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My dreams have often inspired stories, songs, and poetry. This has been the case going back to my school days. I was fascinated by dreams as a small child and as years went by I would sometimes write down a record of the dream in some form.
In this post I present a poem that was inspired by a dream I had on Tuesday morning of June 11, 1968. This would be during the summer prior to my senior year in high school. I first wrote down the dream in detail in my dream journal. Then, not long after I had this dream I composed a poem based on this dream which apparently had left a big impression on me at that time.
The poem is filled with surrealistic imagery as one might expect since it has been derived from the surrealism of a dream. Read the poem and see if you can visualize what is being said. Also, look for symbolism in the images and the references that are made.
The Wonderful Bicycle Machine
Prologue at the rear of the old hotel:
Cardboard boxes sank into the quicksand.
Mike said, "666 boxes sink every hour.
(Don't step into the quicksand.)"
The Bicycle Race:
A huge celebration was occurring in town
Over the week-end and during the week--
Fun and games for all to enjoy,
And sports events galore.
I tried my hand in the volleyball game,
But the ball was out of my reach.
So I tried something better--a bicycle race
From here to who knows where.
Waving a flag of yellow and green,
They signaled the start of the race.
I hopped on my wonderful bicycle machine
And pedaled into first place.
Superhighways stretched before me
As far as my eyes could see--
Lay stretched before me
And wound all around me
To where dirigible changes to hearse,
And the story of the FBI is revealed to the nation on television.
I was carried away from the stream of the race
On a nationwide tour by highway.
I did not enter a highway of Volkswagons
On leaving New Jersey.
A sign said city "C" in Maryland.
I headed for city "W"
To carry me back to West Virginia,
Where I would sleep at last.
Epilogue across the street from the old hotel:
I ended up in Gatlinburg,
Which was partly in Nebraska
Til destroyed by the Great Flood of '55,
Making it what it is today.
"I'm glad I'm here; I'm tired," I said,
As I passed by crowds and jewelry stores.
Then Mike reappeared. "You're tired," he said,
"That's what you get for being a smart aleck!"
It surprised me more than Death itself
When Mike joined the crowd that was crossing the street.
Care to hazard a guess as to what this poem (dream) is about? Does the poem clearly portray to you what happened in the dream? Have you written any dream inspired poetry?