Resurrection

Aug18

Resurrection Jesus came to me in my dream last night,
Young and engaging, although He seemed to have put on some weight,
So He looked better than he did in those pictures.
It was His second visit to me this summer,
After I found him resting on my car windshield,
At the Costco parking lot a few weeks ago.
He came right on time, in the dream that is,
When I was unable to drive my car for some reason.
I asked Him if He could drive instead.
Take us home, I said; He agreed immediately, the gentleman that He is.
Jesus buckled up, shifted into gear,
And drove us knowingly through the streets.
The way we went was unfamiliar to me,
And it all became clear when He stopped the car,
In front of a big church.
Jesus, I cried, not this! I want to go home!
My dad wanted to take the wheel, but Jesus insisted,
I guess he decided to raise the dead, I thought,
It was nice to see Dad again, let’s just go home already!
The car was packed just like when we were kids.
I gave Jesus our address, and we joined the traffic snarl,
It was 5 PM by then, and we must have gotten there after I woke up,
It turns out that even Jesus cannot beat rush hour traffic.

August 7, 2026

הִבְהוּב

Jun18

הבהוב ,בְּחֶשְׁכָּת הָלַיִל, כְּמִיתוֹךְ חֲלוֹם
,אוֹר נוּגֶה מֵאִיר מִתּוֹךְ חָדַר לִבִּי
,הִשְׁאִירוּ אוֹתוֹ חָבֵר שֶׁאָבַד זֶה מִכְּבָר
,חֲבֵרָה שֶׁהָלְכָה וְאֵינָהּ עוֹד
.מִזְּמַן רָחוֹק

,אֲנִי נִגָּשׁ אֶל הַמְּנוֹרָה הֲֲמֶסוֹעֶפֵת
,נוֹגֵעַ בַּמֶּתֶג הַמַּתְאִים
,וְזוֹכֵר
,חֲוָיוֹת, מְקוֹמוֹת, מִלִּים טוֹבוֹת
.אֲהָבוֹת

,הַמֶּתֶג הוּסַט וְכּוּבַּה
,אַךְ הָאוֹר נוֹתָר עוֹד, מְעֻמְעָם
,מֵאִיר אֶת זִכְרוֹנִי
,וּמְסַפֵּר שׁוּב עַל מִי שֶׁהָיָה
.וְעָזַב

,עוֹמֵד וּמַבִּיט בָּאוֹר הַנֶּחֱלָשׁ לְאִטּוֹ
,בַּחֶדֶר נוּגִים אוֹרוֹת אֲחֵרִים
,שֶׁל אֲהָבוֹת שֶׁכָּבוּ
,אַךְ לְעוֹלָם יָאִירוּ
.אֶת פִּנּוֹת לִבִּי

Glow

In the darkness of night, as if from a dream,
A faint light shines from my heart’s chamber,
It was left by a friend who had left long ago,
A girlfriend who is gone and no more,
From a faraway time.

I reach the branched lamp,
Touch the right switch,
And remember,
Experiences, places, good words,
Loves.

The switch moved and turned off,
But the light still remains, dimmed,
Illuminates my memory,
And tells again about who was,
And left.

Stands and looks at the slowly lowering light,
Other lights dim in the room,
Of loves that died,
But which will always light,
My heart’s darkness.

English Translation

June 16, 2021

Dreaming in Black and White

Oct18

An invisible nip pen,
Deeps in veiled well.
A dark dot forms,
On virgin paper.

More specks follow,
To form letters and words.
A line grows,
Like coal raindrops,
On a bright day cloud,

Short lines, longs strokes,
Comma, comma, full stop.
Backhand pushes against the paper,
Fingertips darken slowly.

Page follows page,
Turned by fresh thoughts breeze,
Ideas keep flowing,
From a dream.

Writing hastily each vision,
Right as it appears,
Inscribed pages,
Accumulate in a pile.

Short anecdotes, long tales,
Pages fly in the dark,
Captivating stories,
Late into the night.

Stay out there, don’t wake up,
Sleep tight ‘till they’re done,
Once you open your eyes,
They’ll be instantly gone.

February 25, 2015

כְּנָפַיִים

Apr14

,הַלַּיְלָה שׁוּב הָיִיתִי שָׂם
,חוֹזֵר לְהַמְשִׁיךְ אֶת שֶׁהִפְסַקְתִּי לִפְנֵי דּוֹר
,מַמָּשׁ כְּמוֹ שֶׁהִבְטַחְתִּי לְרַב סֶרֶן מְעוּטָּר
.בָּעֶרֶב הַהוּא, כְּשֶׁהַחֲלוֹם נִשְׁבָּר

,רִיצָה אֲרוּכָּה, הִתְנַשְּׁפִויות
,סְבִיבִי אֲנָשִׁים זָרִים
,בְּמָקוֹם מוּכָּר
.שֶׁשּׁוּם דָּבָר לֹא הִשְׁתַּנָּה בּוֹ, גַּם בַּחֲלוֹם

,רֵיחוֹת מִדְבָּר מְיוּחָדִים
,מַדִּים חֲמוּצִים, זֵיעָה צוֹרֶבֶת
,וְגוּף דּוֹאֵב תְּמִידִית
.מִמַּאֲמָץ שֶׁאֵינוֹ מַרְפֶּה

,בַּמְּצִיאוּת הַהִיא רוֹמֶזֶת הַיְּדִיעָה
,כְּמוֹ מַשּׂוּאַת מִגְדָּל מִמֶּרְחַקִּים
,שֶׂמָה שֶׁהָיָה כְּבָר לֹא יִהְיֶה
.אֲבָל כְּמוֹ אָז גַּם עַכְשָׁיו, מַמְשִׁיכִים

,בְּעוֹלָם הָעֵרוּת כְּבָר הֵבַנְתִּי מִזְּמַן
,לְאַט לְאַט, וְלֹא לְבַד
,שֶׁכּוֹל זֶה הָיָה רַק חֲלוֹם
.שֶׁחָלַמְתִּי בַּמְּצִיאוּת

,אַךְ בְחֶשְׁכַת הַלַּיִל אֲנִי דּוֹאֶה שׁוּב דָּרוֹמָה
,לַכְּאֵב, לַעֲיֵיפוֹת, לַרִיפְיוֹן, וְלַנְּחִישׁוּת
,וְשׁוֹאֵל אֶת עַצְמִי שׁוּב מִתּוֹךְ שֵׁינָה, אִם הַפַּעַם
.זֶה יִסְתַּיֵּים אַחֶרֶת

Wings

Tonight I was back there, again,
Returning to continuing what I have stopped a generation ago,
Just as I had promised a decorated Major,
That evening, when the dream broke.

Long run, gasping,
Surrounded by strangers,
In a familiar place,
Where nothing had changed, even in the dream.

Unique desert smells,
Sour uniforms, burning sweat,
And a constantly sore body,
From a relentless effort.

In that reality knowledge hints,
Like a tower beacon from afar,
That what was, shall not be,
But much like then, now too, carrying on.

In the woken world I have long since understood,
Slowly, slowly, and not by myself,
That all this was just a dream,
I have dreamed in reality.

But in the darkness of the night, I glide back south,
To the pain, the fatigue, the limpness, and determination,
And ask myself once more in my slumber, if this time,
It will end differently.

English Translation

March 25, 2019

Feeling

Apr11

A clean white room, dimly lit,
No clock on the bare wall,
A single chair in the middle,
Inviting and repealing all at once.

Sit back in silence, wait,
The padding is misleadingly comfortable,
Voices chase from the hallway behind,
Extending the day with timeless anticipation.

They walk in, together, a team,
Take invisible positions to my sides,
Their voices friendly, engaging,
Will they hurt me? Will it be fast?

Movement. I drop back, then rise,
Bright light is shining in my face,
Jaw-dropping, high-pitch sounds,
Eyes closed, I depart to another dimension.

A storm is brewing within me,
Gushing waters, swirling winds,
The sounds are deafening,
I am free, but am utterly bound.

Some unknown time later,
I am recalled from my sanctuary,
The tempest had subsided,
They help me back on my feet.

Walk toward the door, freedom,
I am not yet out, not yet,
The voice again behind me, warning,
Don’t eat or drink for another hour.

January 29, 2019

Dream Deep

Mar17

Late last night I had two story ideas,
They just came clear to me in my sleep,
The subconscious mind open wide, ready and deep,
Scanning thoughts, taking notes, writing scripts.

My two stories were great, I knew right away,
I’d forget them by daybreak for sure,
So I picked up my phone from the side of the bed,
Pressed record, spoke them out in a blur.

My phone is a nice tool, an able device,
A know-all do-all enterprise,
Will direct you around town, play music and chess,
Make phone calls, take pictures, so nice.

Come morning I rose from my sleep, ready set,
I reached for the nightstand beside,
It was then that my morning regret realized,
My dream phone was a virtual device.

I am disappointed, my stories are bust,
They may reappear, that’s my hope,
For that night of good fortune, I’m ready and set,
I’ll use pencil and paper for notes.

Ophir Palmon, writer

poetry, fiction, life stories, שירה, סיפורת

Tag Archives: dream