Archives for January 2019

           Are you Sorry you Broke the Rules

Out of probability, I reason that night is the season

for sleep, but not for me.

I slumber all day and during the night stay wide-awake.

Nocturnal mortals it is known are sometimes immortal,

and some stay awake after dark to do malicious deeds.

 

While I doze the hot heavens shine and with a smile while in my

daydreams angels come to me and ask, “Beer or wine?” and then say,

“Because we have wings and come from up above doesn’t mean our

intent is to require you to have faith. We’re here you think, but we’re

nothing but a dream.”

 

What I see in my dreams I pray to be true, because I see how lovely

all the angels are with white feathered wings and faces so gorgeous,

only a divinity could have fashioned them like that. The deity gave them

voices so delightful, listening to them singing is better than having sex,

so when I awake and they’re nowhere near, my heart wants to break.

 

How great it would be to sleep my life away accompanied

by singing angels who in the name of love would carry me up

above where they’re from. I’d be so happy to believe they were

made just for me, or would I discover my hallucinations are only

delusions I see to make me believe?

 

The next day while I drowse angels appear in the stream of my

dream, and we went on a universal tour where spirits of lives lived

on a million biospheres. An angel told me, ” Earth is a wildlife refuge

that Inhabitants of all these worlds will visit to see how you and others

Like you behave when let out of a cage and are given free range.

 

When they see how cruel humans are, they vow to keep them away

from any other life forms, except those sent to Earth to be punished for

breaking the interstellar law. The angels know, humans will find a way

to make any life sent to their world sorry they ever broke the rules.

 

 

 

One of my older stories published.

Dreamer

I dreamed I could write, day or night, but when I went to school, I learned

I was a fool, because to my surprise, I couldn’t pull words from the sky.

Writing wasn’t as easy as knocking on wood like I thought it would.

 

Living alone, without a wife or even a dog,

love and companionship were unknown.

I understood why J. D. Salinger, even though

everyone knew his name, became a recluse.

 

After class, I’d go home to write, but would sleep

And dream how sad life could be because I read

Bukowski.

 

Within my dreams, famous now-dead authors,

Like Hemingway, Steinbeck, and Mailer came

Alive with advice on how to write.

 

Though famous as writers, not one of the three

Thrilled me as Kesey did when he arrived in a dream

and we’d get high and travel to planets and stars

 

And when awake and not asleep, memories

of the story, Kesey wrote stay, and feelings emerge

that gives me an urge to strangle Nurse Ratched.

 

I moved to California where I believed someone would understand me

and get paid for what I wrote. All I accomplished on that

Hollywood dream was a nightmare when I was Mexican, and

Fante told me to eat the dust.

 

But Thompson came along and chased Fante from

My dream.  Thompson told me the fear he once felt

had been assuaged. So we went to Las Vegas with

pockets full of psychedelics carried from some distant

heaven so we could enjoy our Vegas trip.

 

But I awoke in my California bed with the moon overhead.

I thought it had all been a dream until I went for coffee

and met a man who said, “Stop dreaming and get to work”.

 

 

I’ll never stop ,” I told the stranger. “The night is made

for dreaming, so don’t be rude when you know that’s my job.”

“Now you got it,” he said. “It’ll be okay if you write about your

dreams every day and don’t just daydream your life away.

 

“Why are you so uptight?” I asked, as I tip-toed across the floor.

“I’m not uptight when I see a meteor in the night, I know I’m Updike,”

he said and turned away after I requested he stay.

 

Below the starry night, I’m uptight and hold my breath while I pray that

upon some magic star, talent will arrive from the sky to make me comparable

to Updike or like other writers who have appeared in my dreams.