ㅁ I dreamed I found a typo in a poem, but when I went to fix it I could not. The typo squirmed away like some small beast, escaping from my cursor, while I cursed.
– a quatrain in blank verse (iambic pentameter).
ㅁ I dreamed I found a typo in a poem, but when I went to fix it I could not. The typo squirmed away like some small beast, escaping from my cursor, while I cursed.
– a quatrain in blank verse (iambic pentameter).
ㅁ The sun appeared at dawn and seemed to glow. I stepped outside a moment just to see. Two hours passed. Clouds strolled in and set the tone. My mind was shrouded by their grayish game. I played my hand but lost to further rain.
– five lines in blank verse (iambic pentameter).
ㅁ The ice along the seashore spoke out loud lamenting its abandonment, alone: the tide had left it broken on the rocks. A duck approached, and clambered on the ice, assessed the scene, and looked askance, dismayed: but in the end turned tail and swam away.
– six lines of blank verse (iambic pentameter).
ㅁ the worst forgetting is when you forget that just before you already forgot
– a couplet in a slightly defective blank verse (iambic pentameter).
ㅁ The trees made gestures, showing exaltation, and clearly hoping they could fly away. The slugs were tasting stones on lower paths, that clouds prepared with frequent irrigation.
ㅁ The sun appeared for just a day, or two. Enough to dry the rocks but not the trees. The streams became a little slower then, but rain and fog returned to hurry them.
ㅁ Eccentrically, I don't use a bed. Instead each night I lie down on the floor. But that confuses things: I make my bed at bedtime; when I rise it gets unmade.
ㅁ The wind, it came and pushed the waves along; they gently stroked the stones along the shore. The clouds extended, capturing the sky, and droplets fell to nourish all the green.
ㅁ Despite my best procrastination games, the map took shape. Regardless of my aims, a steady application makes it grow and finally it looks like somewhere real.
ㅁ Another dream harassed my wake-up time and left me short of breath as I sat up I'd dreamed I was supposed to move again but running late, I'd failed to start to pack. A child was at my door and begged to know if I would take the time to pack my soul.
– a sexain (AKA hexastich) in blank verse (iambic pentameter).
ㅁ "As far as blah-blah on the words," she said... No meaning mattered once the tongue got loose, it made its own saussurean designs inscribed across the map of hopes and doubts.
ㅁ I ask myself if there could ever be a dream wherein the morning never came and in the end the dreamer would become a kind of listless spirit, all alone.
ㅁ In hospital, I realized I was dead: a ghost abroad in lands just dimly lit. I wandered past the wails of those in pain aware of only dust and aimless paths.
ㅁ A dog was supervising traffic, there, imperious and proud, beside the road.
ㅁ I had a dream in which I stopped my heart There was a button down beside my bed I pressed it once and that would make it stop Another touch would make it start again.
ㅁ The snow began before the rising sun, but with the dawn it petered out, as rain. I drove to town as usual, again, but wondered if I should have brought the chains.
ㅁ In unrendered forests, oddities lurk, awaiting moments when the servers sleep.
ㅁ It's possible to have a dream, I know, that convolutes the mind's perceptions such that all the words the dream presents unfold in quatrains executed in blank verse.
ㅁ What words could solve the doubts I have each day? There's nothing in these words to understand. Instead I trudge along as if bestowed with words which form a burden in my soul.
ㅁ I took a walk before the sun came up. A vaguely pinkish cloud betrayed the dawn. The rain had paused to gather up its strength. A mist was gnawing trees off to the west.
ㅁ I took the subway into Gangnam's heart and walked up Teheranno, through the crowd, immersed in human restlessness, alone - until the dream unmade itself at dawn.
– a quatrain in blank verse (iambic pentameter).
Here is a picture of the familiar streetscape in Gangnam, Seoul, a few blocks north of the main subway station. I was here every day for a few months in 2010, when I was studying Korean language full-time. So it sometimes appears in dreams.
ㅁ The dark was absolute, obsessive, blind; it piled up like an angry ghost, dismissed, and lashing out it sent the author down till spinning like a leaf he tasted mud.
ㅁ The world pretends by rearranging things, by moving atoms constantly through arcs, through curves of time and space in ways that cause the ghosts of complex things to manifest.
– a philosophical quatrain in blank verse (iambic pentameter).
ㅁ The slugs, they race across the road with hopes, expecting to avoid the zooming cars; but now and then the tires take their toll, and leave a slug in ghost form, free at last.
ㅁ The road is wet; the cars can make a sound evoking rainy childhood days inscribed by ancient time across the mind's expanse, that rise unbidden, closing off the now.
ㅁ The sun was still a bit too low to see but dawn's begrudging fingers grasped the sky. A raven came and sat outside my room and watched me watch it staring down at me.
ㅁ The summer here refrains from lasting long. Instead it stays some hours, and then moves on. Interpolated clouds extend their damp and dull suggestions lowered down to earth.
ㅁ In dreams my daughter comes to visit me: a fictive being made of memories. She speaks Korean, tells me things she's seen: I try to listen, offer short replies.
ㅁ The sun will sometimes make a try at shining and draw fantastic shapes on all the hills until at last a cloud occludes its glory with brooding landscapes made of pure ennui.
ㅁ My past appears in fragments in my brain but fades like ghosts the moment I look close.
ㅁ A seagull ponders fate - but pondering, for such a bird, is little more than sleep. Instead, it tastes the sea-thick, rainy air, and cleans its feathers, witnessing dull dawn.
ㅁ I found a washer in my pocket, and... my thought was that I should remove it quick. Because in fact to leave it lurking there would make for problems when I washed my pants. The washer would escape and bang around, a fearsome thing would then occur, no doubt: the thing would bounce and dance across the floor... a washer wrecked by washers getting washed.
ㅁ Some ravens and an eagle jumped to flight along the road to town, as if at play. The eagle fled ahead and found a tree, and perched there calmly looking down, askance. I saw the eagle's breath rise up like steam. I'd never seen that, till that morning's trip.