I often write verse in my dreams. Some of it is incoherent, some is memorable and I write it down when I wake (sometimes in the middle of the night). These are the snippets which don't warrant their own pages.
"Xanadu" (In Xanadu, did Kubla Khan") was apparently written in the poet's dream. Sometimes I write poetry in my dreams, not all of it is coherent,. I sometimes wonder what my subconscious is saying to me.Funeral Flowers
(I wrote 6 lines of verse in a dream. When I woke up I could remember only the 5th and 6th lines and fragments of the first 4, but I was able to remember the concept and emotions. With that in mind, it was easy to finish it later in the day.)
Bury my body in some grassy place -
A mound of soft earth by a grey-watered lake,
Pile up the turf for my waterside tomb,
And bury me snug in my mud and grass womb,
Plant pale lilies nodding heads heavy with sleep,
In my buried ribcage their roots will run deep,
Their petals as waxy as moribund flesh,
Their odours as rank as a dying man’s breath –
A tree is my headstone, the world is my bier,
And pale stinking lilies say “a brave man died here.”
I AM THE DUST ON THE BYWAYS OF LIFE
In a dream I was reading the lyrics on the dust sleeve of a vinyl album. It was some sort of song or hymn relating to an Egyptian themed temple/priesthood. Out of the 8 or 9 verses that I read, I can only remember the jist. The ancient Egyptian religion had evolved into the modern age. An ancient place of worship had been rediscovered, giving insights into the origins of the religion and the song honoured that discovery and the ancient roots. The first verse is the jist of the whole hymn, but I remembered and wrote down the final verse when I woke up (dust on the byways of life stuck in my mind).
Under the sand dunes, silent and shifting,
Once there were priests in these long-forgot halls,
Once there was singing, not silent sand sifting,
In rooms long-abandoned, words carved on their walls.
Robes once sighed softly on time-polished flagstones,
The creed that's eternal vibrates in the air,
Time marches onwards, the creed has a new home,
Another place throbs with its lessons and prayer.
"I am witness to every oath that is spoken,
>From deals in the daytime to deeds in the night,
The master, the servant, the slave that is broken,
To both victor and vanquished in trials of might.
"I am the builder, and I am the breaker,
The power that's nameless and hidden from sight
I am the founder, and the forsaker,
I am the dust on the byways of life."
Everyone is different,
A glass of wine may be the one,
Or maybe strolling in the sun.
When you write country music lyrics in your sleep, it's time to worry (note: British pronunciation of "vase" is "vars"). In my dream, I heard it sung.
Country Music Verse
You can mend a broken table,
You can mend a broken vase,
But it ain't that easy,
To mend a broken heart.
When you walked out that door,
You just tore my heart in two,
You broke our love in pieces,
And there isn't any glue.
Each fur coat is an outrage,
A plea for mercy and a cry of pain,
And while others run their hands,
The length of a swathe of silky fur,
I touch the dead, dismembered pelt,
And feel my naked fingers burn -
Electric shocks of death and the pain of it.