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Odin odin@aflx.com

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Books
· Perceptions

· ECHOSIS

· Prosetry at Work

· Said and Unsaid - Vol 1

· 3 WAY MIRROR


Short Stories
· Patience Waning

· Ladle Lines (A prosetry memory)

· A Gentle Man

· Pacing Love's Journey

· Gratitude

· A Sticky Conversation

· Blazing Now and Then

· Vulnerable Captivity

· The Kite That Would Not Bow

· Time


Articles
· War and Peace

· Desperation Breeds Desperation

· Preference Manifest

· Innocent Guilt

· Barbed Isolation

· A Place...

· Sanity's Loss

· Organs Anonymous

· Fatuous Beyond Absurdity

· Truth is One


Poetry
· The Life-long Pernicious Evil

· Cherishing Sounds of Silence

· Understanding the Unexplainable

· Reality of Another Kind

· Finding Trust Again

· Aromalicious Memories

· A Jungle-rain Pastorale

· Sediment Within the Soul

· Life's Enormous Green Chest

· Roadkill Memoriam

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Parade of Dreams

by Odin odin@aflx.com — Read all 3,869 poems by Odin odin@aflx.com

Picturing one’s life at any age asks for order to help define the many chapters. Such images coming forth might be perplexing unless…. (Image by Odin AI)

Thursday, March 6, 2025


Poem Artwork

 Parade of Dreams

 

 

At a boulevard well known
Exhilaration starts
High step strutting beside imagined fife and drum
Avenues of sun-drenched colors
Amidst waving flags
Pave the way
Sousa driven ambition begins marching

 

So many dreams there are
At such a young age
Quantity of anything
Seems large
Especially inside one's head
That tiny room where imaginary musings
Create adventures into worlds unknown

 

 Stimulation rules
Air untainted
Sky without clouds
Road ahead clear
One's journey seeming easy
All for the taking

 

What overflowing treasure it is
Until one's mind questions the direction
Until one ventures the side streets
The off-grid wanderings
Past grass and tree
Beyond flowers and winged escort
Onto unexplored plain
Spreading toward the ever receding horizon
Where more forks beckon dreams
Dangerously close to mortality's precipitous cliffs

 

 Even as one momentarily arrests the flight
Veering to the right
Swerving to the left
As new progenies shoulder forward
Squeezing tenure tighter
Rendering passage no longer under cloudless skies
No longer simple survival
within one's tiny dream room
Even then
Limited time never seems apparent
Until it does
Granting no respite to reflect
Feed the pigeons
Sway amidst the waves of wheat
Enjoy one last lager

 

 For there's little leisure
When the next generation
Longs to parade as well
Pushing and shoving from the rear
While the old tugs everyone forward
Dragging what is left of exhausted dreams
Into destiny's ritual finale

 

 How complex it all seems
When one takes the final peek into the tiny room of dreams
Where imagination once innocent began

 

 Everyone loves a parade of dreams

Believing one might come true
Knowing hope has no boundaries



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Reviewed by Diana Legun
Reviewed on March 7, 2025
Last night I read this poem and drew a blank. Even the image didn’t register with me at all. Goes to show a person who is tired should not read poetry, because this morning I read it again and all the flavor, texture, shape and sound of it filled the quiet room I’m in. Of course. It was all right there. Nothing didn’t make sense. If it weren’t for this last line here, I would feel sad for my grandchildren, but I believe your last line is actually true. Hopelessness might still contain a particle of hope until the last spark of light is gone. The three lines “Feed the pigeons….” and “Dragging what is left….” reach out and touch me. Thank you for writing this, Odin. ~~ djl

Reviewed by John Herlihy
Reviewed on March 7, 2025
The symbolic image of the "parade of dreams" works well in this poem because, upon reflection, that's exactly what happens. In childhood, the "tiny room" of our young minds holds forth with "imaginary musings create adventures into worlds unknown". Then of course, things get complicated as we age and side roads temps us away from "our clear goal." Only in the end, to find ourselves in old age, being pushed and shoved by the next generation that "longs to parade as well, pushing and shoving from the rear." And the parade moves on, emerging from other room in other places.


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