Poem #139 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction

in his sleep
he flared a match
then set alight
the wick
of a beeswax candle

in the quiet night
he wandered the hall

every room he passed
into movement
and colour

psychodrama enacted
as the flicker from his taper


a flight
astride the eagle

the desert
and the sky

the sound of metal struck
by a shovel
at the bottom of an excavation

he walked on by
inspecting scenarios


more scenarios

he walked on by
at any time
to be halted

ready any time
to receive the call

of the right

© Frank Prem 2018

Bachelard and me Poem #140: arrow the air

2 thoughts on “selection

  1. Enigmatic and mysterious, really drew me to read it several times. Dreams we choose, do we supply the light and is there anything without that light? Plays on a stage, dreams ,and the real world. Thought provoking poetry, Frank.

    Liked by 1 person

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