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Saturday, February 27, 2010

The Odd dream.....

Last night you appeared again in my dreams
Your hands are wrinkled with time and blood
Your eyes black depths of forever, dusted with pain
You smell of old skins and black seal oil dust

How can I smell in dreams?

You hold a stained wooden bowl in your hands
the rim is chipped with use and endless travel
The seal oil lamp made it's surface dance and writhe
The taste of molten copper colors my vision

How can I remember every detail?

Again you speak liquid words
Again I do not understand the confusion
Again I watch your dry cracked lips move in silent vows
Again you dip your fingers in the bowl

How can all this happen again and again?

Your fingers come up covered in blood
Not human blood, not animal blood
It clings to your parched skin in an odd way
You reach across the bowl and brush your fingers across my lips

How come I always feel so sad after this dream?

I am always afraid to lick my lips
Not because of what it might actually be
But for the unknowns it places on my soul
but I always end up swallowing the sickly sweet and violent liquid

How come I can always remember what it tastes like?

You smile you smile you smile you smile
And then you are just an old woman again
An old woman I do not know
An old woman with with an old bowl in an old sod house

Why do I always wake up crying?

"Brown Bear Sleeps" New drawing. Prints and Original up for sale in my 2d store.


  1. "Congratulations on your marriage." "I am linked to history by being in the Arctic. I am in your front yard north of the pass. This country has it's own life and shares with those whom brave it. Few understand the color winds make, the fragrance of ice, and the sounds of the 'ancients.' 'They speak to me and to you, when you are not distracted, to the words and shallow meanings of those who have not learned." "When I see your image I see the visions of those that came before you, linked to the land as a mother to a child. Your power is this and when you breathe, you offer your 'self' to the winds, in whispers that I hear as song. Kotzebue calls this me...I will be there as many times before...Bill

  2. My sadness is the loss of my lone walk, as I sing...on the tundra, My joy is when I forget my sadness and the song...When I dream my 'song' comes to me and I wander to the north winds to there I sing...again.....

  3. "Actually I am the "Anonymous" comment above signed out as 'Bill' must have clicked on the wrong tab, so now that it is heading into summer, there is a great deal of jewelry material out there waiting for you to collect. I know there is an abundance of quartz crystals in the range, both clear and smoky types, fossil bone and mammoth ivory on the slope and antlers with sheep horn lying about the hills...looking forward to hearing from you...Bill