The entrance  opens to the  hall of dreams

I wrote this in November but I reproduce it as it relates to my post about Dreams



This photo is by Mike Flemming 2020 copyright


Enlightened by  the    feel of  soft sunbeams
Knowing it is  stronger to sit still
The entrance  opens to the  hall of dreams

The eye grows wide. our vision   limpid leans
Until our  reverie has   got its fill 
The mind’s intentions and its wandering schemes

Warnings come in nightmares, how to heed?
The pain grows stronger like a workman’s drill
The pathway   leads to far more fearsome dreams

Are we  puppets strangling on our leads?
Who ‘s the master, who  must pay the bill,
Receive the mind’s intentions and its schemes?

High and low  let interact  and  tell
How  to find our way  and what   to kill
The entrance  opens to world of dreams
The mind’s intentions, its mutating schemes

Our dreams are the last wilderness

silhouette of tree during golden hour
Photo by Artem Beliaikin on

You need a subscription to read all of the review below



The Last Wilderness

Private Myths: Dreams and Dreaming

by Anthony Stevens
Harvard University Press, 385 pp., $15.95 (paper)



We must heed Liam Hudson’s (1985) warning that dreams are our “last wilderness,” to be protected with the same fervour as the rain forests, the ozone layer, and the whale. As the only natural oases of spiritual vitality left to us, dreams are among our most precious possessions and we must stand up to those who would diminish the value that we place on them.


The shades of green, the sun the wind ,the gods

Image by Mike Flemming 2020 copyright

So my copse has  ripened to a wood
How many living creatures dwell within?
The shades of green, the sunshine, and  the Good

Once we  had three apple trees,a glut
Today, too old to fruit, they stand there still
My copse has turned into a  little wood

Neighbours  hint that I get  my trees cut
Yet these leaves of green make my heart full
The shades of green, the sun the wind ,the gods

Once we read there was a total Flood
Now we have the bush fires and their will
Still, my copse has turned into a wood

Trees have their green sap where we have blood
They will never wound,  will never kill
The shades of green, the sun the wind ,the gods

Just like Eve and Adam we may sin
The maple waves away my mental pain
My copse has turned into my private wood
The shades of green,  the long path, come my Love.