears blurring
visage distorted so that I am
young. A visitor from the past.
Her eyes want to advise.
Teeth crumbling is a sign of doubt,
whispers you hold at bay during
the day that creep into your
dreams at night. And the loss
resting in your palm is a sign
to reflect on what you’ve said,
what you didn’t, what you
need to say that you haven’t.
I wipe my eyes with a finger,
smile into the mirror–
pearls in place, I exhale,
tip toe back to bed
holding the nightlight
in my gaze and my
advisor in my palm.
I had this dream so many times in grad school. I used to joke with my friends about it because they were having similar dreams. Come to think of it, I am not sure I have had it since graduation. I remember, like you going to the mirror to make sure I still had teeth, not believing that I could feel them. Your imagery is so powerful, I am immediately recalled to my own versions of this dream. Thank you for sharing.
Oh Sarah, my mother ALWAYS dreamed her teeth were falling out. I have had that dream a few times, but nothing like she would. I love the interpretation:
whispers you hold at bay during
the day that creep into your
dreams at night.
Accurate description of much of my mother’s life. I think I wrote a poem about her secrets. That’s why she lost so many teeth in her dreams. Wow.
reflect on what you’ve said,
what you didn’t, what you
need to say that you haven’t.
Leaves me pondering. This is hauntingly reflecting my mother, but it’s also speaking directly to me.
Thank you!
I’ve had this nightmare too, multiple times in the past few months. Moving my tongue around in my mouth, feeling the teeth loose, the gaps, just like you describe. Sometimes, I try to push the lost teeth back into the sockets. I love the way you described the moment of relief, the realization that it was only a dream: “I . . . smile into the mirror- / pearls in place, I exhale.” Your poem made me want to think more about what these dreams could mean. What doubts are staying with me? What things do I need to say that I haven’t?
Wow, Sarah! I’ve never heard of a dream about teeth. Not ever. And here you are loosing your teeth in the night with all that “interpretation” of “loss resting in your palm…reflect on what you’ve said…didn’t…haven’t.” Whew! That’s exhausting… and so creepy for a kid! And here are 3 more of our community who’ve had this dream!!! Holy cow! Such a provocative prompt for the whole bunch of us! Thanks, Susie
Sarah, those are eerie dreams when we lose attachments of ourselves -teeth, hair, limbs, clothes in public places. The voice from the mirror helped explain the lesson the dream held, and the exhalation at the end when the pearls were back in place give us a feeling of restoration – all is well! I like the message and the lesson here.
Sarah,
As someone who has had numerous dreams about spitting my teeth out into my cupped hands, I am so drawn to the details you share.
I have heard of this dream, though I have not had it myself.
These lines wrenched me:
“sweat beading
upon my brow, breath short,
tears pooling, hovering on lashes”
Thank you, Sarah, for such poetic honesty of your experience. The forum you provide here gives us all permission to use our best words to share our complicated selves. You have done that here. XO
The sound cracks through the courtyard
Just a second of silence, then come the screams
Slamming the door
TO THE WINDOWS – I shout in a voice I don’t know
Desks as barricades
Do desks block bullets?
Pounding – is that from outside?
Or our hearts in our ears
Shaky fingers grab the Ikea tool box
Hammer to the screens
Which student do I send first?
RUN TO 7-11, CALL 911
Blue plastic chairs as a step
Hoisting kids – 1, 2, 3…
Fight, flight, freeze
Emily, that is one scary dream that seems all too common and real. Shouting in a voice you don’t recognize as your own, shaky fingers, heart in your ears, making decisions and wondering questions………and I love that last line…fight, flight, freeze.
This poem is so powerful and one of my nightmares too. I wish that this nightmare was not so rooted in reality
Emily, this is another reality in our dreams, reflecting the sick world around us.
You created such vivid images and sensory descriptions with “slamming the door/desks as barricades/hearts in our ears/shaky fingers…”
Tragic that we carry and rehearse how to survive with us everywhere we go as educators.
Pray we never have to be in “Fight, flight, freeze” mode.
Whew. Breathe.
Emily — This is certainly a nightmare that I wish I could sweep away from you…from all the teachers who have this very same haunt. You’ve used the bursts of auditory sounds that just make this “crack” with the horror — these sounds…those hard K, X sort of sounds: (cracks, barriCADES, bloCK, IKea, boX) and the FREEZE! So awful. The repetitions (Barricades, Block, Bullets)… counting… oh man. This is every teacher’s, every mother’s, every father’s, every loving human being’s horror. Maybe laying it to words, here exposed, it can somehow wash away…. but I know better. It takes action…it takes American change. Thank you for bringing another light to this school nightmare. Susie
Out of body experience
Is it all real
How can I be here
And there
At the same time
I feel no fear
Just curiosity
This has been happening
All my life
But the fearful child is gone
This adult is ready to
Embrace truth
I am here and there again
I know I am not sleeping
My eyes are opened
I am awake
I pinched myself to make sure
I just came into my room
I am not sleeping
I am not scared
What am I experiencing
I am not confused
But I can’t brush
This feeling
Of complete
Loss of control
Of my senses
My mobility
My mind
I am inside my house
Yet I see myself
standing Outside
someone’s mansion
beckoning me to come in
What awaits me
Have I been here
In another life
Why does this place
Seem so strange
Yet so familiar
So welcoming
Am I home
Am I a visitor
Or
Am I a prisoner
Here
Melissa, your poem sent me into some creepy gothic world where it’s hard to tell what is real and what is imagined. Well done!
This prompt had me thinking of a dream I have had throughout my lifetime.
I love that I get to share and am interested if anyone else has had the same or a different reoccurring dream
“Falling”
I feel myself weightless
Everything is a blur
As I fall it feels endless
My yelling comes out in a slur
The fall is making me breathless
I see the ground approaching
The fear wells up inside of me
I find myself looking for an end praying and hoping
Just as I give up on my plea
I am awake
In cold sweat
It was all a dream
Kole, thank you for sharing your poem with us today! I love this part the most:
“My yelling comes out in a slur
The fall is making me breathless”
If I close my eyes, I can hear the blurry yelling and breathlessness. Your poem brings this falling dream to life and the short lines bring movement to match the theme. Thank you!
I have always wondered about the meaning of dreams. I have definitely had a whole slew of dreams where I am falling…I am often, strangely, in a car, hurdling, falling, falling, falling… and like you “Just as I give up on my plea/I am awake/in cold sweat/It was all a dream.” You have beautifully captured how the fear rises, how the scare increases – great description of a nightmare I am all too familiar with!
Kole — I have that same dream…that endless falling… “breathless…cold sweat” — waking with a jolt. Oh man. Why can’t recurring dreams be peachy and giggly and have dancing flowers? Kole, where is “Kingfisher”? Susie
It is in Oklahoma about an hour north of Oklahoma City!
This poetic inspiration got me thinking about my seventeen-month old granddaughter and a recent photograph, that shows nothing more than her hand…she has hidden herself inside a dark closet, delighted with this new game. This fascinates me; the dark is the stuff of my nightmares.
There’s a Hand
There’s a hand sticking out of the closet,
Fingers curled, reaching, grasping,
The breath is faint, labored, forced,
What moves in the dark, thrashing?
There’s a hand sticking out of the closet,
Which side of nightmare is worse –
Only a hint of what is emerging,
Or trapped within dark and cursed?
There’s a hand sticking out of the closet,
A brave, fearless detective
She chooses to look within the dark,
To explore new perspective.
There’s a hand sticking out of the closet,
Followed by giggles and pants
Just like Lucy in Narnia, she’s
Determined to take the chance.
There’s a hand sticking out of the closet
Breaking out, coming back to us,
Watch how isolation, dark, and scary
Meets daring and resilience.
There’s a hand sticking out of the closet,
Freely choosing the unknown,
She knows deep and dark is also free
There is much magic at home.
OMG Maureen, I was reading too fast and thought you said seventeen year old granddaughter and thought the hand sticking out thing was the latest “social media challenge” and I pictured many teens with their hands sticking out of closets HAHA! Anyways I love your rhyme scheme and repeated first line of each stanza. Also, stanza 2 is my favorite.
Maureen! I am entranced by the repetition in your poem. I am loving the beat that it brings to your lines. “She knows deep and dark is also free” is my favorite line. So dreamy and magical!
Maureen,
Surely this is a children’s picture book! I can see it so vividly. Beautiful way to craft something as scary as “There’s a hand sticking out of the closet…”
Don’t you see this as a book? The content, the rhymes, the images!
Wow! Love it.
Maureen,
Love the repetition of “There’s a hand sticking out of the closet” and the playfulness in much of the poem. Immediately I thought about Sarah Kay’s hands poem as I read. I love the way you prompt me to think about all the symbolic representations of hands. Thank you.
—Glenda
“ My American Dream/Nightmare“
Lying awake at night
I imagine a world
Made well, whole
I dream of do-overs
Mulligans
Second chances
Rewinding the
Yankee Doodle playlist
Rolling in the years from 1619 onward
I imagine a country starting over
“If we had the chance to
Do it all again, would we?”
Could we avoid the high
Cost of compromise, the
Nightmare of America’s original sin?
Soon this will all be over.
We’ll return to normal,
Get back to our lives
Gather with friends and family
Play the games people play
Live the way we were.
We’ll choose to forget.
To dream the impossible dream
Rewrites our national narrative.
Gaslighting seeps into our desires:
That wasn’t so bad after all, lies
We tell ourselves, our children.
Nightmares recede, replaced by
Mythologies of our exceptionalism,
A fable told through time.
—Glenda Funk
*edit to fix date for 1619. I had the Salem Witch trial date 1692. Oops. Duh.
Glenda, I love your use of the word mulligan. A tiny puppy clearly on the way to the town dump in the back of a pickup truck fell off the truck in front of my parents’ car years ago, and they stopped and picked it up. They named her Mulligan (my dad plays a lot of golf) and she became a member of the family for many happy years. I think of our Mullie and think of “what might have otherwise been,” and think of it today as it relates to our country. Like you, I am hoping for a new normal. I’m hopeful that families are taking stock of simpler, more meager times without all of the extravagance and that we don’t simply move beyond this or through it, but that we are moved by it. I read these words:
Soon this will all be over.
We’ll return to normal,
Get back to our lives
Gather with friends and family
Play the games people play
Live the way we were.
We’ll choose to forget.
I look at that shift at the second stanza and think of the human side of us. You’re right – – I think we are programmed to bury the past instead of examining it and learning from it. We do lie to ourselves and our children. Maybe – hopefully – we will step back as a nation and resist the urge to flood the gates at the reopening of the country and ask ourselves: what really is our new normal, and how are we better people today? I like the way you think!
Glenda—- Oh yes, you captured the scary essence of gaslighting. I am so grateful you wrote this poem today! It is a MUST READ …post it everywhere you can. The energy to erase what is happening is so going to be what transpires…as if we had not exposed the underbelly of America’s inequities. I really appreciate this call to learn from our mistakes and reshape instead of erase. Thank you! Susie
Glenda,
I love everything about this poem. You manage to say so much so concisely (still my big struggle as a poet).
I love the subtle way you bring in The Way We Were . . . by name and by lyric but without elaboration.
And adding the concept of the mulligan . . . . perfect.
Your poems ALWAYS captivate me.
This poem is phenomenal. That’s all, just phenomenal. Thank you for sharing!
You have captured what I find myself brooding about in the middle of the night these days – I’m definitely not asleep either; I guess it doesn’t qualify as dream or nightmare without the quality of sleep, but, yes “I dream of do-overs.” I find myself trying to untangle history – love how you say, “Rewinding the/Yankee Doodle playlist” – and I am wondering what lasting change we might have from this. I, too, think, sadly, “We’ll choose to forget.” The “gaslighting that seeps into our desires” is the technique employed by the ugly and current powerful…how might we not have this ugly powerful? Am I dreaming to think things might truly improve, if we all put our caring, determined, and inclusive minds together? Ugh. To “Get back to our lives” seems so elusive. Thank you for this provocative poem, Glenda!
A Rhyme about Time
“Arrive in time to be late!”
This has never made sense to me.
Never be late.. Whatever is on your plate,
Don’t mess with your destiny.
So my dreams and schemes have do with time.
Maybe that’s why my poems usually rhyme.
I’m keeping time, staying in tune,
Believing it’ll be time all too soon.
I just know to keep up with life,
And avoid most internal strife,
I must leave in time to be late.
Keep the faith: and don’t mess with fate.
As life takes in toll, try to maintain control
Abide by my commitments and faithfully keep my word,
Stay on track, not flit and flutter around like a bird
I’ll get there on time. Maybe even before they take the roll.
Anna, I see things I need to take from your poem today – – stay on track, keep the faith, don’t mess with fate, keep my word, abide by commitments. Routine and rhyme are patterns that keep us focused and in step. I love the rhythm of your words today.
I love the start to your poem – my mom might have said that to make a noticeable entrance though she herself was never late. From there I like your thinking about time, a concept that has always intrigued me. I try to look at it logically – a form of measurement but am intrigued by how obscure it can be. An idea full of contradictions. Thanks for getting me thinking.
Anna, this is so me! I sometimes make myself crazy with time. I love it. This really hits home for me:
Abide by my commitments and faithfully keep my word,
Stay on track, not flit and flutter around like a bird
I’ll get there on time. Maybe even before they take the roll.
I almost push myself to the point of complete exhaustion with trying to finish something by a certain time. Now that we’re in quarantine, time is so much more relaxed. But I wake up frantic if it’s 30 minutes later than my scheduled time. WHY? No one is clocking in. It’s ridiculous.
Thank you for this reminder that I’m not alone. Tic-toc let’s see if I can finish my work tonight before 10:00!
?
The recurring dream:
Driving, driving, driving.
Higher, higher,
higher.
Faster,
faster,
faster.
On a fascinating road.
Don’t ask me where I am.
I never know.
Don’t ask me why
I’m there. I never know.
So I find myself driving
Really fast because
I’m an adrenaline junkie,
even in my dreams
or…nightmares?
I never think of them as nightmares
See, up there, I called it a recurring dream.
My mind welcomes the rerun,
Because they’re just dreams.
So I’m
driving,
driving,
driving.
And fast because
I like speed
and I like danger
and I’ve never really been
in real danger and maybe if I ever was
I wouldn’t think the way I do.
I feel invincible.
Ok, so I’m driving.
Fast.
Mountainside road
Empty highway flyover
Even Rainbow Road
Excitingly nostalgic,
Speeding up.
I am always aware
that I will drive
past the edge
if I keep going
If I don’t stop
But I can never
seem to stop.
Even though I know,
I drive faster
I keep going
I don’t stop,
Nonchalant
with a small smirk
Over the edge
Into oblivion.
Into darkness.
Then I wake up.
Grinding teeth,
Sweating palms
Elements that suggest fear
Without the feeling
Just captivation
mixed with confusion.
Uncomfortable yet?
I’m not scared of heights.
I’m not scared of darkness
I’m not scared of my own death.
Am I afraid of my own mind?
Maybe.
Some think dreams are warnings
But if they are,
mine are not working.
Angie, you had me on the edge of the seat. Scrambling for a seatbelt on one hand and wondering whether to chance it and jump out on the other. What a rush! I saw in my movie-mind the sitting up straight right before the teeth grinding. I love your last 3 lines – powerful! The things that we could heed but often don’t – – and you’re so right: the scariest places are often our own minds.
Exhilarating!
Angie, I love the short lines of your poem. It brings my eye to speed through from line to line, racing to get to the end. The brevity brings the theme of your writing to life.
“Some think dreams are warnings
But if they are,
mine are not working.”
These are my favorite lines of your poem. So mysterious and rebellious.
Hot sun warms the back of my neck
As I stroll along.
Crowds of people
Peep into shopping windows
Their expressions in the reflection
reminders
That the latest Tory Burch
Isn’t within the budget.
Suddenly, a small dog’s dash
interrupts my gait
I hop to avoid it
But I don’t land.
Ascending
Higher and higher
I’m floating, flying
A venti peppermint mocha still in my grasp
This isn’t normal,
But I’m not alarmed
I float on
Above it all
Above the wanting
Above the needing
Above the gotta have its
Will I stay up here forever?
How do I control it?
Control.
Descending
Figuring it out
A slight move here and there
The ground is getting closer
Positioning myself for a soft landing
Sole taps the ground
I ascend again.
-Jenny Sykes
Jennifer — This really does float along like a meandering balloon…so dreamy… I like that sense of “above it all/above the wanting/above the needing/above the gotta have its…” That’s a great place to be! The mocha “within my grasp” makes it feel soothing. I want to borrow your dream! Thank you! Susie
[Note: Jordy & Naydeen — This one really tripped a trigger for me…taking me back a long, long way (thankfully). Amazing how a prompt can do that. Susie]
I NEVER DREAMED
I never dreamed
you would lie to me,
you would salivate over those high school girls you taught,
much less pull one into the janitor’s closet under the stairs
and feel her up, fill her adolescent dreams with her favorite teacher.
I never dreamed
you would give our marriage a B+ grade in midnight email ramblings to her.
I never dreamed
you hid in the cellar a stash of photos of other female bodies you’d lusted after;
would use my every teacher paycheck I blindly dumped into our account
to buy her gifts and afternoons at the Red Roof.
I never dreamed
you’d “knock her up” and pretend “there’s no one else.”
I never dreamed
you would kidnap my dog after I found the emails and we severed our marriage.
I never dreamed
of not loving you
till I did not.
by Susie Morice©
written April 13, 2020
My reactions are many with this. Heart wrenched. Appalled. Horrified. And I can only imagine yours are amplified and far more ranging. You share the severity of this in your words – salivate, B+ grade for marriage, and those final two lines. Why does the kidnapping of the dog hurt so much for me? Thank you for your honesty here, for being able to write about it. Sending you many hugs today.
I’m so interested to see all the many different takes on this prompt. Wow, sadness. I can never wait for the next time I read a poem’s end that is so satisfying as the one you have written here. “I never dreamed of not loving you till I did not.” A great ending to that subject.
Susie,
This is a gut puncher of a poem. The details in “you would salivate over those high school girls you taught,
much less pull one into the janitor’s closet under the stairs
and feel her up,”
make me angry and make me want to stamp that man off this earth. I’m appalled when I hear stories of teachers abusing students, but to add the indignity of telling that student intimate things about your relationship and to grade it in an email exceeds all bounds. And to kidnap your dog. Grrrrr. You’ve trusted us with/ something so personal here, and that kind of trust humbled me. Sending hugs. Thank you.
—Glenda
Susie, you and I have walked similar paths of pain when it comes to being blindsided by those who made choices that betrayed trust and pulled rugs out from under our feet (I do agree with Jennifer that I am hurt most by the dognapping, though). Sometimes our wildest dreams and those we never dreamed could come true, come true in stranger ways than we could have ever predicted. I know the hurt of those hard-earned paychecks going to all the wrong places, and I am right there with you in discovering the sideline communication.
But I love that you are able to write and share with us. I love that your way with words helps us see your perspective “till I did not.” Most of all, though, I love seeing the strong and independent woman that you are, strumming her guitar and singing, standing in the bright sunlight of truth, no longer in the shadows of undeserved foolery, with the mindset that the gift of severance is one that came with a new set of wings. Blessings to you and hugs, and I’m raising my virtual cup of tea with an enthusiastic, “Cheers for the new journey!”
Susie . . .
I’m sorry that you had to relive a horrible experience through this poem but I hope it was therapeutic. The raw honesty with which you write is so . . . I don’t even have the adjective.
Hugs to you today as you dredged up some painful emotions.
It is powerful what you have shared here, such a testament to the power of poetry. What a gift of trust to this writing community. Something makes me think that much time may have passed since all this hell, and yet how raw and heartbreakingly painful it continues. Your trust was so abused, and I am so sorry for that. I hope you had friends and family that surrounded you and shielded you, sheltering you in love. His actions are a crime – I hope he paid a price for this sickening behavior. This is no dream, this is nightmare.
Stefani,
Thank you for stitching our squares! I love the crowdsourced collaborative poem! It’s like a group photo of all of us holding up our words! A class picture when we can’t be there together to smile…..thank you!
Jordy and Naydeen,
This is a fantastic prompt. You really challenge us to look at opposing emotions that we feel.
Jordy, I thought I’d share that our 22-year-old daughter is in her first year of teaching 7th grade ELA AND coaching volleyball. She sure never expected to be teaching in this environment or coaching her beloved sport while NOT able to meet with her team.
No Arms for Loving
I’m in the backseat
of a 57 chevy.
No car seat, no seat belt.
Mom driving.
Going over the Wabash
via the Memorial Bridge.
All of the sudden,
she explodes from her seat
and out the window
like a Jack-in-the-Box.
Alligators await (yes, alligators
in an Indiana River).
They chew off her arms.
She pops from the water
armless.
The carnivores’
spiky, destructive teeth
would have mauled her arms
leaving jagged skin and membranes
and bone fragments.
Instead, her arms are
removed as if the sharpest
cleaver ever sliced through
with ease, leaving no
hanging tissue whatsoever.
Freud would have a heyday with this nightmare . . .
Relegated to the back seat.
No safety measures in place.
Springing from the car.
No arms.
No arms
for holding, hugging, comforting.
No arms
for loving.
Susan, our dreams are places with no logic, aren’t they? That clean cleaver cut simply defies logic, but in our dreams everything is what it is without question. Your backseat view, the alligators in Indiana, the lack of safety measures – – and I love that you brought Freud along for the ride. He’s a curious one, that Sigmund. But he is giving us some really fun poems with unexpected twists today. I love your conclusion. No arms for loving.
Susan — Wow! What a powerful dream! This really is “Freud” fodder! Whooo! Such a metaphoric loss of arms and comfort. Raw stuff here! Whoo…those teeth…the severing…ooo! You’ve created an incredibly chilling tone! Wow! Susie
Your description in this poem is amazing. The jack-in-the-box image and “pops from the water armless” “jagged skin, membranes, bone fragments”. I can see it and I don’t want to. Well done!
Susan,
This takes me back to riding in the back window of cars in the 1960s, long before seat belt laws. The image of mom w/ no arms is a nightmare, but you repetition emphasizing all the ways a mom uses her arms “for holding, hugging, comforting” is what grips me. Am I reading this correctly by interpreting it as a commentary on motherhood and the ways some moms don’t offer their children safety? Maybe that’s because of my own mother’s deficiencies. Your poem feels personal to me. Thank you.
—Glenda
Very much a commentary, Glenda. My undergrad degree in dream interpretation (not!!) has decided that the armless aspect is there because my mom never–to my memory–used her arms to do those things. I’ve noticed that my mom’s deficiencies (or perceived deficiencies . . . does it matter??) show up in my poetry pretty regularly.
Thanks for your empathetic feedback. As always.
Naydeen and Jordy, what a mind-twisting prompt today to get us thinking back on our dreams. The one I share below happened years ago and still haunts me today whenever I think about it. I can still see it vividly, and it was on my mind last night as storms swept through our area. I’ve often wondered if the woman in the dream was my mother, who was succumbing to Parkinson’s Disease and my nightmare told the story from a different perspective.
When I read your poem, I had a flashback to the day I saw a man jump off the bridge in Savannah (not a dream). My mother thought I was joking and told me to stop, but when we got to the top of the bridge, two cars were stopped and a woman was in distress. She’d seen him contemplating, stopped her car, and tried to talk him out of it and didn’t succeed. There is a surreal feeling – a numbness – that sets in when I think of that day. When I think about it, I realize that the fine line of the world of dreams and of reality is not all that blurry. Bad things happen, and wonderful things happen. Thank you for hosting us today!
Stormy Nights
The news footage
is surreal.
A woman
in her thirties
with a knee-length
dress and a pinafore
has her hands
over her face
crying desperately
accepting her fate.
The tornado swirls
voraciously
in the distance
coming for her
as the reporter
narrates the horror
like a nature
documentary.
I wonder:
Why doesn’t she run?
Why doesn’t she escape?
There is time to try!
She walks in a daze
waiting for it
to devour her
in her
aimless pathway
grievous wanderings
it lassos
her ankle
pulling her in
she stair-steps
to heaven
waving through
blinding tears
to those she leaves
behind.
Oh!
I could see this as a result of your mind working through what was happening to your mother. Having that narrative ahead of reading the poem certainly casts that shade upon it, makes it all the more powerful. “As the news reporter narrates the horror” – this line spoke to me (the doctor delivering the news?) as did “waiting for it to devour her” – these words hold such weight. And her lack of movement (why doesn’t she run, waiting for it) shows her succumbing before “waving through blinding tears.” I’m sending you hugs.
I began to write of tornadoes today too. I dream of them when my life feels out of control. And of course, the news last evening had them on my mind again.
I have always held a fascination
with tornados
News report
re Current News
Breaking news broken
They come once or twice a year
these tornadic dreams…
That’s as far as it went. It’s funny how we two are often of the same mind. I’m glad I stopped with mine. Yours is so much more meaningful, so much more deftly written.
OH MY GOODNESS, Kim! This poem absolutely stops me in my tracks… that “blurring” of the line between your dream/nightmare and the reality of the horror you witnessed is stunning. The short lines work like that shortness of breath that comes with these kinds of dreams/witnessings. It reads aloud almost like hyperventilating bursts. “Surreal” indeed! The images of the woman weeping into her hands, as if covering her face would make it not so, just hammers me. That tornado (and I thought about you last night being in the pathway to those terrible storms!) with “grievous wandering/it lassos/her ankle/pulling her…” Yikes! The merging lines are so powerfully crafted to leave me with a shortness of breath and near “blinding tears.” I can’t help but feel that the woman and your mom were surely in that vortex in your mind. Now, we need to take a breath of air that can calm us. Not easy. Hugs to you! Susie
Oh, to think that this dream/nightmare is of your mother, this just makes my eyes water. What a beautiful poem, the two-three word lines build the fear and the scary, a crescendo, really. “pulling her in/she stair-steps/to heaven/waving through/blinding tears” – that’s exactly where I was when I read these words, in tears. My Dad has Parkinson’s; to compare it to a tornado, is so apt. Thank you for this.
Kim,
I read the tornado reports this morning and have this feeling of apocalyptic doom. The loss of power is enough, but the utter scorched-earth destruction of a tornado is devastating beyond comprehension. Your poem creates a visual funnel in my mind. I see the twister as “it lassos / her ankle / pulling her in.” The bystander effect us in full force w/ the reporter: “ the reporter
narrates the horror
like a nature
documentary.”
His detachment is palatable, and rereading this gorgeous poem reveals a subtext about the nightmare we’re all experiencing. This is a wowza poem. Thank you.
—Glenda
Jordy and Nadeen, thank you for sharing a prompt that has so many possibilities for writing choice. I could sense the “nightmare” quality of your poem in the present tense verb choices that place us right with you, within the dream, giving us its presence and immediacy, as night time dreams often do.
I dream of childhood,
of yesterdays.
meandering country roads,
summer dust trailing
behind banana seats and Schwinn speedsters,
peddling the miles into town,
vanillachocolatebutterpecansuperman drips
finding paths from sugar cones and candied tongues,
the days drifting
by on lazy pine rivers and
in animal parade skies,
Ay, batter! Ay, batter! calls
on hazy ballpark evenings and
languid afternoons
caught in summer heat
as pages flip from Once Upon
to The End.
Nancy Drew turns 90 this year.
She had a childhood once.
Jennifer, your writing today evokes a simpler day – – those carefree summer days we lived for:
meandering country roads,
summer dust trailing
behind banana seats and Schwinn speedsters,
peddling the miles into town,
vanillachocolatebutterpecansuperman drips
The flavor of your writing and the flavor of those drips bring me right back to those days where so much life was ahead – – and we just couldn’t wait to be grown. Oh, had we known! I was right there with you, turning the pages of Carolyn Keene, lost in the mystery of life! Really? She’s 90? We might ought to get to baking a cake today. So much to celebrate in our childhood heroine.
Gosh, Jennifer — The sequence of my reading just now has me loving the calm and the beauty of this simple time and glorious innocence. What a wonderful image of childhood! I loved the image of the bikes stirring up the dust, the “candied tongues” and “animal parade skies.” I could hear the “Ay, batter! Ay, batter!” (so summer!). And the phrasing in “pages flip from Once Upon/ to The End.” (quite dandy). Plus, we get reminded that Nancy Drew has an anniversary! So sweet. Hugs for the calm you shared here. Susie
What magical dreams…ahh! Love the happy childhood memories, imagining them popping up in dreams during the night. I’m particularly smitten with the ice cream possibilities!
Jennifer,
Thank you for sharing your dream of childhood which also sounds a lot like my daydreams. I especially love these lines: “the days drifting/by on lazy pine rivers and/in animal parade skies.” It’s so lovely to have these small details reveal themselves to us in our adulthood, especially those “animal parade skies.”