Analysis of Dreaming Whenwhatcomes

About this poem

A Quick Look at Dreaming Whenwhatcomes Abruptly, I awoke from an awesome dream so strikingly verdant in color and landscape. The dream had evolved from a tiny hamlet-like community cheerfully co-existing on cobblestone streets and clay roofs and featuring a wholly out of place Lego-looking brightly colored plastic playground in the center through the hazardously bumpy lanes to the perimeter whereamong were planted gardens for view and sustenance. It was here that I chose to concentrate my energy and psychic presence, for before there was no I, it was just an invisible me whom no one took notice of as racing through or away or from or toward or to or thither did my shadow go at breakneck speed on that inhospitable terrain. Only once rushing became resting relaxation and calm did my dream-self feel a moment of security and reclined on the ground shaded by a huge lilac tree bobbing in prolific lavender profusion. Thus, reclined and relaxed into comfortable calm, the various views of surrounding gardens took shape building ever-increasing admiration and awe at the sumptuous sights. I finally enters the dream once my hands, arms, shoulders, neck and head are literally littered with the chicory-blue butterflies that appeared from out of nowhere-- like locusts swarming from drought-stricken grasshopper-over-procreating barren-wastelands of Oklahoman dustbowls to throttle nearby states and thwarting harvests frenzied-starving-induced-Seinfeld-uber-fast-eating locust plagues arise as if a BAD prophecy fulfilled, BUT completely other end of spectrum their gracefully awkward flits in glowing blue hues stirring delight and joy not horrors at annihilated toil-- as if at the very zenith of "ultimate" experience in this dream I had to leap from out of nowhere to take the credit for doing what was done with the chicory-blue, blue hues flapping no clues slapping me across the face... UNTIL whilst swirling and twirling about to set feet skyward, one word is spoken in ways of watery wetness by a voice never heard before from a being of no-corporeality clearly defined, as if a voice manufactured totally by my mind to release as a “WAKE UP FROM THIS DREAM. WAKE UP NOW!” alarm, and then was planted in my unconscious as something to rely on at a later date: scott That was it. A meek utterance, a quiet though buffeting exclamation, a single safe word that I for sure would recognize. I woke up immediately and checked all entrances, for the voice sounded as if it were sounding an alarm, a call to arms, a “you better boogie now emergency flash flooding” warning, a “the fox is in the hen house” buhwooga, a “you need a new pair of slippers for Sunday night football because the bulldog mistook your old ones for a ham sandwich” siren, as if there were an inevitable intruder, as if Michael were hell bent at forcing you into the role of a “new unidentifiable movie screaming” death, or even possibly someone in the house who means you no well, you know the kind of anxious dreamwake of which I write. And as I checked, I checked quickly and efficiently, to realize with a smidgeon of dread that there were no external lights turned on and so I turned them all on and made sure doors were locked, and then sped throughout the duplex opening every door whether closet or storage or bathroom to find nothing out of sorts, and then satisfied the strange watery wetness weighing heavily on my fear and paranoia and anxiety was seemingly too late or too early or not meant for me after all, and I slid into the highback cat-clawed chair facing the laptop and wrote as much of the dream as I could before it all faded into nothingness.. more »