Wednesday, 18 July 2012

Shadow Dreams - Features - 12/07/2012

Many of PPM’s features deal with dreams, and this is largely because the poetry and art that is submitted to our gallery demonstrates a continued curiosity and exploration of them. I almost hesitated to do another feature on dreams, but as I strolled our galleries, my fascination with the dream-filled courage, angst, determination, ambition, and angles of perception that were discernible won my undivided attention. I hope you, too, will enjoy this continued exploration when viewed from another unique perspective.

Dreams are hopes deferred. They are something that is often perceived as nothing more than a shadow reflection, an ungraspable, fluid form that shifts out of focus the moment you simply shift your weight from one foot to the other. But there is so much more to dreams than meets the (often impatient) eye. Dreams are often the fuel that moves everything forward in a day. They are motivational. The type of dreams that form an individual—mold her entire life’s journey—are more than little fantasies. They are deep-rooted ideas, desires, visions, promises of things to come. The shadow of a dream is the very thing that projects into the future, stepping before the individual. Separate the shadow from the dream and it cannot sustain itself. Waiting for dreams to become a reality can feel like torture, like they may never come to pass. And some do not reach full fruition; they die or step aside so others can become a potential reality. Regardless of where one sustains or another fades, fulfilling dreams enhances life experiences just as those that are not carried out do—each in their respective right. Yet, no matter how many dreams ripen into reality, there are always more hanging in the balances.

Some of PPM’s most inspiring art and poetry capture the essence of such dream realms and their psychological landscapes. This collection is a small example of some of the more recent submissions that evoke the emotional energies of dreams and this concept of deferred hopes.


The kind of dreams that outline a lifetime are so much more than the ones plotted out in fairy tales, that’s for sure.

Fairy Tales Are Lies by © Sybille Sterk
out of sync and out of step
not just on a different page
but in a different book altogether
I skip and hop and drag myself
through day after purple day
waiting for raspberry sorbet
to paint my grey skies blue
with pretty fluffy clouds
but once upon a time
always precludes that one big lie,
happily ever after never happened
leaving me high and dry
with unanswerable questions
how will I find my way
through the deep dark wood
who will kiss me awake
when I sleep for a year?

the yellow brick road
is grey tarmac after all
guts and bravery
gets you through today
there may be a light
at the end of the tunnel
but it’s too far away
to even make out a horizon
because there’s a big black hole
that swallowed me
guts and garters and all
stuck behind the teeth of
I told you so and
I wish I’d known
how will I find my way
through the deep dark wood
who will kiss me awake
when I sleep for a year?

that’s not life and that’s not living
that’s just one day after yet another
throw me a line
a few words will do
a light, a match, a candle
a song, a dance, a laugh
a smile just for me

to know that
just maybe
there’s a happy end
to a bad beginning.

For the moments your dreams appear to be playing out in someone else’s reality.

My song by © dmcart

Strange hands
are trying to play my song…
…dead hands…
with the color of death
the smell of death
the sound of death…
It is my song!
Do not touch it…
I will play it
bad or not…
I want to know
how it sounds
by myself…

For the moments you feel as invisible as those deferred dreams…

You never even knew I was there by © strawberries

There will be moments dreams will feel invisible, non-existent. Perhaps they need to be twisted in the light so they can be seen in renewed ways.

Pas Seul by © RC deWinter
The spotlight is harsh sunshine on my skin
as I stand, encased in satin, silk and tulle.
My shoes, well-rosined, laced around my ankles,
glisten with the burgundy beauty of blood.
My hair, wrapped sleekly round my skull,
adorned with rubies the shade of pigeon’s blood,
shines like a sterling silver helmet.
I bend, all submissive grace, to an invisible partner,
and, standing,
parting lips glacéed with the blood of cherries,
raise my arms and cry to heaven,
“I’m here! You called; I came. You promised. Where is he?”
No answer comes.
So, sur les pointes, arms crossed to keep my balance,
spinning round and round and round,
my eyes bleed tears as I survey the blackness
beyond the spotlight.
And, although your presence permeates
the silence of the shadows
I see nothing.
But you, cat’s eyes hidden ‘neath a mask, can see me,
I know,
as I dance, alone, for you.

Sometimes, in order to even understand the root of your dreams, you must learn to connect with the inner voice—the one infused with heritage and the wisdom of your ancestors.

Tribal voice by © Tatjana Ulbutova

There’s a time for everything, which includes a time to walk away from the illusion of a dream.

Time by © Sukhwinder Flora
The world is run by suits and ties
You know you cannot thrive
In the offices that frame you
That pay you
In places like this
There’s no higher purpose
There’s no me or you
There are numbers
And marching feet
There are instructions
And following orders
There are us and them
And boxes to tick
Deadlines to meet
Audits to complete
Applications to fill
There are the ones in charge
The ones below
The ones who are there
But don’t exist
Our complex form
Of survival perhaps
Things could be different
If empathy was a virus
There’s corporate crap
And rent to pay
A wage to receive
So there’s food to eat
And people to greet
There’s a mind to feed
And to keep sane
But no time to read
No time for games
There’s a heart to fix
A god to find
A soul to resurrect
With coffee at 8
There’s love to make
A family to create
Before the clock ticks away
There’s job to quit
Habits to break
A past to heal
A smile to fake
A friend to hug
There’s truth to see
And beauty to feel
There’s the chaos
Of all this and more
And a giving heart that’s crushed by concrete towers
There’s a rhyme to remember
A line to quote
There are hours to count
A time to dance
A time to sing
A time to play
Time with the ones we love
There are dreams to walk
And paths unpaved
There’s hope
No matter how small

Your individual dreams—from their first budding ’til their moment of full bloom—will sometimes draw you into isolation.

Lonely Game by © Janice Zroback

There will come a time when a shift in dream perspective is inevitable.

The challenge of sentience by © su2anne
Birthing of
Change is
Labour… It is
Hard … It is
Arduous and
Challenging… but
Without this
Discomfort it
Would be too
Easy for
Status quo to
Remain… Neither
Going forward or
Returning… the
Constancy of
Change is the
Evolution of
Self… It is the
Gift bestowed… it is
Self-awareness… It
Must not be
Squandered through
Fear or
Neglect… So
When you’re at your
Wits end
Drowning in the
Depths of
I beseech you to have an
“A ha moment;” For the
Surface is just above.
Resolve to have a
Last push and you will
Arrive to
Where you
Need to be…

The silence that exists at the core of the waiting game can feel suffocating.

I Weave a Silence by © Glitterfest

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life. ~Bible Proverb

Rondeau by © Sandra
With not a sigh a tear or care
In gentle arms of midnight dare
Where dreams of wildest breeze elope
Roams twilight’s bless of softly hope
Toward an acquiesce of share
Warm snuggle now in cashmere bare
Suggestive of their sweet affair
A passion dance of thrill devote
With not a sigh
Tho drawn a more attentive pair
His smoulder deep, her raven hair
A love explored of wordly cope
For love there is no antidote
In mingle destiny’s somewhere
With not a sigh

Sometimes, more than anything else, simply believing in a dream is the largest challenge.

I can do it by © Maree Carndinale

The reward for patience, for the determination to see things through, for the courage to keep at it no matter how hopeless things may appear? Only the fullness of time can tell.

In the Fullness of Time by © Kanchan Mahon

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