Summoning 101

I wish my high school or college could have been this cool.


My friends want to hang out, but first

I need to finish the project that

Has them all confused –

A practice circle, drawn to summon

A duffel bag of ingredients for

The next spell I will make.

We all in this class know

That the professor will be who really

Drops the bags for us, but only

If we get every rune correct.



Last night’s dream was pretty relaxing.


We visit an island with

Many rivers –

Dip down the length of one,

Over mountains and between

Crevasses until

We reach a pool

In the center of a mall

Atrium, cold now

In comparison

To the tropic sun.

Competition Part 2: Driving

Second part of some strange dreams last night.


They compete in groups

For the race, each one having constructed

A massive vehicle that can house

The whole team of dozens

As they speed toward the finish line.

This run is practice before the game itself, but

The team of boys have always thought

It best to remove competition

Before it becomes competition.

They drive a female team

Off the road, into sludge

That quickly encapsulates their escape routes.

A professor immediately comes

To try to free them, and screams

At the fact that anyone would want to risk

The death of their rivals,

For such a trivial thing.

Competition Part 1: Leaping

Two of my dreams last night connected, so I’ve broken them into two parts here. This is the first.


They hold these games every year,

A competition between all of the students

At this school, and their teachers.

One competitor is famous

For her acrobatics, the way she can

Leap between ladders, platforms, buildings,

Like a monkey, or spider.

She teaches her protege the right

Rung to choose, which floors

Are close enough to reach, and how to dart

Between them to the ground,

Falling directly into the middle of

Her greatest rivals, laughing and

Turning into a bird, to fly away

Before they can capture her.

Death in Waiting

Some dreams just screw you up in the morning.


We hide in our home

As they come down the path,

The two facets of death

Who have already taken

Our friends and family.

I lock the door, but

They show me it can

Be lifted from its hinges, easily,

By their strength, when they want.

Tonight, they will want.

We could leave, my fiancee says,

But there is no place we could go

Where death would not find us.

We walk the garden paths inside our walls,

Savor the feel of walking, and sun,

And human touch, because

After tonight, it might all

Be gone.

The Adult Table

Sometimes even in my dreams I’m just passing through.


At the end of my walk, there is

A house, small and plain and filled

With families celebrating a child’s birthday.

I stop at the adult table, listen to gossip and

Eat a few of their sweets. There are round

Cranberry shortbreads, their sugar

Melting in my mouth as I chew,

And as I wander toward the door

An array of finger sandwiches are carried

Toward the children. I find a hair

Stuck in one, catch and yank it out to

The thanks of the waiter, before leaving.


Morning Swim

I wish my mornings in reality were spent here.


The lake is particularly

Beautiful today –

A gentle stretch of water tinged

With light blues and pinks

From sunrise. I nudge my fiancee

Awake, tell her we should swim

Before work. We have time

To enjoy it. But

As we search this cabin for

A place to change, we find

Trading posts, banquet halls,

Throngs of people. I get

Distracted, choose a neck pillow

Patterned with sleeping cats and

Some food for breakfast, spend

Minutes trying to buy them from

The tiny robot that works

The credit card machine.

By the time I find my fiancee,

Neither of us changed successfully,

It’s too late to swim.