deepundergroundpoetry.com
Memoirs
2024
A dream befell me as I slept
of funnel cloud...aspin;
long latent in my mind, it kept,
until it might begin.
It gave me scenes of wrack and rout
by dark tornadic force,
and as it smashed its course about
I felt a dread remorse.
I knew I was within its path
so to a car I fled
and belted in before the wrath
where Mother Nature tread.
And as the car began to lift,
aswirl and abrupt,
that narrative was cast adrift
when eyelids were...re-upped...
and consciousness made its return
as if to cheat my doom,
wherein I hide, then crash and burn,
while sleeping in my room.
1972
It was a fear I thought long past
left from a mighty storm
where school kids had felt the blast
of classrooms losing form.
And afterward we told our mom
we feared the wind would come,
as we slept, like a nightmare bomb,
with not a clue where from.
2024
And no clue now about a fear
as old as second grade;
a lurking trauma souvenir...
from memory's blockade.
Full fifty years it stayed inert.
What brought it to the fore?
Why would a night of rest alert
me to a bygone roar?
Perchance dreams dance in retrospect
and with the years conflate
with memories... to circumspect...
experience from fate.
A dream befell me as I slept
of funnel cloud...aspin;
long latent in my mind, it kept,
until it might begin.
It gave me scenes of wrack and rout
by dark tornadic force,
and as it smashed its course about
I felt a dread remorse.
I knew I was within its path
so to a car I fled
and belted in before the wrath
where Mother Nature tread.
And as the car began to lift,
aswirl and abrupt,
that narrative was cast adrift
when eyelids were...re-upped...
and consciousness made its return
as if to cheat my doom,
wherein I hide, then crash and burn,
while sleeping in my room.
1972
It was a fear I thought long past
left from a mighty storm
where school kids had felt the blast
of classrooms losing form.
And afterward we told our mom
we feared the wind would come,
as we slept, like a nightmare bomb,
with not a clue where from.
2024
And no clue now about a fear
as old as second grade;
a lurking trauma souvenir...
from memory's blockade.
Full fifty years it stayed inert.
What brought it to the fore?
Why would a night of rest alert
me to a bygone roar?
Perchance dreams dance in retrospect
and with the years conflate
with memories... to circumspect...
experience from fate.
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