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  • Writer's pictureMark Bird

Dreambeast poem - it's your beast of a dream dying to get out!

Dreambeast... my whole website is named after a poem I wrote many years ago. It's the personification of those majestic dreams we all have burning deep within: well-nourished dreams ripe for the picking; dreams we are sure will land in our lap like magic. However, we often ignore those same dreams at our peril and end up wondering how they vanished and where they went . But do dreams ever truly disappear? Do they transform into something more sinister if left all alone? A growing sensation of grumbles and groans that mock those rose-tinted hopes; a haunting spirit that makes you surrender your dreams and discard them for reality? Were we all just silly star-gazing fools?

I say no!

Surely, it's never too late to create new dreams. As a child, I wanted to be a pop star, a dancer, an actor but I have to be honest, those dreams slipped through my fingertips. I only have myself to blame. I didn't work hard enough to achieve them. I lost focus. Youthful, hedonistic, for-the-moment good times got in the way. And I don't regret a second. However, when I came out the other side, it was everyone else's fault for a while - could-have-would-have-should-have-been.

Aspirational dreaming can be an affliction and a blessing or both don't you think? But what if we allow our dreams to evolve, mutate and reinvent themselves? Can we still do justice to our past and make it present? Possibly. Maybe those beliefs can take new forms, new life and carry us into a modern world of endless possibilities.

These days, I love writing poetry and stories to reflect on all that went before, all that is and all that is yet to come. However this time, I stuck at it. I didn't let the dream grow old or give permission for the hope-splatterers to steal my ambitions. And then what happens? Belief buds and blossoms. But dreams are prone to be ephemeral, so you need to nurture them well ; only then can they transform into the golden promises you made yourself many years before.

Getting my poetry published makes my soul soar and finally does justice to that dreamer from ages since. It's like I've kept a secret promise to the 70's, unsure, long-haired child from a faded photograph in Great Yarmouth, surrounded by the ladybird plague of 1976.

Those red carpets of ladybirds, forty odd years on, now a metaphor for the swarming, bright ambitions of 2021 - like a time loop has opened up and allowed both lives to co-exist. The child and the man in perfect unison, spurring each other on to be better, be braver, be brighter.

I finally realise that the awe and wonder of seeing a million Ladybirds rolling out their red carpet before me in a fairground when I was 6, is the same awe and wonder crawling with hope through my every bone, breath and heartbeat today.

It feels glorious. Totally glorious. And I'm never giving up on my dreams.

Are you?


If you have a dream

That won’t go away

That gnaws at your toes

With each waking day

That sings beneath notes

And swirls between stars

From lines in great books

It thrashes and gnarls

From cinema screens

It leaps along light

And twists your insides

And stalks you at night

Then give it attention

Tame that wild dream

It’s there for a reason

Yet to be seen

A beast of the future

Only you own

Don't let it escape

Into the unknown

Train it with care

And boost its esteem

Spotlight it brightly

So it can be seen

Or dreams can turn nasty

Tire and groan

Diminishing creatures

If left all alone

The beast never dies

Just shrinks and goes cold

A lone, solemn dream

Growing weary and old

So feed it with strength

Believe that it’s real

Nurture with love

And trust how it feels

Fight the dream-bruisers

Wish-batterers too

And splatterers of hope

Who'll be waiting for you

Feel the roar rumble

Hear every shout

It’s your beast of a dream

Dying to get out

©2009 Mark C Bird

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1976 Ladybird Plague

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