poems about dreams

There have been literally hundreds of thousands of poems about dreams written, all in their own right depicting a message of some sort. Two of the best poems about dreams that I have come across in recent times were both by the same author, Ken Burrows of Derby. There is one in each of his 2 books: Reflections in Time - a poetic journey and Never Lost For Words - further lyrical offerings. Because these poems about dreams made such an impression I am re-creating them below with the permission of the family:

Big Boys Don’t Cry ‘Sweet dreams’, my mother always said, She little knew my childish dread, Of the dream to come before the dawn, Stark terror would be newly born; I knew from this recurring dream, I cannot run, I cannot scream, In mute paralysis I stand, As in some dreadful horror land. To be on stage I’m pleased and proud, My diction is clear, my voice is loud, My poems at last have been acclaimed, My name from now on will be famed; I love to stand there and recite, When at last it’s concert night, I end my poem to great applause, Which carries on without a pause. They’re on their feet with one accord, ‘Encore’, they shout as they applaud, But as I start to give them more, I’m standing on a rising floor; As my platform starts to rise, Apprehensively I raise my eyes, And as I gaze aloft in fright, I see the swinging of the light. I realise with hopeless feeling, There is also a descending ceiling; By this time all my audience have gone, But I know the show must carry on; As I avert my frightened eyes, ‘Tis only then I realise, That all the walls are going to meet, With floor still lifting ‘neath my feet. The ceiling is no longer high, I know that I am going to die, I find I cannot move or shout, I have to stay, there’s no way out; When will this awful dream be passed? How long can this nightmare last? Then suddenly I’m in my bed, One more minute and I’d be dead. With shock still running through my mind, I wait for nerve ends to unwind, Perhaps by morning I’ll be calm, I didn’t come to any harm; My throat is taut and dry with fear, I brush away a youthful tear, It’s over now I didn’t die, Go back to sleep, big boys don’t cry!

For King And Country He knew this was a nightmare, Yet his fears would not be stilled, Please let me waken from this dream, For I know I shall be killed. He dreamt that he was on patrol, As he fought for king and crown, A German sniper’s careful aim, Shot this young soldier down. He watched his life’s blood ebb away, As his comrades dragged him clear, And in his dream he told himself, I know the end is near. He saw his limp unconscious form, Lay oozing in the sand, Was he really going to die, In this lousy flyblown land? They took him to the First Aid Post, In an army ambulance, He heard a medic say, ‘poor sod He doesn’t stand a chance.’ He marvelled strangely in his dream, At the skilful surgeon’s knife, He watched in horror stricken fear, As they tried to save his life. The surgeon’s hand dropped to his side, Sadly he shook his head, ‘a pity he lost so much blood, I’m afraid the lad is dead.’ And so the nightmare carried on, The soldier tried to scream, I’m not dead, I hear your voice, How could he end this dream? But no sound came from muted lips, His limbs were paralysed, He watched them put him in a box, Like someone hypnotised. He heard the last post being played, On bugles far away, They lowered the box into the ground, And covered it with clay. He suddenly became aware, Of the thumping of his heart, His long closed eyes were open wide, As he wakened with a start. Then as he said a prayer of thanks, He stretched himself and yawned, He felt resisting coffin sides, The truth at last had dawned. ‘Please help me God make someone come’ Was his panic-stricken scream, But worms alone would know the end, Of that poor devil’s dream!