When you let me sleep-in this morning
I dreamt three tornadoes
set down with wood and splinter,
untangled brick from mortar –
whatever color I had imagined
blinded by the Sandman's fury –
a grit and rubble sutra
of a black and white world.
What of it? I was
three faces of Adam
to the wind, threnody
for the lost brother of the Bible –
I had stood between Cain and Able in the field,
suffered the first blows as they fell,
for my failure, my exile greater than Cain's –
I was wiped from human memory.
Thus saith the Lord, thus my name
blown and scraped from the page.
If I chamber three bullets in the cyclone,
not one, and the wind spins them hard,
What game am I playing?
The Sunday Muse
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qbit 
Um…Father, Son, and holy shit, those are live rounds?
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Hahaha! Your comment might be this poem’s salvation…
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Well, if only Abel were Able there’d be no need for threnody.
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Lol! Nice!
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The anguish of “my name / blown and scraped from the page” is worse than any bullet as the suffering is immortal 😦
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Yes, indeed.
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You found yourself in quite a situation there
Happy Sunday
Much💖love
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Ahahaha! The worst!
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I second what Shay said and asked!! This is an amazing poem Qbit! Certainly one of your finest!! Three faces of Adam, an amazing way to imply all the images at once!! Brilliant!!!
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Thank you so, so much!
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Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream … no make that three! Brilliant, deep, wonderful poetry.
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My first thought was worrisome with the tornadoes. What game am I playing? It sounds like a dangerous one for sure. Salvation is only a prayer away..in the eye of the tornado there is a
sense of calm.
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Always.
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Hmmm, the third brother… …perhaps a cousin.
Great poem.
My advice: no anchovies on your late night pizzas.
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You might be right. You know how shaky my theology is. Might have just been Raymond from next door. The Plumbers Helper Testament. Lost Scroll of the Platipi. (The Book of Platapus).
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OK, wow. Platypus. That is super random, even for me….
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😆
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“three faces of Adam” and your dream overall reminded me of the poem, “Abu ben Adam (may his tribe increase)”.
..
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Nice! Interesting read that. I don’t think I had Leigh Hunt on my list of Romantic poets. Will read more.
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My grandmother had an old blue book which claimed to give the meaning of dreams in a highly contextual sense–I’m pretty sure dreaming of tornadoes isn’t a particularly good omen. Here they spin a dark trifecta of allusion and illusion, three faces to the wind, indeed. I like all the lines quoted above, but especially “…a grit and rubble sutra/of a black and white world.” Being trapped between Cain and Abel is a Biblical hot seat I wouldn’t like to share, either. Nicely spun dreamscape from those black and white threads, and kudos for weaving the three into one.
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Thank you!! On the “Name that prompt!” call-out, I couldn’t just *capitulate*, right? LOLOL!
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Dreams are often riddles aren’t they? My head is spinning in your tornadoes (whilst dodging the bullets)!
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Ahahaha!
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