Are up there--on high
To reach them
We must learn to fly.
What is a dream--
Escape from reality?
Antidote to reality?
Alternative to reality?
Or a path to reality?
Dreams are fine while they last,
But with time, must become real
Or fade into the past.
In the Clouds
Her head is in the cloud,
Don't listen to her,
It's just fantasy.
Think of who she
Might grow up to be!
Climb to the Cloud
If you climb the bean stalk ,
You might reach the sky,
Or you might not,
But it’s worth a try.
A castle you might see
With its drawbridge down,
But watch out for the moat,
You don’t want to drown!
And when you see the gate
There’ll be a dragon there,
But do not be afraid,
Be brave enough to dare.
And if you can’t get
Past the dragon’s glare,
Do not give up yet,
Do not despair.
It was not in vain,
You can always climb down
The beanstalk again
And get a job in town,
And then perhaps one day
You will again decide
To climb that ol’ beanstalk,
But if not, at least you tried.
For you had a dream
And though it may remain
Just a memory, a gleam,
One day you may climb again.
Idealists are our glorious misfits
They disparage the real and nurture the ideal,
Self-appointed critics of that which is, and
Self-anointed prophets of that which should be.
Their ranks are swelled by the physically wanting,
By the physically maimed and psychologically scarred,
By dreamer poets and other-world philosophers,
By disenchanted intellectuals,
A motley lot, culture's leaven!
The realist: the road of actuality leads to life,
The romantic: the road of dreams leads to bliss,
The moralist: the road of virtue leads to heaven,
The hedonist: the road of pleasure leads to satisfaction,
The skeptic: the road of belief leads to disbelief,
The agnostic: the road of know not leads to wise detachment
The cynic: the road of selfishness is the road of life,
The nihilist: the road to anywhere leads nowhere!
Romantics are the disenchanted,
Discontent for whatever reason,
Dreams of one sort or another,
Seekers of truth of whatever kind,
All aspiring to something better,
And all too often to little avail!
Sad But True
Truth is our torment.
Delusion, our refuge.
The good is challenging,
We tout nobility,
Wallow in wretchedness.
We extol love,
We preach peace,
Indulge in war.
We worship God,
Follow the devil.
Heaven is a dream,
Earth, our reality!
We are all harnessed and hitched.
Harnessed by our needs,
Hitched by society's demands,
And left only to dream!
Humans cannot live by bread alone, illusions are necessary.
Idealism is a frail defense against threatening bestiality.
Dreams are wings, expectations are burdens.
A dream unsown does not grow.
There are dreamers,
There are thinkers,
There are doers.
And a fortunate few are all three.
Once there was a little cloud. She was fluffy and white and oh, so little. The wind blew her here and there and she could do nothing about it.
People on Earth looked up to the sky and exclaimed, “What a pretty little cloud!” That made Little Cloud feel good. But she wanted more.
“I am lonely,” she said to herself one day. “I want to be with other clouds. And I want to be someone, not just a pretty little cloud.”
So she puffed herself up as well as she could and tried to find the tradewinds that would blow her far and wide. Finally, she came to a large number of clouds. They were grouping together.
“Hello,” said Little Cloud timidly. “What are you doing? May I join you?”
“Of course,” they answered. They didn’t seem to care that she was so little. “We are getting together to make a storm.”
The clouds massed closer and closer and soon they were one large gray cloud. Little Cloud joined in on the edge. Soon the water in the clouds became too heavy and began to fall. The wind blew. The people on Earth looked up and said, “Watch out, a storm is coming.” And they all ran inside.
“That was fun,” Little Cloud said when the storm was over. “What is next?”
But already the other clouds were breaking apart and moving on.
“Wait!” Little Cloud called. But the other clouds had all left.
So Little Cloud drifted on until she found another group of clouds. This one was larger and darker. They towered, with the larger clouds on the bottom and the smaller ones on top. Little Cloud drifted to the very top of the thunderhead and tried to hang on.
The wind blew fiercely. The clouds crashed together with a large noise, creating sparks. It was a full thunderstorm.
Little Cloud was afraid, but she hung on. She was glad when the storm was over.
“That was exciting,” she told herself. “But now I am tired. I think I’ll just be myself for a while.”
So she drifted off into the blue sky, where there were only a few white clouds such as herself. And she smiled when the people came out of their houses to say, “Oh, the storm is over. Just look at that pretty little white cloud.”
Little Cloud didn’t mind being little and alone anymore. She drifted through the sky quite content. But every once in awhile, she decided she needed some company and some excitement. Then she would find a mass of clouds and join them for a good storm.
Travel to the iCloud
Once there was a young woman who was just starting out in life. She found herself a good job that paid well, and she applied herself diligently. Her bosses praised her work and she was content.
But that contentment did not last. After a few months, the hard work became routine drudgery. The woman felt she was doing the same tasks day after day. It became so routine, she could do the work half asleep.
“This is easy for me,” she thought, “but it is not what I want. I want to keep learning, I want to be challenged.”
The young woman suddenly felt sleepy. Her computer was updating and she could do not work anyway. So she put her head down on her laptop and fell asleep immediately. She didn’t see the icon that popped up on her screen: Sign in to iCloud.
The woman found herself in a cloud. She was surrounded by a shimmering white, that felt both calming and stimulating. Misty wisps swirled around her. As she becamse oriented, she realized that these wisps were ideas, droplets of information and wisdom.
The woman was excited. Here, finally, was a place where she could think and dream, a place to create. She eagerly drank in the mist, picking up snippets of knowledge in all fields. Her mind began to swirl with ideas, new ways of doing things, writing projects…
After a few hours of this, the woman’s brain was full, so full she felt it might explode.
“This was wonderful,” she told herself. “All this knowledge, all these facts, all these concepts. But it is all so disorganized. There is simply too much. I cannot absorb it all in one trip. I must go back to Earth and organize my thoughts now to create new ideas of my own from all I have learned here.”
So saying, she reluctantly pushed her way out of the white misty cloud until she could see sunlight. She caught a sunbeam and slid back down to Earth.
And when she reached her desk, the computer had finished updating. She signed out of iCloud, opened a new document and began a new project. No longer dull, out of her daily routine, she outlined a new concept for her company, a creative solution to a problem that had been presented in the last meeting. A solution born of her visit to the cloud.
composed on the Richmond Bay shoreline
still unsung and unrecorded due to "technical" difficulties
I have a song unsung
Ne'er yet from me wrung,
A story to be told
Before I grow too old.
Instead I walk along
The shore to sing my song,
To the wind that blows my
Words scattered to the sky.
Now but whispers and sighs,
Private thoughts, feeble tries.
And I walk mute, alone,
Stories and poems unsown.
On the shore by the Bay
At this close of day.
I have a dream unsown,
Never to be known,
Dreamed only in the night,
Backlit by dim starlight.
And I walk down the street
To my lonely heartbeat,
Keep my thoughts tight inside
And wear a mask outside.
I work and talk and play
In the sun glare of day,
As if without a care,
As if I belong there.
But dreaming in the night,
My path lit by starlight.