I’m in a sleeping dream again:
Some bloke takes me into a nearby empty room
And asks me why I’ve done what I’ve done.
I’m so surprised.
A colleague says she had to tell him
What I’d done.
Another shock
Before I awake.

Now I see this dream is rooted in memory, real.
Yet how could my Id surprise me yet again?
Did I tap into a source
External?
Was it God
Or Aliens
Or someone or something
Else
Who sprang these shocks on me?

Am I two people
Rolled into one?
Or but a radio receiver
Picking up some telepathic waves?

I cannot help but ask these things.
For, when I die, will I
Fall
To
Deeper
Sleep
And Dream.

Paul Butters

The smoke ring reminded me
Of the circus, a blue ring of fire
To jump through
With my oversized shoes.

Watering the vegetable garden
Created a sun-split rainbow
Landing on the sprouting treasures.

Driving past the golf course,
The arc of the ball reminded me of the sun,
Transcepting the sky,
Not knowing where it lands.

The dawn brings forth a choir
Of tree singers,
Calling to one another,
Acknowledging the symphony
Of different needs.

It's blooming perfect
Outside my head,
Where shortcomings
Are draped in green and blue;
So, I will think outside
Brain and skull;
I will get outside,
Outside, and cuddle
The raw simplicity.

When I’m in The Land of Nod
Why do I misunderstand the characters there?
How am I constantly surprised
By what they do?
And shocked at the things that happen?
For they are all creations of my own Subconscious Mind.

It seems the “Conscious” Me is at the mercy
Of the Subconscious Id.
But how can this be?
The Id is part of me
Supposedly.
Yet it’s as if The Id
Is another person
Residing within myself,
Toying with the Conscious Me.
(Is this why some get voices in their heads?).

So is this “waking” Life of ours
But a more orderly, clearer Dream?
A dream created by some Super Id
From which we will awaken soon,
To rise into an even clearer Realm
Called Heaven?

Reality is the strangest thing
When viewed this way.
Yet maybe some day
We’ll understand.

Paul Butters

Why did I fight
Why did I bleed

What did you want
What did you need

Why did he suffer
Why did he die

Why did we fight
Why the **** did we try?!

My Id creates my sleeping dreams,
Our Super-Id our World
Or Universe
Perhaps.

I think I’m alone with you,
But that’s not so.
For when I sleep, Something provides those dreams.
They say it’s the Subconscious, or the Id
But whatever it is,
I’m totally at its mercy.

They say that when you “lucid dream”
You realise you are dreaming
And can take control.
I’m not convinced!

Sure, when lucid you can steer that dream somewhat,
But once that horse decides to bolt
You are Lost.

I need to write some rules for dreams,
A code of conduct for myself and you:
When dreaming:
Never leave a room for it will vanish.

Lost your things?
Don’t go chasing them!
Wait for them to come to you.

Find yourself undressed?
Don’t worry,
You’ll soon be clothed again.

When you lose your way back home,
Don’t search,
Just stand and wait
For home to come find You.

Think driving
And you’ll maybe have a car
Around you!

Think friends
And soon they’ll all appear.

Oh yes my Id remains my boss for sure,
And heaven forbid I ever have “waking dreams” –
“Monsters from the Id” indeed!
A “Forbidden Planet” I’d hate to face.

But with some late-night meditation,
Maybe I can manage,
My crazy sleeping dreams
A little bit.

As for that “Super Id”,
Well that’s another story.

Paul Butters

' Id ' in my blood.
' Superego ' in my soul.
Heart is bone of contention.
Both want to control.

While both are in fight.
' Ego ' plays smart.
Balances one with other;
And rules my Heart.

He drapes an arm around anyone's shoulder
In every shot I've seen;
It leads your eyes along his arm
To his eyes, a vanity trick,
Like a narcis-stick.

He often grows some ****** hair,
And wears a logo shirt,
Every thought is well-planned out,
To push his latest scheme.

I attended his wedding,
The first I've ever seen,
Where the groom draws more attention,
Than any bride could dream.

She wore an oyster-colored dress,
With a train six feet long;
While she was walking up the aisle,
The groom broke into song.

Then they had a child,
A boy, now thirteen,
He throws his arm around his dad
To be the centre of the scene.