(no subject)
Oct. 10th, 2003 09:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
glauconfrom time to time, I have a dream entirely in rhyme and meter. I usually wake up and find that I've forgotten almost all of it upon waking. the part that sticks with me is usually the last 4 lines of whatever poem I was dreaming.
last year, for example, I dreamed the following:
X is the captain, Y is the chief
X defies description, Y defies belief
Y denies religion and somehow comes to grief
X decries deception which comes as some relief.
it was part of a much longer piece that went through many permutations and details on who X and Y really were (although they were referred to as "X" and "Y" throughout) and what their relationship was to each other. the snippet above was, as near as I can tell, the opening lines and the closing lines as well.
this morning, I dreamed a 50 or 60 line piece in rhyming couplets about bikers and heart attacks and showering cats and swimming pools and disillusionment with the industrial revolution in 19th century england. I could only recall the final four lines upon waking. they were:
Then they return to their trains all alone,
sit behind smokestacks, and try to go home,
but eventually realize they're chimneys instead
burning food in their bodies and thoughts in their heads.
crazy old thing, the unconscious mind.
last year, for example, I dreamed the following:
X is the captain, Y is the chief
X defies description, Y defies belief
Y denies religion and somehow comes to grief
X decries deception which comes as some relief.
it was part of a much longer piece that went through many permutations and details on who X and Y really were (although they were referred to as "X" and "Y" throughout) and what their relationship was to each other. the snippet above was, as near as I can tell, the opening lines and the closing lines as well.
this morning, I dreamed a 50 or 60 line piece in rhyming couplets about bikers and heart attacks and showering cats and swimming pools and disillusionment with the industrial revolution in 19th century england. I could only recall the final four lines upon waking. they were:
Then they return to their trains all alone,
sit behind smokestacks, and try to go home,
but eventually realize they're chimneys instead
burning food in their bodies and thoughts in their heads.
crazy old thing, the unconscious mind.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-10-10 10:25 am (UTC)my favorite poets are auden and yeats who are definitely formal.
so...yeah, kinda.
the one about X and Y was auditory.
the one last night was visual...I was an emotionally connected third person observer who was watching the story unfold as the poem ran through my head as something like a voice over.
it always seems to happen in october.
no subject
Date: 2003-10-10 12:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-10 01:46 pm (UTC)