Dreams

(Oddly, this poem was inspired by a lecture I attended close to 9 years ago in Switzerland. The speaker was an Australian Rabbi, a well respected physiologist and Kabbalist who spoke about the nature of dreams. The following both summarizes a bit of what he touched upon (without completely alarming his audience) - the rest is a personal interpretation of an aspect of our subconcious lives which remain mostly a mystery to the waking mind.)

Dreams are broken up

fragments of thoughts, interlaced

with droplets of prophecy,

real-life fears and desires

etched upon a background

of frosted color grays.

The mundane becomes the exotic

The exotic becomes moot;

Laws of science bent in

our minds.

Miracles taken for granted,

nay, expected and deemed

essential in order to escape the shadows

of dreaming person’s mind.

Animals speak,

Images interlace and evolve

Identities translucent

feelings spilled

within a pool of

subconscious impossibilities

Fearful images frighten

Yet enthrall us with the

Imaginary aspect of

a reality unknown to the

Light of day.

Touch, smell and thought

Become intertwined

and reveal

passions and desires

known only to the Creature

we know as Sleep.

Melancholic moments of gladness,

Misery, and transfixion of thought

Hold the sleeper spell-bound,

The dreamer captivated

and the waking person

awakens both mystified

and a little more wise.

The design of subconscious thought

is utilized as fragmented moments

of ideas and realities

Unresolved issues of our days

become magically mended

Even within the midst

of troubled dreams.

One awakens and feels that though

No true substantial memories

carry over into the light of day

A healing of mind and soul

has evolved within the depths of our being,

during the silent moments

of night.

A peaceful settlement with reality

prevails. And though the waking

Person might not know it.

a treaty of peace has

been made.

"Monster in disguise", August, 2006

8/22/2006

Monster in disguise

Looking Fear in the eye
and thinking
Monsters don’t exist, yet there
It stands cloaked in deformity
So horribly misshapen
The eye can hardly bare
To behold its image


Hunting for a face;
I see none but a hint of eyes
somewhere in the folds
of skin, a side glance:
“It’s” a “she”; my heart contracts
as she crushes the brown bag lunch to
Her chest


Fright of contaminating
disease slowly eases.
I request that she
press my floor button, and think
of all the places this person
must go, and ache that others
See her as I did


What twisted fate
is it that shells out such
Horrible suffering?
What dastardly
Calculation of the cosmos
requires that such
Unspeakable nightmares occur?


Is it a warped sense of humor
of sorts by which Someone decides
to manipulate and contort
A human image; knead its
Flesh to the utmost height
of imperfection,
Hideous to any given eye?


When the recipe is “done”
Thrust within it a soul
Watch as it writhes and moves
within the framework of man
Trying to attain a life;
a life of a creature striving
To be human

Liz

"Flight", November, 2006

11/01/2006

Flight

Over a hill
through a meadow
Deep in the groove of a valley green
I soar through a vista of blue;
The sky above is so serene
Though clouds on the horizon brew

Sensations of being both powerless,
and strong
A force so uncanny
I cruise forwards headlong
Feelings so paradox
of control and lack thereof
Streaming past woodcocks.

I know where I fly
And yet, I don’t.
In the dream I wonder, am I human
Or fowl?
I dare not bring an arm or wing
In front of me,
Fearing the flight I shall foul
Butterflies in my belly rise,
a weakness in my shoulders
Though that doesn’t truly bother
Simply worried if my flying abilities
Are really all that real;
Even for the “reality” of a dream.

And then I awaken.
and oddly,
the sensation of flight
Remains

Liz

"Evolution of Emotion: Undefined", October, 2006

10/18/2006

Evolution of Emotion: undefined

One day I loathe
The next I forgive
A pendulum
These human emotions
Wind blown flowers
Most of us are
Swaying by wind
Changing, shifting
Utterly confusing.

Of all the mysteries
In the universe
Our own inner selves
Remain inscrutable
Why?
Does evolution race so?
Perhaps we morph
From one pace to the next
In one lifetime
Not just in millions
Waking up each morning
Being a different creature
Than the day before

Today I found hatred again
Hiding in a corner
Childishly awaiting me
To find it
I tried it on, like an old
Familiar garment
Vintage, perhaps.
Finding comfort again
In this negative emotion
Perhaps the familiarity placates
One day forgiving
The next loathing
Changing garments
Silks for flannel
Cottons for Duchess Satin
Lace for something drab
Insanity or evolvement?
Restlessness or curiosity
Cynicism or hope

Tomorrow we’ll try
On something else as well

"September Rain", September, 2006

9/06/2006

September Rain

September rain,
In all its glory
Cascades upon my window pane
Its mist embraces daylight
Rinse away summer’s drain

Drops patter on the rooftop
A haze envelopes all
Chill filters through the air
Announces whispers of Fall

A man beneath a bus stop
Oh, I can hear him swear
Cold rain has grabbed his clothing
Dripping water from his hair

September rain,
Alters the mood in the city
Its quiet more than normal
No longer are the streets so gritty
An other-worldly sense arrives
Different is the air, less formal
In its’ small way soothing troubled lives

A hush drapes the atmosphere
Tranquility is the ambiance
The air is greatly cooler
Dispositions lacking salience
Not conducive for a brooder

If one is oh so silent
And dares not breathe so loudly
One can almost feel the instant
When clocks decide to dally

Its such a day of mystery
When things make almost sense
Thought stops and stares revealingly
Feels a little more than dense

September rain,
At last the heat is over
Your balm is greatly welcomed
Of madness there is no owner
Peace can now be fathomed

Liz

"Elegy of Sorrow", September, 2006

9/10/2006

Elegy of Sorrow

Recurring dream of faceless babes
Bloodshot eyes
Morning dreams so full of hatred
Transferal of melancholy
From real to the surreal
Abandonment and disgrace
For no one does save face
Cruelty cloaked in fine nobility
Fastidiously grasping moon beams
Injure mixed with a saline alloy
An open wound.
Usury is humanity’s ugliness
Our curse, our despair
Pain beyond repair
Putting ourselves in harm’s way
What preempts us
For what purpose?
Innocence and sweetness
Mask a poisonous vinaigrette
The greatest insanity of all
A mix of guilt and regret
So this is friendship;
Peeled away from the demonic
Pretense of goodness
But here there is no kindness
Only fear, selfishness
and sadness.
Madness is personified

Liz

"Girl in Scarlet", September, 2006

(September, 2006)

Girl in Scarlet

Old fashioned girl cloaked in scarlet
No one knows you out of your glitz
Most behold you, pretty adornment
Taste most lavish, majestic and rich

But no ones knows the real you
The country girl at heart
The persona you stow away
Though with it you never part

Dinners so sumptuous
Escorts drench you in champagne
Enough to give good Ceaser
Real envy; a truly royal pain

Garments fine and regal
Pale near any given duchess
Superb heels and oh quite lethal
Exquisite form, fine and luscious

You dazzle with your charm
Suitors clamor for your grace
You break hearts but mean no harm
They aren’t your type, you’re out of place

You crave the simpler living
The one you left behind
Less take, more about giving
Your other life; abandoned and denied

The radiant face masks the sadness
Handling the empty feeling with finesse
Surrounded with spiritual blandness
Embracing cold success

"The Good Prince" August, 2006

(possibly from August 2006 as well.)

הנסיך הטוב

(Figuring I would flex my old ability at doing this in Hebrew. Blogger isnt quite letting me align right for one post so unfortunately punctuation had to go for now)

היה היה נסיך
בארץ קסום ונידח
את יבשתו מי פז לקקו
עצי בשם עם פרי מופלא ורך

הנסיך עצמו היה אליץ
טוב לב וחביב לכל
תחושה טובה וחסד המליץ
עוני ורוע לב התמעט ודלול

אנשי הארץ לא הסתקרנו
לגלות ולטייל ברחבי העולם
בלבבם פשוט נחכו
כי מיוחד וטוב אצלם

אבל יום אחד איש רע הופיע
התחיל להתלונן לאנשי המדינה
סודות הפיץ, ספורים השמיע
שהם חיים חיי תרדמה

במקומות אחרים הכל זהב טהור
יהלומים נוצצים בכל הרחובות
לאומת עשרכם הכל פה שחור
כך המשיך ודבר תחבולות

ספר שנסיכם העדין והאדיר
טפש וחסר ראש חד
ואת אמת הדבר יודע ומסתיר
את כוחו שפץ ובדרכו מדד

שאם צמצם את ידיעתם
לגבי ארצות ופרזים
ממלכות זוהרות ברחבי העולם
יוכל להשתלט על כולם
שלטון בלתי נשאלת
על אנשים קטני ידע
וכך ממלכתו מצטרבלת

ומה יקרה אם פתע
איש נוסע למקום אחר
יחזור ויענש באופן מבהיל
על שריסק מציאות השקר
וראה שיש מדינות במקביל
עם יתר פאר והדר מפה

כך המשיך ודבר
מקטין האושר בלבבם

(...בהמשך)

Liz

"Bar Stool Philosophy" August, 2006

Has been posted on original blog in the past, but this is my attempt at keeping certain pieces of poetry "catalogued". :-)

8/31/2006

Bar Stool Philosophy

There he sits on a bar stool
Already drunk, gulping down beer
Inebriated yes, but hardly a fool
The patch on his eye riveting me
“What really rules us all is fear,”
He announces so matter of factly

Continuing to listen, I remain still
Something about this nondescript man
Says he knows life, has with it some skill
His rugged clothing and off kelter look
Dust tattered boots, with miles of wear
Rough hands and nails, dirt in each crook
Lungs smoke-wearied, gasping for air

‘What does it take to be smart?’
He rhetorically asks
‘Knowing the power which possess
our grand motives it masks
Our drive for anything, it addresses.’
He continues and says, ‘we stand on a pier
Well, metaphorically speaking
Surrounded by a body of water – this fear
Drenched with its terror – we are reeking
All we do, it will cheerfully steer.’

I must now look puzzled, confused
He puts down his glass, tips his head
On his face a knowing smile, bemused
He says to me, ‘what do people dread?
To be ridiculed, their grand egos bruised
Of not living up to expectations
Worry of living humbly or having not
Of not arriving at their true destinations.
Yet, who dictates where one goes?
Is it the ‘self’, God, someone who matters?
Really, its rule of how the wind blows
Strangers dictate, some dreams do shatter

Who are you and who am I
Are we ourselves or subjects of fright
How are we depicted to anyone’s eye
As true souls or sufferers of plight
For those lucky few who grab what’s theirs
Run with their spirits as much as they can
Are deemed as possessed, wild as mares
Imprudently bound for a short lifespan

Yet these great servants of Terror
Don’t meander and stay with a course
Each a soldier, a grand color bearer
Alive with but a fraction of force
If these puppets are free, most liberated
Then I am a mermaid and clad in silk
For few, if any, are truly satiated
Living with dread, self loathing, with guilt
By the end of so many journeys
It’s apparent that ‘being’ is in the shadows
So many souls escorted on gurneys
Mystified by feeling so cheated and shallow

I always say, our president was a prophet
‘Having nothing to fear but fear itself’
Is the essence of my rambling, my posit
For a man is a victim if he’s not
himself

Without further ado, the man stood up
Slapped down a worn and weary bill
Gulped down the last swallow from his cup
Then bid his goodbye and lumbered for the door
Me still wondering of his likeness to Dr. Phil
Footfalls disappearing now hollow on the floor...

Liz

Southern Expressions

Long shadows sweep across the bayou
Whispers of birch trees in the wind
Lonely sounds of cicadas
Resonances of the living now subdued, within

In front of a large plantation home, stands he
Now old, paint chipped, as if standing in the mist
Nothing here feels too real
but the whispers of ghosts in the midsummer’s heat
Spirits of yesteryear lingering on, not moving
Trapped in imaginations of the ‘glory’ days of theirs

A grandson of the South, is he, though a stranger to it all
Difficult to feel the present moment, finds he
Noting echoes of the past to be more vivid
If not only in his mind’s eye
than the present day.

Feeling as if he pays attention well
he might by privy to the parties of grandeur;
Ladies in ball gown finery,
delicate lace fans in ivory hands
Tittering charmingly at gentlemen’s words
Men dressed smartly, proud;
Gliding about the veranda and in the rooms within
Violins waxing elegant in the background
Such pretty images laid against unforgiving realities
Of a different kind of setting
Realities of harsher lives of others
One’s luxury built upon the back of another

Severe as the sentiment might be
Upon which such vivid judgment lays
Here remains the vestiges of his family,
A remnance of the South, now gone, obsolete
Our onlooker, son of this upbringing, the South in his blood
Fails to dig up too much hatred or distaste
But rather an enormous sensation of sadness and pity
Pitying a useless, meaningless conceit

As evening colors the shadows black,
as yet another day dies and is gone;
our young man reaches down for a valise
with one last glance at the scene before him,
Then turns, headed toward the train station
and beyond there to the hustle and bustle of his
current city in the North.
The place he now calls home.

The Dying Scientist

“Destroy, destroy us all,” said he
“For we are but aimless creatures
Having evolved too rapidly into
Higher thinking beings.”
“Too rapidly sir?” asked his apprentice
“our evolvement has lasted over a million years.”
“Yes, too rapidly, you fool” retorted he.
“Don’t you know, in universal terms
a million is but the shortness of a childish existence,
a nonsensical spec of time.”

“Send a fireball down to us, o mocking Creator,
For you not care whether we live or die. We are but
Creatures of a controlled study - scientific specimens
In a universal petri dish; fantastical beings, for we think
We matter” the old man heaved.

“But flesh and blood are we - sophisticated germs,
intelligent bacteria, celebrated specs of translucent matter.
Where are you? What are we? Approaching blessed death
more rapidly than the speed of light. Other than that there is nothing
to gloat in.”

“How do we enforce meaning into our lives?
What is and isn’t? What’s rewarded and punished.
O if only I knew that a system of checks and balances existed.”
The old man died, leaving the apprentice behind in a silent room
Dying echoes of the rants of an old, distraught man.

Misty City

Twilight has cast its shadows
Upon the face of the city;
Pockets of darkness intensify
on side streets and lonely alleys

Fog envelopes the atmosphere
Blanketing the air ever so thickly.
A comforting sensation of tightly
woven wool, accentuating a weather
meant to be dreary.

Problems and worries seem so small
in this comforting cocoon
of hallowed mistiness
Encouraging some to be enthralled
Placated by a sudden shift of
November's eclectic fare

Glancing up I see a tower,
the crown of a building soaring proudly
In the mist it appears ethereal
Ghostly, as its lighted top looms through,
piercing the mantle of moisture
hanging transfixed in the sky

Shedding the day's mundane impressions
The city takes on certain enchantment
Lights wink knowingly through a veil of fog.
Mystery and illumination
seemingly buoyant; weightless and unbothered
by the day's drudgery and slog.

Though I am but an insignificant bystander
in this silent, enchanting evening
nighttime intensifies yet adds a touch
of comfort; enriching already swirling sensations
and somehow...
I am a part of it all as well.

Just think its bad luck to delete blogs is all... :-)

***sound of crickets***

Adding a Blog

Maybe this isnt such a good idea afterall - but it appears to me that its a bit odd that after about 2 years worth of my rants I should revert to a different level of expression. Thought I'd start posting poems here and the rants on "Liz' Lamentations - This Chaos Called Life" (a.k.a my originial blog). We will see how this works out.