Writes With Pencils

fiction, memoir, essays and poetry

Tag: Dream

Bookmark Quote #122



When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look, Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep.

-W. B. Yeats

Read the story of 1000 Bookmarks.

Painted Desert


On the road
the colors of the landscape
come not only from
the shades of budding prairie,
morning light on frosted boughs,
and glowing rays cresting the horizon.

The palette is most vivid
in the illuminated faces
of strangers as they paint their lives
in hues of daily struggle
for subsistence or abundance,
superficial or profound.

In the desert
where the tired eye
sees only sand and dried up dreams,
for the eccentric, weird, and quirky
there is sky enough to breathe
and old hippies can roam free.

Mysteries of Suicide #1


Last night I dreamt
of guns and bullets,
but this time
I held the pistol
and my finger
pulled the trigger.

It was fully loaded
when I picked it up.
Ten bullets,
each in its own place,
all neatly arranged
and ready to fire.

In my novice hand
it was weighty,
dangerous, and lethal
exactly as I had imagined
and always feared,
but I felt nothing.

On the wall was a page
of my own writing:
hung at the height
of a crucifix
above a doorway.

I looked up at it
and aimed.
My right arm outstretched,
my eyes focused
along its length,
and fired.

The first bullet struck
to the right of the page
the second, third and fourth
shredded words and lines;
the fifth through ninth
made lace of my prose.

When I pulled the trigger
for the tenth time
there was only a click.
I finally exhaled
realizing then
I’d been holding my breath.

I lowered my arm
relieved, but no closer
to understanding
why out of ten
he’d been found
with seven unfired.

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