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Dreams: Poems for Dreamers

Poems for Dreamers

Until (if ever) there is a real Haven for Dreamers, I hope this blog will serve as a virtual haven for dreamers, and for those who do find their way here, I offer these poems of camaraderie…


Dreams are such diaphanous things:
they fly on fast electrical wings
in the fluid flux of our minds.
Dreams are such an ephemeral kind;
they blossom, grow, and then unwind,
and sublimate into the air.
Dreams are made of various stuff:
with feathers, scales, or golden hair,
and moonbeams, cobwebs, and fluff.
Dreams are like scintillant rings,
like thunderflash or wild wind noise,
or like a star that gently sings.
But dreams are cold and empty toys
when no one else will share their joys.
Help me make my dreams come true,
and I’ll share them all,
each one,
with you.


I don’t know just what I am
or how I got this way.
All I know is, there’s this dream
that haunts me day by day.
When I was young I felt too old,
now when I’m grown I feel too young.
I just can’t seem to get control
and my dream has just begun.
The world is just too real for me,
and there’s too much dream in me
for this world.
I don’t work hard enough
to achieve success,
except in ways and by means
too foolish and too frail.
I am just a little child
playing with my toys
because they’re like my dreams.
I wish I knew what it could mean
but my mind just keeps going
and when I try to make it stop and
it just falls —
even when I slow it down —
it falls —
’cause without its wings
it falls

I Stopped

I stopped to watch
a fly
buzz by,
and up and down and ’round.
When I should have attended to something of great importance,
I watched a fly,
and did not learn
the great important thing,
and all to see a fly.
Why a fly?
Not worth the loss of anything,
so small — not much of anything,
too small to be worth notice —
too big to be infinity —
it was just a fly,
but I watched it anyway.
I don’t know why.

I Believe there Is Magic

I believe that there is magic
in a thousand twinkling stars.
There is something very magic
in the sailing of the moon
as it journeys silently afar.
On its face are many scars
which become an ancient rune.
Or be ensnared —
for there is magic.

I believe that there is magic
in the morn, before the sun
rises up and wakes the magic
in the sparkling of the dew.
When the light has not begun
its day-journey to have run,
when the lark is singing, too,
have no fear, you’re truly here,
and it is magic.

I believe that there is magic
in the smile upon the face
of each child, who meets with magic
each moment of each day,
wrapped in joy like shining lace
through which playfully they race.
If you ask them, they might say,
“I don’t know…
it COULD be so…

The Changeling’s Song

Have you ever seen a rainbow
that is a circle ’round the sun?
Have you ever felt a feeling
that makes you shiver,
but has no name?
Have you ever started to cry,
and then have to wonder why?
Have you ever felt that you
were the last and only member
of a race that never was
and never will be?
Do you really feel you know
just who and what I am?
Are you trying to understand?
I know I am.

When the Wind Blows

When the wind blows, does it murmur
soft secrets in your ear?
When the moon shines full and clear
and lonely
‘midst the pure and shining stars,
does something deep inside of you
call out to it with sympathy in a
haunting song without words?
Did you ever feel your heart would break
just thinking of the painful beauty and
the beautiful pain of life?
Does your soul sing with soaring birds, and sun, and rain, and mud?

Life Magic

In the times of Spring,
When the showers pour,
And the thunders roar,
Hold fast to life.

Search through damp woods
Until, beyond man’s call,
You find a sapling tall,
And greener far than all.

Then tenderly, with love,
Re-plant this tree beside
A stream’s snow-swollen tide.
Hold onto your tree,
And with it there abide.

In the times of Summer,
When the sun is strong,
And life is strong,
Hold fast to life.

Watch the firework fun,
And laugh in the blazing sun.
Look! The comets run
A blazing circuit ’round the sun.

Follow the rocket’s trail
Enfold the sunbeam frail,
Reach forth, and up,
Hold the comet’s tail,
And with it swiftly sail.

In the times of Fall,
When nature, tired, reclines,
And something deep repines,
Hold fast to life.

Search through dry woods
Of gold, and crimson bold.
Look till you find
A staff both strong and old.

And with that gnarled limb,
Climb over every hill,
Stride through every dale,
Ascend the highest hill —
Stand, grip firm that ancient limb.

In the times of Winter,
When life is cold and still,
And blizzards rage at will,
Hold fast to life.

Walk through towering drifts of snow,
Hear and feel the west wind blow,
And the north wind, freezing cold.
See the sky through a frozen water flow.

Grasp the icy wand,
And wave it ‘midst the stars.
Plant it in purest light,
And climb past comets bright.
Grip fast your crystal wand.

And when your story’s told,
When you are more than old,

The tree you climbed so high,
Comets you sailed beyond the sky,
Hills of Time you walked of old,
Stars you climbed to, strong and bold,

The way you
Held to
Eternal life,
Ending, even
Now held

To Fly

You have to have the patience
of the butterfly,
Drying its wings in the sun.
You have to have the drive
of the bumblebee,
Whose work is never done.
You have to have the spirit
of the phoenix,
Who feels the fire, and does not run.

You need the happiness
of the meadowlark,
That sings in the dewy morn.
You need the energy
of the hummingbird,
That never feels tired or worn.
You have to have the spirit
of the phoenix,
That burns before it’s born.

If you want to make an ancient dream
come true,
If you feel the call to sail
the upper blue,
If you need to know just what’s
inside of you,

Dream the dreams of the albatross,
Soaring from sky to sky;
Feel the courage of the young eagle,
Spread your wings,
don’t be afraid to try!
And just like the shining phoenix,
Rise from your ashes,
And never say die!

For when all this is a part of you,

A Friend’s Care

Sometimes things don’t go right.
Sometimes they don’t go right at all.
Sometimes everything seems to go wrong.
Sometimes you lose the fight.
Sometimes you feel so small.
Sometimes you can’t be strong.

Even dreams die, sometimes.

But dreams can live again.
Sometimes you just need a friend,
Someone to get you to the rainbow’s end,
Somebody to mow your lawn,
Some kindred soul to stay with you till dawn,
Some neighbor to share a rainy day,
Some guide to point you to another way.

And sometimes for me that someone is you.


(Introductory poem, written at the Matheny School in Peapack, NJ, for children with certain disabilities)

I’m new here,
but I hope we can be friends.
Before our time together ends,
I’d like to touch your mind
and heart,
and I’m sure that you will find we really can be friends
if we both will do our part.
I’m different,
but I think it’s great that way.
I learn so much each day
from you,
that in the time I’ve spent
with you,
I’ve grown to care about you, and I really want to help you,
and learn how much I’m like you.
It’s time for me to go.
I’m going to miss you so …!

But first you have to know
that now I realize
I can see within your eyes
someone a lot like me,
and it’s been great to be with you.
I never will forget
the person that I’ve met
who hides behind your face.
You’re not from Outer Space,
like beyond the Milky Way,
I know,
and I’m glad I’ve learned it’s so
before I had to say

I was born in 1960, raised in a family of fundamentalist Christians (I accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior as a child). A bookworm, dreamer, and nerd, I loved my faith and also science, fantasy, imagination, creativity — I could never settle on who I was and what I wanted to do, and never seemed to fit in anywhere. The Musement Park is meant to be as close as possible to a theme park on the planet I seemed to come from.

One thought on “Dreams: Poems for Dreamers”

  1. I love these poems. I may post some of my own. I hope that I am one of those who help you through the tough times.

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