I had a dream, I had a good dream…


I had a dream, I had a good dream.

A Story by Coyote Poetry
"My dream poetry. Dryden, Donne, Hemingway, London, Kosinski, Bukowski and Ben Jonson came to me in my dreams last night."       

               I had a dream, a good dream…

I tried to sleep early this morning, nightshift messes up your sleep patterns. I had a wild dream. I danced with Molly Flanders near the English sea and I kissed my beautiful Beatrice with the dancing Pacific near. I drank coffee with Ben Jonson in Dover and we discussed the trees, the world and what we become. He was a kind man who loved to watch the sea and he told me. Life waits for no-one. We must seek life with hardy heart and the boldness of a child. We are just men. On this earth for a second and most of us will be forgotten. Return to the dirt again. Thank you John for reading my work. When someone whisper my words to the night. I am thankful.

We are joined by John Donne. He slapped Ben Jonson back and he laughed aloud. He told us. Can I join the crying poet and  the writer? We told him. Please sit and please tell us a story. He sat down and he looked into my eyes. He told us. Once was a lad, he thought he knew everything. He controlled all things and he was a king of his world. He learn greatness in wealth, victories in war and walking alone. Seeking salvation and praise. Was a worthless life. He was dying in worthless words and a beauty name Anne More smiled at him. He saw everything beautiful in her eyes and he fell at her feet. He told her. If you love me, I shall love you forever. Beautiful Anne kissed his cheek and she whispered. John, a promise is a promise. I will love you and please love me till my last day. I did Johnnie. You share my words and I do appreciate. Remember Johnnie. When a woman loved you. You are blessed and I never left my love. Every word I wrote, was for her.

I somehow fell into a Tavern. A man with joyous eyes and large laugh, was looking at me and he smiled. Welcome to my home Johnnie. “Hemingway drink till you cannot”. Appreciate the company of a stranger who love the words. Here in my tavern. In the left corner. Jack London talking and talking. He talks like he wrote. Never-ending. At the bar, Kosinski sitting alone drinking his sweet drinks. Remember what Hemingway is telling you. “Never trust a man, who does not drink whiskey. Whiskey make a man hard, bold and real. I don’t drink those sissy drinks. He ordered two sets of three fingers of Johnnie Walker whiskey. A beautiful maiden accepted the order and she brought the whiskey back with a smile and a curtsy. Hemingway slapped her bottom and she smiled. He lifted the first finger of whiskey. To Agnes, to Hadley and to Pauline. Kind women, who tried to save a drowning man who didn’t want to be saved. We touched glasses and we drank the whiskey down. He smiled and he told me. We are drinking Scottish whiskey tonight to remember your lost love Sheena. She was beauty and us foolish men. We want everything and we end-up alone. He lifted the second finger of the Johnnie Walker and he told the sky. Thank you God, Thank you Devil for giving a depraved man, a place to rest. Look at Jack London, full of himself. He will tell you. How great he was and he cannot play the game of chess. I do like Kosinski. He is usual quiet and he had the greatest mind. He is hard to beat at the game of chess and he isn’t full of himself. If he talks to you. He is still heavy with life. Many men and woman here lived a hellish life and in “Hemingway, drink till you cannot.” We serve them what they need. I like you Johnnie. We tapped glasses and we drank the whiskey down.  I did a silence thank you for dear Sheena. First kind woman who love me. Hemingway raised the third finger of whiskey high to the night and he told the night. Thank you for allowing me to live, to love and to fight. We must test life, we must love many and we must fight like pit-bulls if we must for the things we love and want. No man is a island. We need someone to hold us up sometimes. We tapped glasses and we drank the whiskey down. He looked at me and he told me. I will give you one question. I want a easy question Johnnie. No shot-gun or love questions. I failed at both. If you need to know about love. Donne can tell you everything and more. I asked him. Did he live a good life? He smiled and he whispered. I like you Johnnie, you don’t want to steal from me. I did have a good life. Had many good days and some bad days. It is hellish becoming old. Just live Johnnie, kiss many gals, drink the best whiskey and never cry for things lost. Find something better to live for. He pointed at Bukowski and he told me. The old bull wants to talk to you. You said you were old drinking buddies in California. I thanks Hemingway and he held my hand tightly. He told me. Forget war, forgive people and drink more. You can see everything when your eyes are open.

I sat with Bukowski. He was smoking his funny cigarettes and drinking beer. He gave me a wild smile and he told me I heard you came to visit and I demanded some attention. We are old friends. I did like you in California and your small journal.  You reminded me of a hopeful Bukowski. I wasn’t hopeful long. I learn years ago. Hope killed your happiness. Better to be content with what you get. Women will break your heart and the whiskey will kill you. I like people who don’t want praise. They want to drink more, talk less and when you seek wealth and praise like Jack London. You make people sick. Molly told me, she dances with you in sweet dreams. She told me you are pretty and talk nice. Not like me. I am glad. Molly is beautiful, generous and she can make me smile. Few folks can. Thank you for sitting with me and can I order you a cold beer. I told him yes and thank you for talking with me. He yelled across the room. Two cold beers in clean glasses dear Alice. Alice smiled and curtsy to us. She brought the beer to us. He looked hard at my face. I have re-thought my life over and over again. I loved to write, hated Hollywood people and I loved the gals. I wouldn’t change one thing. Please Johnnie, if old Bukowski can teach you one thing. Don’t give a shit about other people opinions. Be, who you suppose to be. Remember never trust the government, they will give you everything and leave you to die. Nothing is free. You will pay somehow and love. Will break your heart and kill you one day. I wanted to ask him some questions and I awoke.

I wrote these words for you. I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading. Please read the ancient writer. They do appreciate.     

        Coyote