Justin - Bizarre Dream

About the writing

The topic this week was a bizarre dream and I had selected the dream before I heard the form. Shortly after Shelly’s funeral, I dreamt that she was deep cover and had faked her own death in order to protect her family and finish her assignment. She looked as she always had, dressed as she did with the exception of a small machine gun that was hanging from a strap on her shoulder and a black knit cap.

Needless to say, I was both amused and saddened by this. I have held on to the dream quietly but knew it had to be written about at some point. It has lost humor for me over the months, but still that my sister-in-law might be a deep cover agent and that I might stumble unwittingly into the end of her secret operation is ludicrous. The type of ludicrous that I think only a sleeping mind could concoct.

As for concoctions, Jason may talk more about the form (I honestly don’t know if he has or hasn’t,) but it should be noted that he came up with the form; a poetic form of his own devising (I call it the Jasonian Form, he may have a better name for it.) Thirteen lines per stanza with a very specific rhyme structure noted as ABCB ADCD AECE A and the requirement of an odd number of stanzas. For me, I made the last line a variation or a copy of the first in each stanza and made the last stanza a variation of the first.

Punctuation: I abhor punctuating poems. Regardless, this one has some conversation that necessitates punctuation and so it’s there. I thought about just doing the quote marks, but that looks silly so I did the whole thing.

The Rescue

I shake my head to try to break the spell;

From whence do such strange dreams originate?

The present stab of sad reality,

With comedy the mourning to abate.

Does the subconscious seek its guilt to quell?

Or message give the conscious mind to hear,

To show of one what one tries not to see,

In shadows brightly make the message clear?

I check to see how near the ringing bell;

The mark that says I must be on my way.

And yet the strange dream will not let me be,

So early I rise up to start the day.

Shaking my head to try to break the spell.

 

I find myself inside a warehouse dark;

A meeting I have come so late to make.

But I can tell that all is not alright,

A fear that self-assurance cannot break.

In still quiet deeper I embark

To find the office I am meant to go.

I see ahead the hint of flickering light

That does not come from harsh fluorescent glow.

And now I think that I may be the mark

As sight and smell of fire my senses fill.

Why would I come to meet this late at night?

What promised price could risk so high a bill?

To find myself inside the burning dark.

 

As I turn to flee this dreadful scene

A hand grabs hold my arm “It’s time to go.”

“But how, how are you here?” “No time for that.

Hurry up this place is going to blow.”

My rescuer in flowered shirt and jean,

White canvas shoes all strangely juxtaposed

With a short machine gun and black knit hat;

Her smiling self with mystery opposed.

“I had to fake my death, it was the mean

To this assignment’s end and to protect

The family, though doing so left them flat

But soon I will return and all correct.”

And still I cannot flee this strange new scene.

 

“But they are broken, sad and soon angry…”

“No it will be fine and they will understand.”

“How could they understand that you’re a spy?”

 “Deep cover; and the job makes the demand”

And there I come back to reality

And try to find some sense where none appears;

The pictures painted for the sleeping eye;

To laugh together again after some years.

Perhaps that was my mind’s small gift to me,

To laugh and know that she would laugh as well.

Perhaps it was a way to say goodbye.

Perhaps I know but am afraid to tell.

Broken and sad for too long will we be.

 

I shake my head to try to break the spell;

From whence do such strange dreams originate?

The present stab of sad reality,

With comedy the mourning to abate.

Does the subconscious seek its guilt to quell?

Or message give the conscious mind to hear,

To show of one what one tries not to see,

In shadows brightly make the message clear?

We cannot know the nearness of the bell,

That mark that says we must be on our way.

We cannot wait for how things ought to be;

We must work to make them so today.

Shaking my head I try to hold the spell.