These are linked poems created week by week for a year, inspired by the book No Choice But To Follow, and the poets therein who did it first.

Sunday, 23 November 2014

November #3

To sleep: perchance to dream…

I never know what to expect
each night I go to bed;
the ravelled sleeve of care stays ravelled,
tattered and in shreds.
In fact the action packed
into the theatre of my dreams
frays the fabric of my mind
and soundtracks it with screams.

I've swooped and soared above the clouds
and plummeted to earth,
borne immolation many times
relived countless births
from the point of view of mother
and from that of child,
I've even mothered fox cubs
then released them in the wild.

I've wondered where my husband is
while marrying another,
had long chats with dead relatives,
rowed furiously with Mother;
grieved for people still alive,
partied with the feted,
was once hailed saviour of the world
and simultaneously hated.

The only common factor is
my dreams are never bores;
I'm continuously fascinated
while my body snores.

— Michele Brenton


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