Another go at a Golden Shovel…
Dreams
(after Earliest Spring by William Dean Howell)
Dreams be a-tossing,
Hers in his,
Underneath a mussed mane;
A head turned of
Snows
White in
The wildest
locks of curling eddies
And
forgotten tangles
Of a gnarly old lion,
He dreams of her like
A war-weary soldier dreams of his girl back home while on the march;
As she cometh
In
His vision, his voice turns hoarse
Begging her to stay with
Him, yearning for her tempestuous
breath
Upon his lips through
All
The
Moaning
Nights, Her lusty gasps escaping from the chimneys
Into the dark and
humid air, his strangling hand didn’t ‘thwart
Her passions and all
The
Hollows
In heart broken and
Shattered into sharp angles,
That cut through the round
And slice with the
Shuddering
Knives across roofs from house
To house, threatening
The sleep of
Winter
And
Winter’s death.
But,
These youthful dreams in
The wrinkles of my eyes call my
Long gone rigid heart
To awaken and I
Feel
The
Once thriving life
Of
The young wood
And
The
Deflowered meadow,
How thrilling
The
Essence pulses
From there and that
Of one’s own
Kindred
With
All the fibers
That
Vibrate and lift
My lids to see her floral bud
“Oh my!” And
My blade
Rises
To
The
Sun/
To/ward
The east within
the
South’s inscrutable
Shadow
Cast deep
In
The
Oak’s
Roots, where chill
melts my core
And under
The
West’s gathering
Wings to drift.
Nay,
Come back to
Earth’s
Orbit, old man, life
Not yours in
Mine
Some-
One else’s prescience,
Or
Dream
Or
Desire.
But how,
Shall
I
Shake this that I cannot name?
Is it
All wrong or alright?
Memory comes
For
A
Moment
And
Goes,
Dreams rapture
Of
A life
Passed, ineffable,
Once perfect
As
If
A ripened blackberry
In
The
Brier.
Dreams leafless,
There
By
My
Door,
I trembled,
I bled a
Sense
of
Foreboding of the
Naked rose.
Be well,
Monty
Monty’s Blahg 
Innovative use of the lines!
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This one was a bit difficult. But I appreciated the challenge even if the result has some more work to do. Haha.
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