Good morning! Did you have any crazy dreams last night? If so, you should consider turning them into a poem. Many poets keep dream journals, which they can refer to in times of writer's block. And often, a dream sequence can be a poem in and of itself.
For this week's prompt, I want you to write a dream poem. If you can't remember any recent dreams, then try making a conscious effort to do so during the next week and turn the results into a poem.
Here's my attempt for the week:
While at my desk, I hear a baby crying,
so I get up and look for the little guy
until I realize that the whole south side
of our office building is littered with tents
filled with babies--some crying, some sleeping--
where there should be cubicles and co-
workers, and then, I notice all my best friends
from elementary school to college crowded
around the dance floor and talking about
the availability of databases and hot
chicks without mentioning once the fact
that there are babies crying and sleeping
all over the place, but then, I realize all
of the babies are gone as well as my friends
and I'm back at my desk and on the phone
talking to George Lucas about the original
Star Wars trilogy and how he was a fool
to make a pre-quel and to digitally remaster
episodes four through six and that everyone
knows he's washed up before putting him
on hold to take a call from one of my best
friends who knows where all the babies went,
but he can't tell me the exact location until
I get him a date with Carrie Fisher, and, "besides,"
he says, "you won't be able to do anything
for all those babies when you finally find them."