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What makes us dreamers? I’m lying here on a Sunday evening searching for a topic to write. I’ve been a hopeless romantic all my life. Was this condition triggered by Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music when I was six-years-old?

I clearly remember watching the entire movie at a drive-in movie. My parents thought I would go to sleep. I sat in that car enthralled. To this day this movie remains one of my favorites.

I suppose I’ve dreamed all my life of someone who would be so loving and kind an genuinely caring. Reality bites, though, doesn’t it? Too often we find our lives get filled with self-interested people who do not desire what’s best for you unless there is something in it for them.

I’ve also wondered why dreaming is at such odds with productivity. In order to forge a dream into reality, productivity is a must. Along these lines, my sister and I cam up with a mini poem. I suppose this mini poem is the catalyst for this post.

Productivity

Focus on one,
Have some fun,
Get it done

I found a ton of productivity by using that small little rhyme as a motivating mantra this past week. In fact, I plan to use it for the foreseeable future as well. I’m also telling all those voices of clutter in my mind to shut up, get in line – single file – and step outside my mind’s door. This way, they may enter one at a time so I can

Focus on one, have some fun, and get it done.

I am tired this day and crave a nap. I do have one task to accomplish today – set up tomorrow’s agenda. The only issue with my new-found productivity is my writing has suffered from lack of time. Writing is intricately involved with my dreams, so I have some planning to do…

The Observation

She skips to me like a little girl with a lollipop
All smiles, obviously yearning for a show of affection.
My heart goes out to the pain she must have suffered
To be so cruelly reliant on a stranger’s attention.

 

I do hate it when poetry slips from my grasp and I am not in tune with that side of me that connects with words. There is an engulfing, ominous cloud that suffers my inner vision to the point I know if I don’t write something soon, I must go mad. Just writing something like that places questions in my heart.

Am I nuts? Will my readers think me nuts? Does it matter either way? What if both of us are right? The day wanes and my thoughts languish in the tired recesses of my creativity. This must be the place of creative flotsam.

Reflections

Life teems all around
All sound and movement and fate.
Shadows cling to corners like thoughts hiding from recognition
Both setting mood and tone to the evening.

Skies melt into lavender evenings,
Sun’s rays quiver and die into mists of gray.
Emotions mime the dying day
Hope more trickle than eternal spring.

Parallels from the world without
Truly claim origin from the world within.
Swirling cacophonies both, with wills unaccountable, and
Desires and dreams chased in madcap reflective mayhem.

 

I’m now off to relax and perchance to dream, having fulfilled my goal of writing something off-the-heart, whether it made sense to anyone else or not. At least the poem makes sense to me in this hour, right?

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