Dreaming of Dreaming Poetry by Peter E. Williams — Background and Themes

Slumber was a blissful escape, or perhaps only sometimes.

Anyway, I couldn't get any sleep, and my mind was racing.

"Everyone's going to find out all about those secrets.

Everyone will know the worst things that I can imagine.

They will know all about me and everything that I imagined people saying will be true now."

They keep on going around in my head.

They're crap, and I know it. They're just voices, I tell myself, but why won't they go away ? A short time passed. More voices, different voices,

"You know what to do, Mother always says so. What should I do now ? I don't know! But you know what to do, don't you ?"

The vicious circle kept going `round.

Time to get up from bed and ring Mum, after all she knows what to do.

Scattered and shaking, I do this.

I go to the phone, sit down, and phone ever-reliable Mum.

She is my tower of strength.

It's an STD call but I don't care.

She tells me to ring the Crisis Team (aka the Mental Health Triage) but I can only fumble with my electronic organizer.

I know exactly how it works, inside and out, but I could not operate it to save myself.

I get a pen and Mum tells me the phone number of the crisis team and I write it down.

She tells me that she can be on the next bus if I need her to be with me.

I tell her "no thanks, I think I'll be OK". I hang up the phone and call the Crisis Team.

I speak to a lady who knows me, although I cannot recall her.

She talks me through it and tells me to watch a bit of TV or listen to some music and to occupy myself until later in the night.

My mini-crisis passes as I follow this advice throughout the night.

Was it because I did all of the "right things" or was it simply that my "medication" was taking effect ?

The above episode was only a small tremor, but it still scared me a bit.

I guess that I took it better than I otherwise might have because I have been there before and done it all before.

But that doesn't make it any less scary at the time. It's only with the benefit of hindsight that I can see that I could cope with it.

Aardvarks' abacuses abate academia accordingly as Beavers breech bridges built by Cats claws cleverly constructing, Dogs deeply dig ditches downward Eels electrify electrons, elevating engineered entrapments Fish flatulate food foully Gazelles glide gracefully Hawks hedonistically hold holidays Ibexes idealistically indulge inexpensive infidelities Jackanapes jam jazz, jealous Jehovahs judge Kangaroos' karma kills kindergartens Labradors lament lost love Macaws mainly manipulate manure Nags napalm nasty necrophiles Ocelots often open operas Panthers persistently piss Quails quantify quarrels queerly Rats relegate responsibilities Salmon seldom sing songs Tadpoles tastelessly tell tempting testaments Unicorns unknowingly, unwittingly upbeat urgent urinal usage Venison vent verbal volcanic volleys Wallabies want wellingtons with wings X-Dodos. x-tinct. Yaks yell yesterday's Yiddish yoo-hoos Zebras zip zodiac zones.

I long to be loved, just like in the movies. It's all so easy for the love-struck stars

They met They didn't get along then slowly... they fell in love

It's so easy for them, they just fall in love easy as pie

They say, " It's not fair, It's so easy for them. Why doesn't it happen to me ?"

It doesn't happen to me either! Life is not a fairy tale.

And yet love will happen. Of that I'm sure.

Here we go... on a fantastic journey of self discovery.

He told me: " Just grab a pen and write whatever you feel. Let it flow. It's best when you don't premeditate your writing."

I should: edit my writing, not my ideas !

I should: take my own advice.

But, I think, that's easier said than done. Don't I always try to think of what I'm going to say next, before I commit it to paper ?

But then I think, " What is good writing anyway ? How will I know when I'm there ?"

It didn't really happen

You went down the street just an ordinary day

you saw a young girl innocent and sweet talking to her dad about everyday stuff

their freezer needed defrosting happens everyday

did you really tell her or did you just dream it how to make a little... tiny... flame thrower ???

of course you didn't !!! you're not that stupid, and even if you did you weren't serious. she'd know that.

you'd never even tried to make one yourself but you'd heard it somewhere... that you can make one from an aerosol can and a flame

and she could even reach that freezer if she just stands on a chair

try telling her parents try telling her you weren't serious you didn't even know if it would work

try living with the memory of that scared little face all covered with bandages never the same again

but don't worry it was just a dream it didn't really happen at all, did it ?

just keep telling yourself it was all just a bad, bad dream.

Here I sit, on my bus, seated behind a vision divine.

She is young and beautiful. But mostly she is a nubile, young thing.

She looks a little tired, but young at heart.

She sneezes. Will I say " Bless you" ? Perhaps not.

Oh, I pine for the days when she may have been mine.

She is truly a vision of loveliness, divine.

This morning, on my bus, travelling to work, I passed a woman sitting in her car.

She was very attractive, I recall from my two second glance.

lovely face, and such nice, long, black hair.

and did I crave for her ? lust for her ?

have rampant, wanton, lustful

beg for mad, passionate, non-stop sex ?

why, no. You do believe me, don't you ?

She has: Terrific tits, Beautiful boobs, Loverly lungs, Magnificent mammaries, Nice nipples, and

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, ROW DEAR, ROW DEAR, ROW, ROW, ROW, ROW, STROKE, STROKE, STROKE,

oooh, stroke, stroke, stroke, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

From Attitude to Gratitude

No longer do I have the sheer luxury of a do nothing, be nobody, go nowhere job.

It's good to have some real work to do. But now, of course, I have to work with crappy computers and a card file system that have stood still in time.

As the world evolved and got ready for the next millenium, we are stuck here in a 70s time warp with nothing but dusty old shelves and compactii and junk that belongs in a museum to work with.

And still, to get results with antique systems can give me a feeling of self worth.

I do indeed lead a lucky life. After all, I have a job (with good conditions and people too).

I keep my job, and try my darndest to do a good and honest job. Because that is what makes life worth living.

Good friends, family, co-workers, and the satisfaction of knowing that I will live to enjoy life another day.

Do I believe in God ? That depends on what you mean by God.

Do I believe in life after death ? That depends how you define life, how you define existence.

Do I have a soul ? I don't know how you define a soul, but I suspect that I do.

I believe that there is something to look forward to after death.

I believe that in some way, in some "place" the souls of "good men" end up and exist together.

I don't know what or where it is, But I'm looking forward to it - one day, one eternity - perhaps.

I've got the password and I'm into the system.

It's precipitating wet stuff out of the sky, but I'm warm and dry in here.

And tiM was blown away by his wet suit, the other day at the coast...

And now I'm just listening to some jazzy kind of music, playing on the stereo,

as we remember the amazing turf sculptures in Civic, in some abandoned bank office building, now reclaimed as art space for the common man.

One Tuesday in February

It's a beautiful day to be alive! I have just stepped outside the building on my lunch break with a can of Coca-Cola and now I can quietly relax and enjoy sitting on a bench in the sunshine and sit and quietly sip on my drink.

The quietness is interrupted by a helicopter flying overhead for a moment.

A few more sips and the caffeine and chemical cocktail begins to work, to give me a "rush" - or perhaps just a nudge.

One quick ten minute walk around the buildings and I'm half way back to my building.

I'm a little puffed but feeling good. Better start heading back to my office soon.

One Wednesday in March

I walk outside into the glorious day. The sun shines brightly, another lunch time, another can of coke.

Sweet as honey. Sickly sweet. I find time to sit in the shade, enjoy the beautiful day and sip the sweet nectar.

Such a change from the stuffy offices - air conditioned and closed and controlled climate.

My Brother. Oh brother...

I have a brother who thinks that he understands all about my condition.

But, deep down I think that he thinks that my condition is all caused by a combination of:

low self-esteem, not thinking positively, bad diet, and a guilty conscience

(presumably about either not working hard enough, seeing prostitutes, or forgetting birthdays, or some crap like that).

He has lots of good intentions but basically he can't come to terms with the fact that I earn a good salary (not unlike him)

but I spend all my money (basically on myself) with not much to show for it, and he has a wife and four kids to support.

If I mention on the phone that I have to go down the street to buy a few groceries, then he will gladly spend half an hour telling me about his favourite recipe, and what ingredients to buy to make it (and how good it will be for me) - even though I tell him that I could not be less interested in his recipe.

I have some ... shall I say unconventional views on religion.

I was touched by a Christian "anecdote", for lack of a better thing to call it, where, the story goes that a man talks to god and says (basically)

"throughout my life I have been walking along a beach, and I saw two sets of footprints, yours and mine.

But in the worst times of my life I only saw one set of footprints.

Why did you abandon me God ?" And God replies " At those times, I had not abandoned you, I was carrying you!

You see I never abandoned you, I was always there for you."

That story always gets me right there.

But basically I don't call myself a Christian.

I don't know if I believe in God, but I believe that there must be something after death.

I believe that the souls of good people end up in some kind of eternity,

I would not exactly describe it as heaven, in the Christian definition.

I believe that the Bible lays out some very good ideals of how to live and how people should live by being "nice" to each other and so on,

but ultimately, I guess I just don't buy all of that fire and brimstone stuff, and miracles left, right and centre.

I even found out a little bit about Buddhism, and liked some of the stuff I found out, until I found out that they have, shall we say, very strict views on sexually and what is sexually "proper" (for the lack of another word).

My sex life is what I call normal, if only slightly kinky.

I have a friend who I have an arrangement to see when the want arises. She is a prostitute and one of my best friends.

She keeps telling me that I am very special to her.

We are not exactly straight-laced (neither of us), but we know what we are doing and we are both consenting adults and that's really all that needs to be said.

In the past I have been betrayed by people, workmates, who I once trusted -

all in the name of playing a practical joke, to humiliate and embarrass me about my private life.

I don't like what they did to me, but I don't despise them for it either. (I don't have the time or energy to hate people).

I think that their actions only go to prove just how shallow they really are.

I don't work with these people any more (because they have moved on to other jobs).

Here I am again in the club.

Came for lunch, stayed for a beer, and to play the one-armed bandits.

The victory jingles of many machines are deafening, but they are not playing for me.

So many times, one off that big prize.

Better to stop now than later.

That is a poem it is a lyric verse all lyric verses are poetry, therefore all poetry is lyric verse.

That is green it is a blade of grass all grass is green, therefore all things green are grass.

Bill of Rights Cut-up (last 3)

establishment of religion, freedom of speech, peaceably to assemble, redress of grievances.

a free State, not be infringed.

in any house, time of war, prescribed by law.

persons, houses, papers, not be violated, supported by oath to be searched, to be seized.

otherwise infamous crime, in cases arising in actual service be subject for life or limb; witness against himself, process of law; without just compensation.

right to a State and district district shall have of the nature witnesses against him; in his favor, for his defense.

controversy shall exceed shall be preserved, in any court the common law.

excessive fines imposed, unusual punishments inflicted.

of certain rights, by the people.

by the Constitution, the States respectively, to the people.

Thoust spake lies. Lies, lies and more damn lies.

Thoust tongue is forked.

This is an `oribble poem about `orrible Ed & `orrible Sid.

Now `orrible Ed had an `orrible `ead, but `orrible Sid had an `orrible kid. And that's enough of this `orrible poem!

Love is: walking through the park holding hands, kissing, cuddling, hugging, great sex.

No that's just a fantasy. But it's a great fantasy of mine, and one that doesn't impose any stereotypes on anyone.

So I'll hang onto it.

We would like to suggest that you try reading this poem backwards, line by line.

"Love is a many splendid thing." that's what someone said, but don't ask me who.

Love is different things for different people,

but for me, love is about being there for someone special, and about them being there for me too.

I love my Mum & Dad, and yes, my brother too, and all his family, and all my other relatives,

all my close friends, and the other ones too, who I only see now and then,

I love Annie on 2XX, who I've never even met, who just talks away to me on the radio, happy as can be, brightening up my morning.

I love: rock stars, pop stars, movie stars, and lots of people who I will never even know, except through their publicity machines,

yet if you asked me, I'd say, " Sure, I love: Shania, Alanis, Pamela, and Kim Hope too"

and so many more, whose names escape me, leaving me with only fleeting images, from movies, TV, and magazines.

I love happy people, and struggling souls, and down-and-outs, and just about everyone!

I love beautiful people, and the rest too, because beauty isn't about size or shape, it's about what's inside, and what you think and do.

But I don't have someone special in my life. A lover, to love, and be loved by, passionately, sexually, sensually!

so instead I dream on, just loving life itself.

And yes, I go on loving those girls from bordellos too, just occasionally.

Hey, I'm only human, and I need loving too. Or is that just sex & lust ?

but don't ask me what love is.

Peter Eric Williams was born on 1st of November, 1961, in Adelaide, South Australia, and grew up in places which include: Adelaide, Berri, Sydney, Oro Bay (Papua), Sydney (again), Canberra, Penang Island (Malaysia); before then returning with his family to Canberra, where he finished primary school, then High School and College, living in Lyneham. He then got a job with the Department of Defence, as a Trainee Draftsman, just before turning 20, where he continues to work to date (currently 1999), as a Technical Officer.

He has only recently taken up writing poetry. When he enrolled in a poetry workshop last year, with the ACT Writers' Centre, he needed to bring a sample of his own poetry to the workshop, and he didn't have any, so he wrote the poem which became "Nuts" (in a shortened form) in the evening before the workshop. It was warmly received in the workshop, and thus the germ of his poetry writing was planted and grew. He continues to share his poetry with fellow poets at the Closet Poets, who meet twice a month at the ACT Writers' Centre, and also occassionally performs his work on radio 2XX.

Peter was diagnosed as a Schizophrenic approximately 15 years ago, and now leads a relatively "normal" life, with his full-time job, and on continual anti-psychotic medication. He lives in a rented, two bedroom flat in the Canberra suburb of Hawker, where in his spare time he uses his personal computer for the internet, programming and of course, writing poetry and publishing it on his own personal web page.

A large section of Peter's poetry appears on his personal home page ( http://members.fortunecity.com/pew ). Some of Peter's poetry currently appears on internet web site "The Australian BDSM Information Site" ( http://www.ozabis.info/stories_poetry.html ), in the "short stories and poetry" section.

Peter said, "I hope that this poetry will: amuse, bemuse, entice, entertain, delight, shock, inform, educate and inspire the readers of these pages." Read this book and you will discover some of the quirky corners of his mind, about what turns him on, turns him off, and what turns him a little crazy...