121320b

 
The Wood Between the Worlds


Across the sweet sanguine sea
lit crimson by the setting sun
the canoe beached on the further shore
bark, as where its owner'd dragged it in
the endless plain of fissured wood
stretched on
she took a drink, shouldered pack
and kept the sun at her left shoulder
Yggdrasil must have its end

041718c

very strange dream last night. It started with some aliens  who resembled the Fae and they were not necessarily dangerous to humans but might be.. It ended up with a poetry contest challenge between them and us. I don't remember exactly how, but I figured out it was a dream, and then I woke up. But wait, that's not all! I then had a series of at least five dreams in which I was competing in a poetry contest against some people who seemed a lot like the Norse gods. In the last of these, my online poetry writing group was also involved. In the case of each dream, at some point I realized it couldn't be reality, because I couldn't change any of the poems, couldn't see the keyboard, and things like that. After each dream I woke up and realized I was in bed and had been asleep and the clever poem writing I had done was all for naught. The funny thing is, this was a poem I was working on last night, and was not yet satisfied with.  Maybe I can recall a few scraps from this morning's dreaming to improve it.