Dreamscape for the doomed

In dreams/dreams I find it again:
like a robin pelted with granite
pebbles, the plane tipping limp/

heavy. A sudden gasp escaping
as though the atmosphere has
learned to love then just as quickly

lost that which opened its heart.
And glinting, swordly an animal
takes over the earth. Leaving in

its wake only a puzzle of muddy
bones. A church of vultures gathering
on the shoulder of I-85. I don't know

what to tell you about this. There
are miles of straight-faces meeting
me in the nebula of falling night. And

I have burnt my wire to the sun.

Reviews

[SkinlessFrank]

When I was a child my grandmother witnessed a passenger jet going down over New York City. Just the thought of that disaster has stuck with me to this day, not the plane crash itself, but the thought of what must have been going through her mind in seeing such a mass scene of death and devastation. Your poem reminds me of this. When faced with human destruction on a scale we can’t fathom, it seems our minds turn to the kind of surreal imagery you describe here. It’s as though we go into dreaming mode because our conscious selves can make no sense of what we are seeing. The church or vultures and muddy bones are dreamlike to me. Sometimes I wonder if this is a form of self-protection.

[Eilis]

Hi, thank you for sharing how you related to this. That is an horrific scene to witness. That must have haunted her as well. I can recall witnessing the aftermath of car accidents with injured people wandering the scene or seeing covered bodies and feeling filled with terror and dread for weeks or years. The way the mind responds to stress and danger is difficult to process on a conscious level. Living with PTSD i have experienced this maze of moving between past, present, and fear of the future in this constant unconscious loop and I think that plays out in dreams. For me it does at least. I suppose that writing this was partially a way of trying to understand that. The sense of separation from reality but still being in it and not understanding how to communicate that. I think it’s definitely self-protection as you say. The mind’s primary job of protecting our lives becomes some incomprehensible game of trying to trick us into believing we are safe. It’s fascinating. Thanks for your visit.

[Chris Shaw]

Wow Eilis, some amazing lines here in your dreamscape. What an unsettling dream.

like a Robin pelted with granite pebbles

a church of vultures gathering on the shoulder of 1 - 85

dark indeed and disturbing with it. Birds can certainly be used to portray menacing situations and feelings.

I have to say your final line doesn't leave me feeling light of heart, far from it.

Awesome poetry, though I wish you happier dreaming. Good to see you posting Eilis.

Chris

[Eilis]

Hi, Chris. It’s always nice to hear from you. I do deal with night terrors and nightmares a lot. Sometimes poetry helps me to purge those things a little. Thank you for your always encouraging comments. I hope you are well.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

"a puzzle of muddy bones"
I wish I had written that line...the "church of vultures gathering"
your metaphors are to die for.
I read your poems and just simply bow to your talent.
I cannot believe this had only two reviews...How can that be?

[Eilis]

Do you ever look back at your old poetry and wonder how you wrote them? I have been doing that for awhile but you always make me feel inspired with your commentary. Thanks for your supportive thoughts on the writing, Jacob.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

All the time, Eilis...I am sure I am just a conduit because I have no idea how I wrote them or where they came from...
ever, ever, ever.

[Eilis]

I feel the same quite often.

[CD Campbell]

This is definitely not simple. You know what they say about the subconscious bubbling up into the conscious to warn us that we're about to spiral out of control? Well, me neither. LOL. Think I read something about that on a fortune cookie. So.......

Well, there is a lot to to sink your teeth into. I resist the notion that this is simple ramblings. Stuff of dreams. Stanzas 2, 4, 5, and 6 have lines to murder for. A sudden gasp, church of vultures, burnt my wire, are all awesome. I particularly love the marrow inside stanza 5. "There are miles of straight faces' speaks to me in a way as if I knew that line before you spoke it. I know that feeling as if I'm being buried in an avalanche of mediocrity.

Then the last line hits hard I believe. It's a line of surrender, a line of burning out. Becoming nothing but a burnt spot in the landscape, not even enough to be a nuclear bomb shadow, or an empty space in the ground from a volcanic ash dump. HAHA.... depressing! I like this one.

[Eilis]

Haha, I love your response. It was a recurring dream I was having for awhile. The plane falling out of the sky and me standing right below it waiting to be squashed. Is unsettling. But, yes, it always felt emblematic to me. That spread of eerie ness that I tried to thread through the poem. Like that split second where you realize something is coming but also that you can do nothing to intervene. You do make me feel like a solid poet with your comments. And also get me thinking about what I’ve done with the words. For that I am grateful. Thanks again, CD.

[gram linski]

the dreamscape seems to be leading us/you down a deserted highway of madness and joy, the puzzle of muddy bones seems to be puzzle of life, once again your imagery and artistry of words leaves the reader thinking, wtf, but the sense of isolation is palatable, or not, the fact that you burned the wire to the sun suggests that there are no birds singing happy Cohen songs along the way, lol, great poem, Eilis, but genuinely don't have a f*****g scooby about content but the style is always there, lol,

[Eilis]

Ja, it’s a weird one. That’s the theme with my latest poetry, it seems. It’s based on a dream I had over and over of a place falling out if the sky. I guess I was trying to translate the feeling of the dream and mindstate that dreams like that conjure. A sense of being the only person alive with too many unresolved questions.

Thanks for reading, Gram. I like the puzzle of life thing you said. Perhaps that’s the essence of poetry for me.

[Eilis]

That’s meant to be plane falling, not place falling