Sleeping Mountain (A Lucid Dream) Poem by Sonya Florentino

The sleeping has awakened..... the force within unleashed......

one excellent lucid dream well written

a bit scarey and very descriptive, great poem! Ruthy

I think u r talk about...mount Pinatubo Volcano its a beautiful poem...remembering the monumental event...you feel so strongly for those that suffered and a host of villages wiped out yes...it was traumatic full marks dear...sonya u did justice to the event and poetry both chers and ten Mount Pinatubo in June 1991, after more than four hundred yrs slumber, erupted so violently that more than 5 billion cubic meters of ash and pyroclastic debris were ejected from its fiery bowels producing eruption columns 18 kilometers wide at the base and heights reaching up to 30 kilometers above the volcano’s vent. A thousand lay dead, hundrends injured and a millon people displaced. For months, the ejected volcanic materials remained suspended in the atmosphere where the winds dispersed them to envelope the earth, reaching as far as Russia and North America. This caused the world’s temperature to fall by an average of 1 degree Celsius. Clearly, Pinatubo’s eruption signals the 'world’s most violent and destructive' volcanic event of the 20th century. i recall somethinf from 100 BC....here i share with you And, wearied, on Cyclopian shores we run. The port capacious, and secure from wind, Is to the foot of thund'ring Aetna join'd. By turns a pitchy cloud she rolls on high; By turns hot embers from her entrails fly, And flakes of mounting flames, that lick the sky. Oft from her bowels massy rocks are thrown, And, shiver'd by the force, come piecemeal down. Oft liquid lakes of burning sulphur flow, Fed from the fiery springs that boil below. Enceladus, they say, transfix'd by Jove, With blasted limbs came tumbling from above; And, where he fell, th' avenging father drew This flaming hill, and on his body threw. As often as he turns his weary sides, He shakes the solid isle, and smoke the heavens hides. In shady woods we pass the tedious night, Where bellowing sounds and groans our souls affright, Of which no cause is offer'd to the sight; For not one star was kindled in the sky, Nor could the moon her borrow'd light supply; For misty clouds involv'd the firmament, The stars were muffled, and the moon was pent. Credit…where due Vrigil the aeneid Sorry …got carried away…just couldn’t pass that...some poetry! ! ! tc

Wow, this is powerful. It makes me feel strong, like I could stand 10 feet tall.

Your shift from realist to surreal (in keeping with the title) is an amazing journey. The underlying hint of the dream become actual brings and edge of danger to the words. I love it! S :)

powerful ending, and a bit of a surprise. I like the way you make it personal and equate yourself to the volcano.

This stands alone as a vivid, well written description of a dream, but I guess you are also saying something about you as a person?