Ever the artist, sometimes I paint
Beautiful images, starting feint.
Starting out with something raw,
Time goes slowly as I draw.
There an image starts to appear,
It may take a month or even a year.
But once it is there, there it remains,
A memory or moment it just frames.
And as more colour or depth of field,
The picture growing it starts to yield.
More of me than I thought now,
I don’t even really know how.
Put down on paper there on a page.
The hands still paint at any age.
And I can create a beautiful thing,
Ignore the telephone starting to ring.
Incorporate nature and beauty,
It is my right and not my duty.
For mind over matter is often the cure,
Medicine for the soul I am sure.
By way of explanation, these three poems came about literally as I awoke from the first dream. As I wrote it, I then thought about the other dreams I often have about the things which I can do so much better in my dreams than in reality. It spurs me on at least to attempt the new things from time to time or revisit the old to see if I have made any improvement. If at least it provides encouragement to follow them now and then, then it is worthwhile to continue to dream.