“The man lectured his pupils on anatomy, cosmography, and magic: the faces listened anxiously and tried to answer understandingly, as if they guessed the importance of that examination which would redeem one of them from his condition of empty illusion and interpolate him into the real world.” ~ Jorge Luis Borges

I woke up dream-drunk,
darling, with the taste of mud
in my mouth…

a giggle,

or, was that a cackle,
fighting for the gift of being
real, after the awakening? Not just
a memory of pine
-apple chunks and wild swallows,

but night shade(s) made flesh.

Darling, I’ve written you
alive, in ink and bone
and thoughts (no illusion).

the wee notes…
– Over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, an extremely stunning Toad invited us “to write a new poem that begins with a line out of [our] own words.” I chose a bit from a blog post I published a few weeks back, “I Shall Dream You and Write You a World”, mostly because… well, I’m sort of in love with the phrase “I woke up dream-drunk”.
Nightshade: atropa belladonna; belladonna; deadly nightshade… is remedy and poison.

I just know that passion fruit flowers were grown out of a dream.

Uncaged Ready Depths

The imaginary garden feeds on reality’s rules—can’t dos and coffee for breakfast, skyclad dancing in a sweet pea patch and pineapple for lunch, three mind blushing whispers for dinner, nibbles and giggles and thirteen extra kisses for supper (since elevenses were skipped). Snack time is hammers and sugar skulls. Exquisite… but gentle! Living is a fragile thing—it can hurt, break, turn sweetest slumber to death.

While sleeping, a heart grows taller than truth and big eyes bloom into the world.

Out of her wild dream,
purple dust from red poppies
uncaged ready depths…
filling books with opiumed
tales, to be read till the end.

the (not so) wee notes…
Elevenses: if the nerdiness is strong with you, it is probable that (like moi) you learned of the elevenses through The Lord of the Rings. But guess what I found out while questing the Dark Lands of Google? Elevenses is a real thing in many places around the world. It involves foods like tea and biscuits, coffee and crackers… But “during the first decades of the 19th century [in the USA], elevenses consisted of drinking whiskey.” And here I was, thinking only Hobbits had iron hard stomachs.
– I almost titled this poem “Kubla Khan Gone Wicked for Alice” *cough… cough*.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads and to Poets United.

by Robert Draves (@draves.robert)

I Shall Dream You and Write You a World

I woke up dream-drunk… my skull full of worlds with walls made of words and wants that demand to be written into a tale. Between my eyelids and sleep, I watched two slick shadow-clad bodies frolicking in a pond that was mostly mud.

Still half-asleep, I reached for a notepad I keep next to my bed, and scribbled the first three lines of this post. I didn’t want to forget the dance… or the mud. And I didn’t. The dream was in my mind as I watered my plants, as I waited for the sun to kiss my grin, as I sipped my passion fruit tea, as I typed these words, thinking, Don’t worry, my muddy sweets, I shall dream you and write you a world. Soon…

Speaking of dreams, writing and other things I love, my passiflora is budding…

my passion-
flower dreams summer
in my hand

…my mango plant, which is proudly bushy, is sprouting new color…

…and this morning, my bean plant woke up flowering.

The world isn’t perfect, my Wicked Luvs. Most of the time, it isn’t even happy. But… if we take a deeper look, if we dare to dream wild dreams, we might just find one thing (or thirteen) that makes us smile (delightfully wicked) for a while.