When we were young we wanted to be astronauts, firemen, and pirates. We wanted to find buried treasure. We wanted to fly. Somewhere along the way our wildest dreams changed. When did we stop dreaming of fantastic adventures?
We live in a wonderful world that is full of beauty, charm and adventure. There is no end to the adventures that we can have if only we seek them with our eyes open.—Jawaharlal Nehru
German photographer, Jan Von Hollenben created a photography series depicting children living out their fantasies. A little creativity can make the impossible seem possible. What kind of dreams did you have as a child? Remember that it’s not too late to fulfill your bucket list of wild and wonderful adventures.
Try It
What did you want to be when you grew up? What kind of adventures did you dream of then? Now? Write a poem about your wildest dreams. You could write as if talking to your childhood self. What advice would you give? What kind of adventures have you accomplished? What kind await you still?
Featured Poem
Thanks to everyone who participated in last week’s poetry prompt. Here is a recent poem from Prasanta we enjoyed:
Closing my eyes to find
the cobalt sky reaching down to touch
the sea, not knowing whither it ends
or begins
Searching along the shore near Malaga
I hear her shoes tapping
like we were back in Seville and
buying dresses off the streets
Slipping feet in and out of moving sand
Keep raining on, pouring on
Forcing us inside, forcing us to see
ourselves from the outside in
from windows above the dunes
Wait for me, I’ll be there soon
Walking, still walking
I’m coming, running now
I’ll be there
Wait for me,
I’ll find it again
My pink carnation
From that Andalusian summer.
Photo by Giuseppe Milo. Creative Commons via Flickr.
Browse dream poems
Browse more writing prompts
Browse poetry teaching resources
How to Write a Poem uses images like the buzz, the switch, the wave—from the Billy Collins poem “Introduction to Poetry”—to guide writers into new ways of writing poems. Excellent teaching tool. Anthology and prompts included.
“How to Write a Poem is a classroom must-have.”
—Callie Feyen, English Teacher, Maryland
- Poetry Prompt: Misunderstood Lion - March 19, 2018
- Animate: Lions & Lambs Poetry Prompt - March 12, 2018
- Poetry Prompt: Behind the Velvet Rope - February 26, 2018
Rick Maxson says
Hidden
She dreams of pins, the mouths of birds,
among the sheets her mother hangs,
of wings which rise with night
and stir the air throughout the house.
Monsignor tells her, God hides in song,
and waits for her at the hour of death.
She prefers this life for spirit things,
dreams of Kyries to feed the wings of sleep.
Father guides the choir, gives her scales
she evaporates in meadow larks,
and thrushes on the way, the room left quiet,
and still like the falling of imagined rain.
The sisters give her pages, signed with clefs,
and birds in cages fluttering solfeggios;
she sets them free before their paper clouds
in a sky the sisters do not see.
She sleeps in sheets crisp with the day.
Like will-o’-the-wisp her breathing finds
along the bed, the chair and past the open sill,
as birds wait silently in the unfinished air.
Donna says
Richard, so many beautiful images all the way through these words – I love the sheets on the line with the wings that rise…. and then wrapping back around to the sheets again – lovely. 🙂 Thank you for sharing!
Rick Maxson says
Thank you, Donna.
Last word in line two in S5 should be “winds”
Prasanta says
This is delightful. I like the entire piece, and especially the last stanza.
Heather Eure says
Love the imagery, Rick. Thank you.
Ben Smith says
The Flowers In The Shade
By Ben Smith
When a gardener plans a garden,
Before the planting’s ever done,
He carefully situates it,
To receive the warming sun.
So he scatters seed and waters,
And rids it of the weeds,
Doing careful cultivation,
Tending daily to it’s needs.
But oer’ against the hedgerow,
Where a constant shadow’s made,
Growing lovely where they’re planted,
Are the flowers in the shade.
The pedals are lush and healthy,
And it’s colors just as bright,
As the one’s that have been planted,
Where the sun is shining bright.
So the soul who goes through struggles,
Darkened days they’ve come to know,
Can go on through grace and mercy,
Showing beauty as they grow.
And their lives, though pressed with trouble,
Can some other pilgrim aid,
As they share their fragrant blossom,
Like the flowers in the shade.
Donna says
Ben, this is so beautiful and filled with such insight. Thank you for sharing… my favorite line is:
So the soul who goes through struggles,
Darkened days they’ve come to know,
Can go on through grace and mercy,
Showing beauty as they grow.
Ahhhhh – yes. Thanks for sharing your poetry!
Rick Maxson says
Lovely poem, Ben. I share Donna’s favorite lines as mine.
Prasanta says
This is lovely! Full of hope.
Heather Eure says
I agree wholeheartedly with the other three. Beautiful. Truly. Thank you so much for sharing.
Donna says
I didn’t really think that far ahead.
My days were lived as they were what they seemed
Dissolving then, like fog upon the hill
And rolling into new ones, never dreamed.
But if those moments offered up the ghost
Of longing, to be mine before the grave,
One might say that I dreamed of heartfelt songs
Offered daily, offered strong, and free, and brave.
Prasanta says
Donna, this makes me want to dream and act before the days dissolve like fog. I especially liked these lines and the image it evokes:
“Dissolving then, like fog upon the hill
And rolling into new ones, never dreamed.”
Donna says
Thank you… that’s so interesting, how you say it. 🙂 Dream and act – that’s a good practice!
I am trying to do more of that – dream and act, and am trying to notice what my dreams. Funny, I thought I didn’t have any but lately I’ve seen this is so far from true. 😉
Heather Eure says
I just love this, Donna. It breaks my heart a little but it doesn’t because…life is good.
Donna says
Life is good… and dreams that are sort of unconscious are still wonderful aspirations, yes? Sometimes the best things about us might be unknown to us at the time – ah sweet mystery! 😉
Thank you, Heather – I’m glad you liked it.:)
Donna says
Prasanta… I really enjoyed that one last week! Glad to see it featured again so that we could all enjoy it again! 🙂
Donna says
On my blog 🙂 http://www.donnazfalcone.com/poetry/unintentional-dream
Prasanta says
Donna, thank you! And thank you, Tweetspeak, for featuring my poem here today!
Heather Eure says
You’re welcome, Prasanta!
Andrew H says
I do not care for gleaming rings
Or bars of gold. Your clear cut gems,
Your search for life restoring streams
Means little to my mind.
What I would have is rain. Not much,
But just a sprinkle in the night
As I walk home. A drizzle, hard enough
To let me know I live to fight my fight,
Yet not so hard as to make me despair.
And up ahead I’d have a tree, a fir
That blocks the stars. And it would bring
Some sense of man’s mortality
Just by its presence, and its weathered years.
I dream of better times in which
My kin sit down as one. A time when I
Can look into the eyes of my love
And know her, every line and stitch.
And walking down the moon lit path
As stars come out, and breeze is fair
With moisture in its breath, and force
To run its fingers through my hair.
A time when heart can slow and calm,
And storms can break against the rock
That is our thought. Such would I have,
Had I the right to dream a world to life.
Ah, how free it would be, devoid of strife!
So keep your wealth, make a reality
That has no meaning. In my dreams
The sky is black, but there are stars
Brighter than gems or gleaming rings.
—
I want to congratulate Rick and Ben on their poems – both are very good. I sincerely enjoyed reading them, thanks for sharing.
Rick Maxson says
Andrew, this poem so reminds me of Robert Frost. It is one of my favorites by you. The pace is like a walk home.
Prasanta says
This is nostalgic and calm, and focused on what really matters, along with a healthy view of reality. If only we could truly choose how much rain would fall on our paths. Lovely!
Heather Eure says
Like Rick said, the pace is like a walk home. My favorite: “…look into the eyes of my love
And know her, every line and stitch.” I adore this. Thank you so much for sharing.
Rick Maxson says
Prasanta, what a beautiful dream you presented. The last lines are wonderful.
Prasanta says
Rick, thank you for those kind words!
Rick Maxson says
Great choice of photo for this week, I might add! I wish I had a memory of childhood, where I was lifted into the clouds I had watched be mountains, animal shapes, feathers. But I was much older when I had my first plane ride. It was fascinating, but, oh, to have not been tainted by categories and vapor.
Heather Eure says
Thanks, Rick! As a kid, I spent all my time looking out the window trying to find the ant-sized cars driving to who-knows-where. 🙂
Prasanta says
Diaspora
Close eyes
Weaver knits wind tails
Dreammaker ignites fire
Reach, catch a tail, flipping fast,
skim invisible air
Grab this one or that—
tail of another fantastic—
Soar through days,
ripple like waves
surge through moments
twirl through realizations
A trail blazes, sears,
splits sky—
fills the deep
with words dared spoken—
The past nips, propels,
chases the next breath—
turn ear to whispering sands
and glass carpet schemes
If the Dreammaker
is gathered light
then we are diaspora–
little bits of light
speeding through
the universe in cosmic adventures
like burning comet tails
Except – the diaspora
doesn’t burn in the atmosphere—
stardust materializes
and walks on solid ground
And I find my adventures
here and later and continuous