There are still such things as dreams

There became an overstepping of the mark,

a thinning of the gulf between us and the brutes.

It lies in the past, but disfigures the future;

and though heaven is broad and blue

it cannot explain all that has passed,

why the shepherd turned his flock about.

And thus, we search, mostly among

suburban chimneys, below the clouds;

trapped in an insomniac hinterland,

where so much remains unexplained

and frankincence and myrrh

have all but faded from memory.

Of late, (so it seems,) science has rescued us.

Though only as panacea; a cure-all

of sorts; lauded as the only means

of escape at our disposal; that whatever

falls apart is predictable, and therefore
both explainable and curable.

Gone is Voltaire's 'mad daughter,'

replaced by method and order. Those

'little grey cells,' so beloved of Poirot,

designer outcomes the new raison d'être;

though lichen covered Aspens still decay

serenely, as priests preach decorum.

Here and there, pockets of resistance survive.

A last hippie, an Amish horse drawn cart,

those who have yet to visit Ikea and

re-assemble the brutalised jigsaw of a tree.

But the wilderness has been suborned

to the turning of knobs, the pressing of buttons.

Soon, of necessity, it will be time again

for the self sharpening ploughshare,

the gnarled, weather beaten hand,

as paleness, along with the unholy

precision of technology, passes;

and in passing, turns such wizardry

to so much chaff blown on the wind;

It will be likened to a rise of sea,

a fall of earth, a cleansing and sloughing;

allowing the outnumbered dead to rise,

sip wine and converse in civilised tones,

as all over the world, machines stop

and men, who once scourged, make peace. 

This will give us a  chance to dream again,

appreciate the beauty of ripening grain,

the silver leaping of fish, full gilled,

unpoisoned, absolving all blame;

as spring to summer sweetly births
and eyes once closed take fresh delight
in sun and sky and a new dawn's light.

Then again...

Reviews

[Vol]

Beccy,
What a delicious piece of cake, so full of surprises, deep insights, and accurate observations.
v1
In our overwhelming hubris, we march along like an army with hobnailed boots through all of God’s creation, and the greater the beauty, the heavier our steps. Your images say the same thing with silk and create a great irony in the contrast. though heaven is broad and blue
it cannot explain all that has passed
why the shepherd turned his flock about.
Who indeed can explain why we have sought our own demise with such alacrity?

v2
Frankincense and Myrrh, replaced by brick and soot! Our cognizance of things spiritual with insomnia and smoke. Forgetting also, “What does it profit a man to gain the whole world but lose his own soul?”

v3
This verse reminds me of Piers Anthony who wrote a series of novels called Juxtaposition in which twin worlds coexist, one is a magical place and the other is scientific, and the two cannot interact. The same contrast is evident in the white man’s approach to controlling the land and everything on it vs. the Navajo whose religion/relationship with the Earth is defined by their greeting and good-bye, “Ya'at'eeh,“ or “Walk in Beauty.” Goodness sakes… the things we have defiled and destroyed in our brutishness! There is no food for the soul in science…

v4
This verse speaks to my greatest disappointment in modern life. We glorify stupidity and ignorance in an age of incredible science and technology. Where are the Renaissance men? Where are the Liberal Arts? Where is twenty-first century philosophy, literature, art? The movie "Idiocracy," it turns out, was a documentary of our times.

v5
Everything in print, film, and all the other arts must pass through the filters of New York City, London, and Los Angeles. They are dominated by numbers, What sells? How much is it worth? What are it’s flaws so we can define it? Over the last decades the only reference to the greatest art in western culture has been its selling price at Sothebys.
The resistance is unorganized and without recourse. “A last hippie, an Amish horse drawn cart” are of little importance when faced with “The Borg.” We are few, but our souls still know how to sing.

v6
Armageddon is upon us, though in my heart, “us" is defined as Western Civilization. We are waning as the East is waxing. In the natural order of things, we have doomed ourselves. And this verse is as fine a treatise on this subject as Yeats’ The Second Coming.”

v7
It could not possibly be ourselves who made such a mess of our dominion, nature was stacked against us.
The end of technology in the absence of magic, I think, will not be idyllic, except in the dreams we keep, if we can. And this could soon be put to the test, if the sun flares as some scientists fear, a time without the internet… Whatever shall we do?

V8
I am again reminded of the lives of the Navajo, who greet the day with a little sacrifice of corn pollen, who pray for the animals they kill for food. They understand the importance of the three sisters, corn, squash and beans and worship them as gifts. They lead highly isolated lives, sometimes a single family in fifty square miles. I find their culture admirable, but terrifying as well.

This will give us a chance to dream again,
appreciate the beauty of ripening grain,
the silver leaping of fish, full gilled,
unpoisoned, absolving all blame;
as spring to summer sweetly births
and eyes once closed take fresh delight
in sun and sky and a new dawn's light.

The dream of beauty as expressed here, I fear, will always remain a lovely Romance in the classic sense.

Finding your poem is much like finding a gem sparkling in the gravel. Thank you for dropping it in my path.

Vol

[Beccy]

Thank you a thousand times for such a generous and in depth review. There is much to admire in our modern world, but equally, there is much to abhor; and the more we distance ourselves from the natural order of things, the harder it will become to halt our seemingly unstoppable drive to the precipice. But it is my hope that there will always be such things as dreams that come true.

[Vol]

Beccy, l
I believe in the survival of mankind... but not all of us... the human spirit tends toward destruction as much as it does to salvation, and the precipice grows nearer every hour... In the time of human history, never has there been an indication that we will "wise up," reach beyond our acquisitiveness and be free enough of ego to ever get along for very long. I fear for my kids and grandkids, I'm too old to worry for myself, would not be surprised if things went upside down before I kick off. Just imagine, how long has Betelgeuce been the chip on Orion's shoulder and today, astronomers are predicting its imminent demise... in my lifetime, yet!. (" a new paper – published this week (June 1, 2023) – suggests not thousands of years but “tens of years” as the timescale for Betelgeuse’s going supernova.) The times they are a changin'...
Vol

[Chris Shaw]

A fabulous piece of writing Beccy. What the future holds in store with technology and particularly AÍ, scares the living daylights out of me. I fear for my grandchildren who have already missed out so much on the freedoms I had as a child. Machines for everything and it seems the value of the natural environment and the care of it diminishes with each passing day. What lies ahead? I don’t think I want to know.

Chris

[Sami Khalil]

Back to nature and the natural way of life; out with rapid modernization and influence of technology on our lives.
Wonderful poem with great references.

[M.E.Lyle]

This captured my attention like few other pieces have done. I was mesmerized. Okay, so what I'm saying is...I really liked it. The future of modern technology scares the b'Jesus out of me.
What's coming next?
Thanks for this.

[DIVYA]

I read this poem more than once and let its message sink in. Though getting quite well versed with it for the sake of my job, I'm a technology hater. (I whooped with joy when I read that Facebook's Metaverse had been killed) Because I feel sad at how IT and 'modernization' has robbed us of our spontaneity and humanity. Gone are those times when one just reveled in the company of friends, one to one, under a clear blue sky. I relate absolutely and pray for a day when machines shall stop and scourged men shall make peace. Its wonderful to visualize the young taking in the fullness of nature without a single gadget in their hands. There are some brilliant literary references in the poem such as 'Voltaire's 'mad daughter,' and I loved them. Also the Amish People, who have resisted change so far. My compliments on this great poem.

[emmajoygreen]

Had to read this yet again, know you know my feelings about it. It tells rather than glimpses the wonder of both your brain and mind. offers interludes and insights, subjects that hit home and leave marks both endearing and yet painfully essential. You know how your skills are missed. This could be the best of the finest writing the cafe has ever kept in its strongest, safest nest.

(Come back as soon as you can, please.)

[Ken Simm.]

Yes the mad daughter has gone. So many brilliant lines hereabout. Things that I wish I had considered and wonderful concepts both true and complex. An amazing piece. Sad and yet strangely uplifting.

[Crowley]

I hope that there will be a time when reviving this poem is unnecessary except to examine how brilliantly It is written. I am always so proud of my friends on this site. You should be proud of this one. It feels historical and modern at the same time. I guess Timeless is a better word. You never cease to amaze.

[Gee]

From pandemic to Putin, what ever next !
How lovely would it be if we all lived out lives with the innocence and naivety of children.
What must the big fella upstairs think of humankind_ probably " why did I bother"
Beautifully written.
Hope you, the young fella and parents are well.

[Patricia Wedel]

Beccy... the peace that surpasses understanding is temporarily on hold. Life is boldly turned upside down... the people in power have egos that are not tuned to the needs of our people. Our Country is not Heaven where people come to pray... just to either takeover or take away our freedoms. There may be one person who has tried without ceasing... an imperfect person... but what choice do we have. truly, Pat