Posted on April 7th, 2009 by george.
Categories: dreams, poetry.

some days
dreams feel close at hand
lashes flecked with sand

the veil worn thin and soft
betwixt the flame and moth

a single tender blade
an endless windswept glade


This will make your day

Posted on March 12th, 2009 by george.
Categories: dreams, film, humor, life, love, music, video, youtube.

Discovered via Devon’s entry on soulpancake.  More on Oren Lavie here.  Funny that among his predecessors is Leonard Cohen.

1 comment.

Let’s dance

Posted on August 14th, 2008 by george.
Categories: dreams, future, music, photography, poetry, youtube.

last night met David Bowie
in future New York City
he said, “Hey man
wanna see my pad?”

felt like a suffragette
face in elevator chrome
got off at twenty-seven
the view on top so rad

private island high rise
I spied the streets below
I had my baby’s camera
to shoot the passing scene

out into the lobby
escorted by the duke
asian paparazzi
then crashed my little dream

how odd it must be for him
to deal with all the fame
for just a little stardust
the people scream and yell

elbow to the window
ignoring all the din
I zoom on things below
to see what tales they tell

a traffic jam with police
directing all the flow
I couldn’t time the shot right
being jostled at the glass

finally I got it
the next moment I awoke
two cops, a jumping high-five
now that’s a dream with class

1 comment.


Posted on February 16th, 2008 by george.
Categories: dreams, enlightenment, epiphany, future, life, numbers, poetry, serendipity, synthesis.

the dust of far-off deserts
after noon
while breezes waft
the redolence
of five-star blooms
shafts of leaning light
dance through
camphor trees
her shadowed arches
find me
down on bended knee
her marble pillars
toward heaven’s sky
from paradise four rivers
with burbled sighs
relax your fretted ceilings
in the sun
and wind
let the sweet call of the nightingale
calm your soul
my truss your raven tresses
combed with honey
your words inside my spirit
in filigree
now stretch my copper heartstrings
cross your
silver face
and fill with song this darksome
and once empty
thirteen vermillion towers
look upon your
and whisper to the lions
tales of
man and wife
existence stretched before me
like a growing
crimson ark with
Holy Mariner
at the helm
each quanta forking out
an ungrown
tender shoot
a life of unknown branches
with you
at the root
and though the tree is younger
than it will be
your liquid silver quickens
every limb
of me
now from the court of maidens
comes a lilted
an audience of angels
softly drawing
without a word
she bends
into her graceful dance
and lights aflame the veils
her advance
in arc and pattern
flowered tapestries
she draws upon the
from the roots so deep
with gathering momentum
she spins wild
and free
and melds his art and science
from the Garden of the Architect
a breath
and scatters far the ashes
of the last lost
the lover sees his children
in the maiden‘s
now overflows his heart
arabesque pensées
even unto his autumn
he sees red
and gold
and alloyed with his copper
not yet told
for soon they may set sail
upon a sea
of song
and manifest what only
knew all along
the lily brims with waters
from the wise man’s
and let loose are the lovers
that their seas may
now overflow his tears
onto life’s golden
to set in motion waves
above the
coral floor
the emerald sea now surges
casting forth
her pearl
the twain restored to one
and through all the worlds


Paper wings

Posted on January 4th, 2008 by george.
Categories: dreams, poetry.

most days
the mist of dreams lifts
with the morning sun
and the rules snap
back into place
gravity holds
fire is hot
ice cold
one dream
lingers until
sunset brings on
a night of low clouds
and as vivid as the moment
I awoke

the dream replays again

with a simple paper napkin
like the kind you see in diners
in shiny silver boxes

last night I could fly

I would simply unfold the paper
on the short edge
and grip either end in my hands
like two wings connected
in the center

I held it flat
six inches in front of my belly button
and thought, “fly”

if I tipped the leading edge up
I would ascend
likewise downward
for descent

my body floated vertically
face into the wind
head up
feet below
and though I know it was impossible
in this world

in that world of islands
connected by bridges
I soared

beholden to the wind
and a new version of inertia
there were rules of flight
be they different than the ones
on Earth

I flew between islands
alongside the bridges
filled to their edges
with people
who looked on in awe

if the napkin were to tear
as it did once
I would fall out of the sky
but over water it was fine
and after splashdown
I’d just find another
stolen from the galley
of some passing ship
and retake wing

I learned to hold the paper
and vary its pitch
with the wandering wind

quite quickly I was adept
at flight
and put on a show
for the people marveling

at the man who could fly
on paper wings


I had that dream again

Posted on December 28th, 2007 by george.
Categories: dreams.

The one where the buses double as subway cars
And can drive out of the tunnel at the end of the line
I dreamt a woman had a snake on the bus
A Columbian python in the front row behind the driver
I couldn’t figure out why everyone was so quiet
Or why there was a gun on the floor in the aisle
Turns out the snake had made a mess on the floor
And a man in back flipped out and pulled his piece
The bus driver stood firm, and while driving
Talked the man down, reduced him to tears
He laid the gun on the floor, and after a while
The passengers picked it up and passed it to the driver
She tucked it away as she pulled out of the tunnel
Emerging into the sunlight from underneath the river
And dropped me off at my stop:  a university
In lower Manhattan.  Maybe even Roosevelt Island.
I walked onto campus but the familiar was strange
My dorm was boarded up but the door was still open
I went inside and everything was in my room, as I had left it
Sheets still on the beds, books on the shelves
Only all the doors were open, and I couldn’t find a key
Confusion settled in and I started to fret about my classes
Was I registered appropriately?  Where were my friends?
Why was I the only person in my building?
I went to the window and looked out on the quad
Three stories up, at the ground that started on the first level
And sloped upward and away from the foot of the building
Eventually coming up to eye level with my window
But just far enough away where a jump would be hairy
There were people stretched out on the grass, laughing
And I said a silent prayer of thanks
Because I realized, even amidst my inner turmoil
How much I love the City of the Covenant.