Isla De Los Suenos Malos... (Island Of Bad dreams)

Isla De Los Suenos Malos... (Island Of Bad dreams)

Life on an island,
Late afternoon sun,
Dinner at a sidewalk cafe,
Latin dancing in the streets,
Mission architecture everywhere,
Colorful and beautiful,
A movie crew filming down the street.

High-wire dancing ladies,
Cameras up high on booms,
Rooflines only pictured,
"Psst - why only the roofs?"

"A movie on Global warming, they'll blue-screen the water."
"Won't that be a thousand years from now, that deep?"
"No, a hundred at most, if it keeps going like this."

Wandering home darkness falls,
A six-story apartment house with balconies,
Wide open walls at the ground level,
Looking West waves are coming chest high,
No winds only light warm breezes,
Waves right into the house and rising,
Soaked and shivering climbing stairs,
Fourth floor finally high enough,
Fitful sleep All manage.

Morning comes,
Waves lowered down to first floor now,
Far above the beach now sunken,
No storm - rising water,
Wading to where the beach should be,
Community trying to pile sand to block waves,
Struggling as water washes all away.

Back to the house,
Movie dancers in the air in crystal skirts in the distance,
Giant squid reaching into the house searching prey,
Dodge and walk upland to the air strip.

Small plane very high,
The Earth's curve below,
The land on the map shrunken and sinking in reality below,
Everywhere.

Alarm clock rings.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 05/27/2009

Author's note: My dream last night.

When Summer Comes...

When Summer Comes...  Sun shining brilliant of diamond clarity, On grasses and trees a sea of green, The Rock of my youth turned way up, Windows down on the highway and wind in my hair, Memories of Summer nights dancing noon 'til two, Walking home miles along the river  by starlight, Plastered and exhausted and impatient for another night, Raw motion emotion and music saturated, Wild and light on my feet as lightning, The river still runs there where the festival comes, The night clubs burned down or deserted, Memories of an era of incessant motion, When Rock County was the ruler of dance, Miles by scores and centuries in every golden direction.  AquarianM  By: Daniel A. Stafford (C) 05/19/2009   Words are the mind's bridge - its connection to all the universe. Love is the heart's bridge - its connection to all other souls. Loving words can work miracles. .