Philosophy of Mind, Dream, and Soul

Mind

My mind has burst from my head,
down to the pavement it ran,
I stand and grieve
(more of waxing philosophical I concede).
After all, one’s thoughts leave
the body it has used,
faithless as a smile, shake of a hand;
reminiscent of a withered life,
now a vacant storage lot.
I’ve stuffed in sawdust with the
faint smell of stale beer and muddy-feet;
wrapped a wool blanket around it,
moth holes the size of sparrows heads.
I dozed, tried to dream a
thousand sordid things; hard to
concentrate with flickering thunder,
gushing rain washing moonlight
down leafed filled gutters.
My sleep stretched tight across the sky,
sullied hands tried to sneak
in a prayer, but they forget the hymnal;
the words, Christ’s last supper.
I ran the revolver across my mouth,
smooth as an ancient sculpture,
bullets are round in empty chambers;
at four and five and six o’clock
the ticking, ticking of my conscience.
A spark, like a wooden blind in a
chimney-pot; memories and
desires stirring like kindling. My
thoughts were an old battered
lantern hanging aloft, now
gathering fuel for a vacant lot.

Mind burst

Dream

Here I am, waiting for a dream, restless in a
decayed house
in a salt marsh, mosquitos with their barbs
much like cutlasses squatting on
windowsills,
swaddled in darkness, craving blood.
My refusal to donate a vein somehow propagates
a fear in them; have I mothered a
heroism forced upon me by an awaiting sacrifice?
I will be devoured when I sleep.
Stiffened by age like a rented grave,
I lost my beauty when my husband died;
now I’m an exiled membrane fractured in
summer heat.
He, an old man, was lost in the windy straits
in a swell at sea;
drowned in a silent wave, stiffed to their shroud.
The clock is whispering twelve,
seconds are spaces in the dark, sputtering
movements like dead geraniums
in clay pots.
I hesitate into a sleep, twisting like a branch,
hard and curled and ready to snap.
I muster up a prayer, slips out of my tongue,
grips my mind like smallpox.
The moon has lost its memory, its nocturnal
smell of dust.
I cross and cross like a crucifix,
reminiscent of a graveyard, church basements
and dirty old priests.
Moonlight spreads a ring on my head,
my bed is open like a coffin,
the last twist of Abraham’s knife.

Dream background

Soul

I am possessed by a skull beneath
my skin, and lipless
creatures flowing through my veins;
I have bare bulbs in my
sockets for eyes-
they cling like dead limbs tightening
their grip.
I have no substitute for touch, it is
ague in my skeleton,
a debilitating fever in my bones;
it scampers through
my body in its arboreal gloom.
My soul is a mortuary, rattling its scalpel
like a breakfast plate,
hungering for me to be on a
cold slab, maggots
sprouting despondently much as
cemetery gargoyles
with grotesque faces; the muddy
skirt of formaldehyde
hovering in the air.
My moral standards now tarnished
and swinging like rusted
gates where vultures land; their
vision askew in
reflecting dark. Lurks the grim reaper
sullen and confused,
groping for dead odors.
My nerves are shot, shuffling as
withered stumps in a
prolonged, tired life where souls are
swept under doors into
the wind. What is that noise now?

Twilight of the soul

92 comments on “Philosophy of Mind, Dream, and Soul

  1. Pankanzy says:

    Beautiful and Amazing 😮👌

  2. Garima Puri says:

    Beautiful and excellent 👌👌👌

  3. Silent Hour says:

    Just one word: quality.

  4. Wonderful, Lance; I particularly appreciate “Dream” !

  5. So, you’ve been contemplating mortality, my dear friend. Your poems put me in mind of the lines from Hamlet, “Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times, and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it.”

    These feeble bodies eventually betray us. But we are promised glorified bodies in exchange. “What is sown is perishable; what is raised is imperishable. It is sown in dishonor; it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness; it is raised in power. It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a natural body, there is also a spiritual body” (1 Cor. 15: 42-44).

    • ‘Cultivate the seed, not the soil’. I’m always sincerely grateful for your insightful and inspiring reviews of my poetry. As you know, a writer must put out there what is in their heart, and hope it touches enough lives to make a significant difference. Thank you, my dear friend Anna. Blessings.

  6. murisopsis says:

    A thought provoking triptych. Many turns of phrase that raises questions and goose bumps. The nearly last line has stuck in my head ” tired life where souls are swept under doors into the wind” – startling and now I’m haunted.

  7. All the parts of this thought on the human condition,in its last moments, draw in the reader. I found myself nodding up and down and also nodding in surprise with my mouth open..left to right…right to left. So many lines that shook me in both admiration and in being caught off guard. I think only you Lance could write these lines:
    “reminiscent of a withered life,
    now a vacant storage lot.
    I’ve stuffed in sawdust with the
    faint smell of stale beer and muddy-feet;
    wrapped a wool blanket around it,
    moth holes the size of sparrows heads.”
    Moth holes the size of sparrow heads…Your mind can so easily grab onto the perfect descriptive phrase,even if it has left your body:)

    In your Dream..another death by sea..It is a central them to many of your poems, how they sea takes life and throws back death on the high tide shores.

    The soul wants out..can’t wait for the formalities to finally end, so it can begin its bodiless journey…The better journey than the one it’s ending, outlined in flesh and bone.

    My admiration grows for your style, your substance and your impeccable word choices. I vweery much enjoyed these fast looks into your mind..dreams…soul:)

    • Karima, one could not ask for a finer readership, fellow writers, authors, artists than those who call WordPress their home. I’m indebted to you, my friend and so many other exceptionally gifted and talented individuals who, every week, take the time to read the writings of others. And to those who leave their thoughts, what they’ve individually gotten out a fellow writer’s work. I am extremely humbled by you, your reviews, personal thoughts and inspiring support of my poetry. Peace and light.

  8. lampmagician says:

    A wonderful philosophical description of three influencing issues in our subsist, in such a beautiful poetry way. Thank you 🙏🙏

  9. My friend, you are truly a genius of literature and poetry! Beautiful and excellent poem! Keep up the great job Lance!

  10. Susi Bocks says:

    Gorgeous, Lance! Always enjoy reading your thoughts. 🙂 Hope you are well and safe!

  11. Loved it. Personally my favorite has to be the dream. Good use of metaphors in a poetic way. I always enjoy reading your work. Keep blogging my friend. Good day ✌🌸

  12. Bhumi Bokde. says:

    Thanks for visiting my blog! ❤️🌼

  13. Wonderful!
    I always enjoy reading your words

  14. rabirius says:

    Wonderful trio of poems.
    I’m always amazed how you can transform words into images that linger in the mind.

  15. Joana Alaves says:

    Excellent description, thank you 🙏👍

  16. A topic that intrigues myself in deep thoughts! A good read. Dimension, travel another fun topic. You are welcome to read the poems written in my blog.

  17. It is very well written. Especially the part about your soul. Very profound. I’m glad I saw your blog

  18. Beautiful illustration 👌👌

  19. Jane Tawel says:

    Powerful strong imagery here. Moving and deep.

  20. gabychops says:

    Your poetry is sophisticated and beautifully worded. Thank you for reading my blog.

  21. gabychops says:

    I am an incurable optimist. Any chance of a poem that gives us hope for tomorrow? With your wonderful talent, it would lift our spirit.

    Joanna

    PS The Thames continues tomorrow, 1,30 am my time -UK

  22. KENDI KARIMI says:

    The imagery in this is by far one of the best I have read here on WordPress. This is 💯👌

  23. Cassa Bassa says:

    I love in particular the ‘Soul’ one.

  24. So perfect and serene!!

  25. white button says:

    Impressive! 👌 you write so well!👍

  26. Hiba's blogs says:

    Very well written!!!!👍

  27. “Mind” and “Dream” certainly remind me of emotions I’ve felt… a deep, wrenching depression which washes over you, and you just long for the sweetness of sleep to rescue you from it, but in your hour of need you just become restless- It’s kind of strange how your mind focuses on the things you least-want to…

    And “Soul” kind of reminds me of how you end up sleeping after such a night, and yet the things you’d ought to dream about never come- Either it’s slightly unpleasant, a nightmare, or nothing at all-

    Just goes to show you that a poet is an artist all the same~

    • Life certainly is a roller coaster with its emotional ups and downs. Of course, we all prefer the peaks as opposed to the valleys.
      It is a very rare occurrence when a dream does come true. That is entirely up to our subconscious.
      Yes, completely so- one of many arts.
      Thank you sincerely for your wonderful philosophical comments on my poetry. Blessings.

  28. Welcome! Thank you for following my blog 😊

  29. The Butcher says:

    I am very impressed with these three poems dedicated to Mind, Dream and Soul. All of them manage to convey a certain sense of melancholy and above all I love the musicality you managed to do to each of these three.

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