by Anton Wills-Eve
Ah! a chance to ramble in aphasia and still be sane.
To sleep, perchance to wake up with cramp or the ageing need to use the loo. And it is still only about half past two in the morning. Still, I think I shall take a pill. One of those strong one’s that won’t let me stir. Six hours of solid snoring through, what wonders for such a span of time will my mind prepare?
First I saw that I was very handsome, was it really me? Well the beauties chasing after me seemed to think so, and oh the pleasure I would get to know when they descended on my bed. But half-life is not like that; as the first girl who sat beside me was squat and fat.
Toothless she grinned saying “Ullo, dearie.” My soul was clean but so uneasy. In fantasy it had wanted to play with fire, and satisfy its lustful desire. But we all know dreams are not so accommodating, they twist and turn and leave us waiting for all we want to appear before us while asleep. This must be lest awake we might sin, you cannot do that when your will’s not plugged in, for God only punishes sinners who know what they are doing.
Then my mind took a bellicose turn, and sword in hand, I confronted a fearsome cut throat band of desperadoes with one aim, to cut me down and expunge my name from the list of people their kingdom feared. A jungle of sorts, with temples and palm trees then appeared, surrounding me and the band all cleared. Wandering through falling fruit as my uncontrolled mind, asleep in a waking world, went on its unreasonable yet exciting way. Next I was invited to play a piano concerto , an orchestra was there already and the conductor beckoned with his baton. I asked what he wanted me to play, Mozart number 21 was what he said but the noise from the orchestra filled me with dread, and the piano keys numbered three hundred and four. But The cut throats returned and to loud applause I bowed and returned to my earlier dream
This time a fair beauty with lips like peaches and cream, have you ever tasted them even in a dream? They were lovely , but melted as she then melted all over me, and the pills ceased working as I rose for a pee.
Two hours more sleep I had had, some good and some bad. But none of it memorable or if it was, I have no recall and think that such dreams are far from what I expected at all. So disconnected, and the book that had fallen on the floor, with the light still on just by the door, was entitled “How to write poetry when you are asleep”.
Time for my alarm by the bed to bleep. The stupid thing thinks I’m still asleep!