Dreams

--Cherie Jordan
_____________________________________



              I wandered through a daydream
              A million wishes long
              Picking pockets full of promises
              Filling buckets full of song.
              I listened to birds of hopefulness
              As they soared along the breeze.
              The wind sighed soft serenity
              As it wove contentment 'mongst the trees.
              The sun shone love and laughter.
              The clouds brought showers of mirth.
              A rainbow of bright beginnings
              Arched high above the earth.
              Then night crept in to tuck me in
              To sleep's loving lullabies.
              The moon dropped silver kisses
              To close my tired eyes.
              The golden dreams of daytime
              Faded in twilight's purple haze.
              Shadows crept into my mind
              Giving shape to night's dream world maze.
              I stumble through strange nightmares
              In search of broken dreams.
              Down darkened twisting hallways
              Nothing quite the way it seems.
              My soul in search of answers.
              My mind awhirl with doubt
              Steeped in silent hopelessness
              Longing to cry out.
              The shadows slowly soften
              Fade to silver tinted webs
              The lonely fearful dream world
              Recedes as night time ebbs.
              The golden hope of morning
              Filters in with dawn's soft kiss
              Feather light on sleeping eyes
              Dispelling somber mist.
              I lock away night's doubts and fears
              As I wake to greet the morn.
              Smiling, rise, to find a fresh
              Daydream waiting to be born.

________________________________________

Jabberwocky



--Lewis Carroll (Charles Lutwidge Dodgson)


______________________________________


'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought--
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One two! One two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.



___________________________________
An untitled poem by Cherie Jordan
_____________________________________

 
I dare not dream
Lest I believe 
In rainbow skies that paint my days
In purple seas and violet haze
Of silver shadows on the moon
And diamond dusted suns at noon
I dare not dream
I dare not dream
I dare not dream sweet dreams.
 
I can not hope
For hopes will fade
As twilight yields to velvet night
Then night gives way to morning's light.
A shooting star streaks cross the sky
A moment's promise then to die.
I can not hope 
I can not hope
I can not hope to dream.
 
I shall but wait 
For change may come
The planets trek on winding trails
Through crystal stars and comets' tails.
The tides roll in and kiss the shore
Then receding out once more
Sculpting tidal pool and dune
Beneath an ever changing moon.
I shall but wait
I shall but wait
I shall but wait to dream.







WELCOME TO THE AMERICAN NIGHT


--Jim Morrison
_____________________________________


Welcome to the American Night
where dogs bite
to find the voice
     the face the fate the fame
to be tamed
     by The Night
in a quiet soft luxuriant
                      car
Hitchhikers line the Great Highway


_______________________________________


untitled

---by  Cherie Jordan-----


As I wandered all alone
Through fields of sunlit grain,
The colors shimmered in the air
Fresh washed by summer rain.

A flash of blue that matched the sky
Floated, danced before my eye.
Smiling, I stretched out my hand.
I watched it hover, then it land,
This wondrous butterfly.

I felt the magic of its touch
Fill my battered heart and mind
With peace one rarely ever knows
And most only hope to find.

The moment passed and it took flight.
I watched 'til it was lost from sight.
My heart remembers still how it felt
For the ice of loneliness to melt



________________________________________

I Hear an Army


James Joyce
-----------

I HEAR an army charging upon the land,
And the thunder of horses plunging, foam about their knees:
Arrogant, in black armour, behind them stand,
Disdaining the reins, with fluttering whips, the charioteers.
              
They cry unto the night their battle-name:
I moan in sleep when I hear afar their whirling laughter.
They cleave the gloom of dreams, a blinding flame,
Clanging, clanging upon the heart as upon an anvil.
              
They come shaking in triumph their long, green hair:
They come out of the sea and run shouting by the shore.
My heart, have you no wisdom thus to despair?
My love, my love, my love, why have you left me alone?
                                                       






THE ROAD NOT TAKEN


--Robert Frost (1874-1963) in "The Mountain Interval"
----------------------------------

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence: 
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.




STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING 


--Robert Frost
___________________________________

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep. 




DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT


--By Dylan Thomas
_____________________________________________________


Do not go gentle into that good night, 
Old age should burn and rave at close of day; 
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right, 
Because their words had forked no lightning they 
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright 
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, 
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, 
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, 
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight 
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, 
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height, 
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray. 

Do not go gentle into that good night. 
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


______________________________________________________



The Yarn of the "Nancy Bell" 



-- W. S. Gilbert


'TWAS on the shores that round our coast
From Deal to Ramsgate span,
That I found alone on a piece of stone
An elderly naval man.

His hair was weedy, his beard was long,
And weedy and long was he,
And I heard this wight on the shore recite,
In a singular minor key:

"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the NANCY brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig."

And he shook his fists and he tore his hair,
Till I really felt afraid,
For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking,
And so I simply said:

"Oh, elderly man, it's little I know
Of the duties of men of the sea,
And I'll eat my hand if I understand
However you can be

"At once a cook, and a captain bold,
And the mate of the NANCY brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig."

Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which
Is a trick all seamen larn,
And having got rid of a thumping quid,
He spun this painful yarn:

"'Twas in the good ship NANCY BELL
That we sailed to the Indian Sea,
And there on a reef we come to grief,
Which has often occurred to me.

"And pretty nigh all the crew was drowned
(There was seventy-seven o' soul),
And only ten of the NANCY'S men
Said 'Here!' to the muster-roll.

"There was me and the cook and the captain bold,
And the mate of the NANCY brig,
And the bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig.

"For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink,
Till a-hungry we did feel,
So we drawed a lot, and, accordin' shot
The captain for our meal.

"The next lot fell to the NANCY'S mate,
And a delicate dish he made;
Then our appetite with the midshipmite
We seven survivors stayed.

"And then we murdered the bo'sun tight,
And he much resembled pig;
Then we wittled free, did the cook and me,
On the crew of the captain's gig.

"Then only the cook and me was left,
And the delicate question, 'Which
Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose,
And we argued it out as sich.

"For I loved that cook as a brother, I did,
And the cook he worshipped me;
But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed
In the other chap's hold, you see.

"'I'll be eat if you dines off me,' says TOM;
'Yes, that,' says I, 'you'll be, -
'I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I;
And 'Exactly so,' quoth he.

"Says he, 'Dear JAMES, to murder me
Were a foolish thing to do,
For don't you see that you can't cook ME,
While I can - and will - cook YOU!'

"So he boils the water, and takes the salt
And the pepper in portions true
(Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot.
And some sage and parsley too.

"'Come here,' says he, with a proper pride,
Which his smiling features tell,
''T will soothing be if I let you see
How extremely nice you'll smell.'

"And he stirred it round and round and round,
And he sniffed at the foaming froth;
When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals
In the scum of the boiling broth.

"And I eat that cook in a week or less,
And - as I eating be
The last of his chops, why, I almost drops,
For a wessel in sight I see!

* * * *

"And I never larf, and I never smile,
And I never lark nor play,
But sit and croak, and a single joke
I have - which is to say:

"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the NANCY brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig!'"


_________________________________________________
    
THE CREMATION OF SAM MCGEE


--Robert W. Service
_________________________________________________

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, 
where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 
'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold 
seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way 
that "he'd sooner live in hell."

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way 
over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! Through the parka's fold 
it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze 
till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one 
to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight 
in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead 
were dancing heel and toe.
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, 
"I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you 
won't refuse my last request."

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; 
                                
then he says with a sort of moan;
"It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold till 
                                        
I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'taint being dead - it's my awful dread 
of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, 
you'll cremate my last remains."

A pal's last need is a thing to heed, 
so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; 
but God! He looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved 
all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all 
that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of 
death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't 
get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed 
to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you 
to cremate these last remains."

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the 
trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, 
in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, 
while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows - 
O God! How I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to 
heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent 
and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad,
 but I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, 
and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, 
and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a 
trice it was called the "Alice May."
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, 
and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here," said I with a sudden cry, 
"is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, 
and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, 
and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace 
roared - such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, 
and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to 
hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies 
howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled 
down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went 
streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled 
with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about 
ere again I ventured near:
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: 
"I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked
"... then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, 
in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, 
and he said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll 
let in the cold and storm -
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's 
the first time I've been warm."


There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,

But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.