Sanaa hosts Poetics in the Pub ~ it's all about dreams.
It's always the same
a knock at my door
my father behind the screen
gone sixty-eight years
it's night but the flowers are alive
they reflect a surreal light ..
I think it's him ~ if only
Sanaa hosts Poetics in the Pub ~ it's all about dreams.
It's always the same
a knock at my door
my father behind the screen
gone sixty-eight years
it's night but the flowers are alive
they reflect a surreal light ..
I think it's him ~ if only
An interesting dream, Helen. You must miss him a lot!
ReplyDeleteMy dreams are mostly populated now by my dead - parents, brothers - and the long lost or forgot. They obviously live on in my underworlds, going about the daily business of whatever eternity I inhale while I breathe ...
ReplyDeleteA poignant poem that resonates with me, Helen. Yesterday would have been my dad’s birthday.
ReplyDeleteOh--all the feelings with this one, Helen. 💙
ReplyDeleteA most important man. still after all those years.
ReplyDeleteOh my heart this is so poignant ~ I resonate with this dream, Helen. 💙
ReplyDeleteThis resonates. I only ever see my father in my dreams now.
ReplyDeleteYour father at your door, my mother calling from the porch --- Some dreams feel all too real. How we miss them!
ReplyDelete