The phone app blares just behind my head
on the pillow where Barbara can hear it
the tale of Walt watching for the Undertoad
seeking to see it in the waves
not daring to step into the water
The World According to Garp
holds me for a few minutes before
I slip beneath the waves of sleep
the noise near my head inaudible,
sleep – which eludes Barbara
sometimes for hours
but when she too slips under
her last act of consciousness
is to ask me to turn it off
I awake in the early hours
from a dream in which
a young woman I’ve just met
on the street in a nowhere I know
leads me into her house
and begins to take her clothes off
hippy, boho, vintage – it happens too quickly
for me to know our place in time
A child wakes and calls to her
from another room
a partner arrives
and I apologise for my near-nakedness
I must have misread the signs
I say to him as I redress
She appears with my jacket
at the front door
her eyes apologising
and later I find a note in the pocket
You did not misread the signs! Sorry…
and a telephone number
When I awake properly
I will arise and go to work
I used to imagine a big red bus
as a metaphor for death
careering around the corner
at any unexpected moment
in the end it was a tractor with a trailer
of indeterminable width on a blind bend
that broke my hip but left me alive
Every time I climb into my car
I wonder if today will be the day,
standing, as we all do
feet in the shallows of the Styx,
that the Undertoad finally gets me…
Written for a Poetics prompt by Sanaa over at dVerse Poets Pub to write in the style of Amber Rose Tamblyn…
© Andrew Wilson, 2023
This is a gorgeous, gorgeous poem, Andrew! I love how the visuals flow seamlessly from one stanza to the next! Thank you so much for writing to the prompt ❤️❤️
Thanks Sanaa, it was a quick effort between getting up and going to work but sometimes pressure makes for the best results…
Love how the allusion enrich the everyday imagery! Well done.
Thanks Dora for your comment and for visiting…
*allusions!
Wow! The details are amazing! I felt myself propelled into your dreamworld.
I rarely reveal dreams since a Uni friend told me how his father couldn’t bear people talking about dreams over breakfast and dismissed them with “Sex dreams!Sex Dreams!” and in this case it was lol!
That’s how I feel too, Colleen, even now, having reread this…
Andrew – this poem is really something special!
Love it.
Much love,
David
Thanks David, yes I think I hit paydirt…
Such a beautiful flow 💞
Thank you so much Ange!
There’s so much detail…I had to read twice. The world of sleep and reality.
I usually only remember dreams if I make a great effort on waking – this poem, fresh from sleep did the trick…
Thanks for visiting stacy!
A surreal tale; yet you surprise your readers. Bravo.
Thanks for dropping by my blog.
Much💖love
Yes the idea that dreams are the mind’s attempt to sort out the affairs (no pun intended) of the day is tested by their surrealism…
Thank you for visiting Gilllena 💜
John Irving! (be still my heart) I should warn you I am known for wearing hippy, boho, vintage clothing, ask anyone. A big rise and a hard fall …. I LOVE this poem.
John Irving – is it the wrestling, the writing or the good looks Helen? I feel I should warn you too that only in dreams do I allow myself to be led off the street and to undress Hollywood frantically by strange women, no matter how beautifully they dress – only in dreams…
And thank you Helen for your kind comment…
What an extraordinary poem! The “voice” you use in this is both electric and casual. I nice bit of writing, A.
Thanks Misky, I think my voice is developing…
A feast Andrew, such sumptuous imagery.
Thanks Paul – tried to do justice to the prompt…
Thanks for visiting!
Amazing imagery….in the dreaming and the reality portions. I find these words thought provoking:
“a young woman I’ve just met
on the street in a nowhere I know”