by Ulyss Rubey
Through the crawl space of my sleep
in places only dreams can go
restless investigators seek
for old loves and fears and sorrow.
With dim and dying lamps they creep
through the darkness of early morn
in crevices and caverns deep
before the lighting of the dawn.
Posted on 07/22/2005
Copyright © 2023 Ulyss Rubey
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Rula Shin on 07/23/05 at 01:13 AM|
Excellent flow, this was wonderful to read aloud, the rhyme scheme and the image of "investigators seek for old loves and fears and sorrow. With dim and dying lamps they creep...in crevices and caverns deep" - These may well be external 'investigators', doctors, friends, family trying to 'reach' the dreams, the subconscious pscyhe of one person. Though I am more apt to say that the 'investigators' are the many selves within the subject, curious for an answer, perhaps even desperate, though if there is any investigation at all, it would be the realm of the intending self, ONE investigator, one understanding, for the 'others' will fight to keep their fears, their loves, their sorrows. I used to be a full time dreamer myself. Nicely done :-)
|Posted by Ashok Sharda on 07/23/05 at 03:47 AM|
Well, its a free for all state of mind when all our past associations links them in their own way and construct a story of their own in their own language.
|Posted by JD Clay on 08/05/05 at 06:28 PM|
This is the best first line I've read in years, I especially like the way it sets up the rest of the poem. I'm clearing the cobwebs from my face after ambling through this one. Good stuff, Uly.
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 09/13/08 at 04:49 AM|
I like how you've focused this "place" to a narrow kind of space, one for crawling and creeping, which slows down the experience of it and gives that lingering "what's going to happen next" feeling. I also like the idea of a "they" wandering around - I can sure relate to the odd "they" that show up in my dreams.
|Posted by Laura Doom on 08/15/10 at 11:22 AM|
'restless investigators' -- that's a sublime device for turning the poem back on the reader. Dreams in the attic evokes a wry and morbid atmosphere; I'll can the drivel before I choke :>
|Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 08/17/10 at 02:45 AM|
Me thinks the text aptly reflects the title. A tight, somber piece, best read at night, and just before bed. :o)