Dreams – KensView

Where Has the American Dream Gone?

Where have all our freedoms gone?
Long time passing
Where have all our freedoms gone?
Long time ago?
Where have all our freedoms gone?
The Boss has snatched them every one
Oh, when will we ever learn?
Oh, when will we ever learn?
Where have all liberties gone?
Where have all the guardrails gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the guardrails gone?
Long time ago?
Where have all the guardrails gone?
They’ve taken our rights every one
Oh, when will we ever learn?
Oh, when will we ever learn?
Where have all privacy gone?
Long time passing
Where have all human rights gone?
Long time ago?
Where will our hopes and dreams go?
They may not ever show
Oh, when will we ever learn?
Oh, when will we ever learn?

Quarter Past

Billowing clouds snuff sun’s last flare;
Day breeze yields to twilight’s fury
Trees shake and swirling leaves fly,
Rain driving, pouring hard and cold.
Towns and farms bolt gates and doors
As children whimper, grownups shudder.
Heralded by heaven’s light, thunder’s crash,
Doc Time is called to dutiful round.
Harbinger of destiny, he practices his craft
On cobblestones made of bone and sweets.
Cries rise more piercing than the wolf’s,
Joy more exultant than a heavenly choir.
Old Aaron parted around midnight;
Reminiscence was born at quarter past.

Lullaby

Beautiful dreamer, dear to my heart
Let your troubles quickly depart
List while I lull thee with soft melody
Beautiful dreamer, sleep there for me

Beautiful dreamer, darling to see
Crickets are chirping in rich harmony
All around fireflies dance in the dark
Waiting to fade out at dawn’s first spark

Beautiful dreamer, precious to me
Starlight and dewdrops now glisten for thee
Sounds of the wide world heard in the day
Lulled by the moonlight have all passed away

Beautiful dreamer, princess of night
Gone be thy cares, rest well tonight
May this sweet slumber fill thee with glee
Beautiful Malala, good night to thee

Going Goodnight…

When night goes knock, knock at our house door,
It’s time to take my toys from the floor.
Although sometimes I make a deep frown,
I soon agree to wind myself down.
Next I get ready to eat my food
To make sure I am in a good mood.
Up the stairs, there are my teeth to brush;
Then comes a warm bath with little rush.
This is followed by comfy bedclothes
That in winter may cover my toes.
Up really close to Mom I huddle,
So I get a very good cuddle.
As she reads with me now under sheet,
Her voice becomes soft and very sweet.
She whispers and bellows as the wind,
And buzz, buzz, buzzes like bees that spin.
One time growling, she’s a big, big bear,
She then purrs like a cat with no care.
Dragons yodel and a castle floats,
With dancing grandpas and smarty goats.
Soon my eyes begin to grow bleary,
And my head gets heavy and weary.
Drifting off gently in my Mom’s arms,
I dream of rainbows and pretty charms.

Some Day

Some day you will detect
That you caught my eye.
Some day you will realize
That on me you can rely.

Some day you will sense
That I am true blue.
Some day you will realize
That all I dream of is you.

Some day you will perceive
That all I do is for us.
Some day you will appreciate
That we together are a plus.

Some day you will discover
That you feel the same.
Some day you will see
That this is no game.

Some day you will accept
What I told you all along.
That very day you will know,
That our love is lifelong.

Beach Hut

An ocean framed in the window,
The sound of surf driven by squalls;
Seagulls hide under the eaves,
Driftwood propping the walls.

Hurricanes swirl and sweep in,
Flood and fury leaving no trace;
But the billet is like a bamboo shoot,
Old blown down, new taking its place.

Small and remote is the beach abode;
Its makeup ever reframed.
Reminders blow toward the shore,
Waxing and waning untamed.

The beachcomber is determined,
His desire deferred but steadfast.
But still tethered to revolving fate,
He dreams his wait will not last.

Sinking Feeling

I’ve been paining, I’ve been straining
To allay the sting of the day.
I’ve been yearning, I’ve been learning
Praying to somehow find a way.
For there’s been too many a morning
When it seemed my dreams were calling,
Wondering whether this could be the one.
But my soul sings out a warning
To my heart when it starts falling
For all the beginnings left undone.

The Watch

At night, I climb the lone path to the promontory
The forest ends, the sky opens
I glance out, my spirit soars
Sea waves wash the feet of wind-combed cliffs

With moonlight for guide
Wisps of predawn mist shuttle across the horizon
The goddess of night seductively beckons
Her company cordially declined

She ascends to her heavenly lair
The black veil lifted
The passage for Apollo’s golden chariot is again assured
Vigilant I stand awaiting news from the far-off east.

Andersonville Cemetery

Outside the gate I regretfully stand
Late at the Andersonville marble field
As the setting sun breaks through the gentle Georgia rain
Petal by petal fall the mournful tears of mothers and children
The wails and cries, the blood and guts
The Sacred bones of young men lying a century long
Are scattered as peach blossoms on a field of stones
Reminders of what should never have been
Iron now blocks me from my brothers
I can only turn and go my way

Peanuts

One day as I was waiting for a job interview, I lapsed into a daydream — I dreamed I was a peanut. I was neither a very big peanut nor a handsome one. I was just a plain, ordinary, happy peanut, not well-off but comfortable in my own way. I was perfectly content to live out my life like any other peanut, waiting in the sun for the day the farmer would grab me up and send me off to be packed and sent to sit for months on some distant shelf. All I would do as I waited was sit down near to the earth and hum a simple tune to pass the time.

Things turned out quite differently for me, however. It so happened that some representatives from Panter’s Peanuts came by and overheard me humming. “Unbelievable!” one shouted, “A humming peanut!” They all dashed over to speak to me. “Where did you learn to hum?” they asked in unison.

I was just about to answer when I was interrupted. “Never mind. We’ll sign you up. Why this is the greatest thing since singing oranges!” (I suddenly remembered the television commercials with the singing sun-kissed orange who skyrocketed to fame from obscurity and had recently gone beyond that and turned to religion crusading against fresh grapefruits.)

Well, I, too, was catapulted into a career. Before I could realize it, I was packed up and heading straight for Honeywood. There I met one of those big-time managers who was to become my very own. I was shaking in my shell. As I came into his presence, I overheard him talking to one of his colleagues; “It’s simply sensational. A stroke of luck. One in a billion, nay in a trillion! The nation’ll love him. He’ll hum his way into the hearts of millions of peanut butter lovers everywhere.”

I was overwhelmed. They were talking about me. We were introduced. “Don’t be nervous, kid,” he said, “We’re your friends. Bet your ma and pa are proud of you. Heh! Heh! At least they will be when we make a star out of you. We’re impressed, nay blown out!”

After reflecting upon the fact that I never had time to call home, I timidly asked what made me so special. “Why, kid, don’t be modest. Modesty’s a bad word in our business. Why you are the only hummin’ peanut in the whole, wide world, including Georgia!” Pantin’ Peanuts been lookin’ hard an’ long for a gimmick, erh, I mean a new sensational, creative promotion to help drive their already burgeoning business up over the hill.”

“But sir, I only hum a few simple tunes, nothing fancy. I’m no Almond brother; and besides, look at me, I’m no Clint Chestnut either.”

“No that’s true, but, oh, that’s all right, kid. We’ve got a great backup band and the makeup men can perform miracles… Let’s get started.”

And off we went. First came the taping sessions and studio performances. Soon came the real thing. There were no more rehearsals. The pace was fast and furious. But the manager was right. It was a success. I became a star overnight. The fan mail went from one letter (a letter from my mom wishing me luck) to thousands. I had to hire three secretaries. The company’s stocks on Walnut Street soared up and up. There was a ticker tape parade in the Big Apple. I launched the first peanut-shaped submarine. Filbert University awarded me an honorary doctorate degree. I even gave a private performance at 1600 Pistachio Avenue.

I used to read a lot of dime novels, you know, the Hazelnut-Acorn novels, about rising from rags to riches and never believed a word. Here I was flyyyyying!!! A real living legend. I was the celebrity. Agents and. fans kept trying to crash down the gates of my villa. They were vying with one another to get an interview, a look, or a chance to rummage through my garbage cans for God knows what.

And the parties, Jumpin’ Joe Nutmeg, they were indeed produced in Honeywood! Creamy Cashews all screamed their darling little hearts out as I crooned a few bars. Every day I was drinking hickory sours out of peanut shells. Every night I had collected so many keys tossed by female admirers I couldn’t find my own. And I didn’t care either. It seemed I had reached so high that I couldn’t get any higher. Incredible!

But then my manager tapped me on the shoulder and exclaimed, “Look, kid, I’ve got the best idea in the whole world. The killer! Remember ol’ Elvis Pretzel. He was a great and popular star when he was young, but the poor kid got a bit pudgy, livin’ so high like he did. He started to take to drugs, bad trips and all that. The sales of his records began droppin’ off. Well, then he croaked, you know, that poor kid. But the amazin’ thing was the sales of his records, souvenirs, memorial tombstones, all that stuff went through the roof. Amazin’ isn’t it. Well, I’ve got this great idea…”

I didn’t stop to hear the rest. I turned and ran and ran and …only to be grabbed by a couple of big hairy coconuts. Before I knew it, I was strapped down in the jaws of a giant nutcracker and those jaws were a closin’!…

The receptionist’s call suddenly woke me: “Sir, Mr. Smith is ready to see you now.” I was in a cold sweat. I stood up and faced the exit. As I passed the receptionist, I handed her a note to give to Mr. Smith. It read “Sorry Charlie,” and I continued on my way.

la aparición

en la serena noche de luna
cuando las rosas concentran su aroma
cruza en silencio una figura desnuda a oscuras
me recuerda los hermosos días
cuando frotan dos almas en un combate amoroso
y todo acaba y es eterno
esperando la aurora para volver a comenzar
no sé cómo buscarte dentro de mí
en medio de la noche me despierta tu sueño
distante y ya no tan próxima
mi pasado se convierta en el su futuro
te alza en brazos, se acerca
tu abrazo en otro abrazo
¿qué pasó? ¿qué hora es?

apparition

on a night serene with moonlight
when roses distill their scent
a figure unclad silently crosses the dark
reminding me of the beautiful days
when two souls wrestled in lovers’ combat
and everything ended and never ended
while waiting for dawn to start all over again
I don’t know how to seek you out inside me
in the night I wake to your dream
distant and no longer as close
my past has become his future
he lifts you up into his arms and closes in
your embrace in another’s embrace
what happened? what time is it?

© 1974, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.

🙂

Butterfly

One of my earliest recollections of childhood was that of a dream, and I remember it quite vividly. I was four going on five. At the time my mother worked half time in the morning and my father full time from four until midnight. I would take a nap from around one to three.

According to my mother, I always wanted to say goodbye to my father before he left for work. I would wake up crying if I realized I had missed the opportunity. In addition, there is something about our practicing Catholic family which impressed a very young me.

I remember one day worrying again that I would miss seeing my father off to work. I told my mother expressly, “Mom, wake me up BEFORE Daddy goes to work.” “Of course, of course, Kenny, I will,” my mother assured me. “Now go to sleep.” I sensed I was drifting off…

A frantic knock on our door startled me up.

Groggy from my slumber, I heard a voice yelling, “Can’t find it!” My mother echoed anxiously, “Can’t find it!?!” “Yes,” a man replied. It was a neighbor.

My mother took me by the hand and led me outside. It seemed very gray and gloomy. The clouds hung down as curtains. There were lots of people there outside with us. They were all looking up.

Floating high in the clouds was Mother Mary. She was just like the image I had seen on my Busia’s prayer card, only very much alive. She boomed, “I have lost a butterfly.” “A butterfly, oh my,” the crowd responded. “Go find it,” she commanded. “Otherwise, there would be no sun.”

The people around looked startled and frightened. “What will we do?” they asked. Then they started looking down the street, behind their houses, looking all around. It was quite frenzied.

After a while, I heard someone call out, “Gene! Gene!” They were pointing at my Daddy. He had suddenly popped out from behind a bush wearing a big grin.

Out from his hand rose a butterfly. I watched it ascend. We all looked up; and Mary, too, was smiling.

The sun came out… and I woke from my nap. My father was still home.

Dreams and Other Realities/Genesis

“Spokoj (be calm), Kennush, so you can have the best dreams,” Busia would often tell me as she tucked me in for naps while my parents were off working.

Dreams have always been important to me. They have served as regurgitations, amplifications, and sources of insight. My dreams have occasionally been predictive. But mostly, they have been imaginative grist and launching points for ruminations about personal experiences and reactions to events and the world at large, a sort of expressive impressionism.

“I dream of painting and then I paint my dream.” Vincent Van Gogh