This Sunday, LC Repurposes for his Bus Ticket

Dear Readers:  I do apologize for the confusing names.  I created this blog with the notion of maintaining a certain distance from my real-life persona: the history professor and (relatively speaking) solid citizen with a growing reputation as an academic (not that the History Channel has come calling, but my work has been published in major journals and I have a book coming out in the near future).  In adopting my blogger persona, I chose a name from my heritage: Carolina (where my people have lived since NC was a British colony) Linthead (a once derisive name for cotton mill workers that became a badge of honor).   

That label is confusing enough, but then there is the matter of the dark and brooding poet, Lemuel Crouse.  I fear I have spent too much time studying the past, as I have adopted rather arcane nuances regarding putting my work before the public eye.  As you may have gathered, much of my poetry is written through the eyes of the mysterious Lemuel Crouse.  I will only say that he was born of trauma severe enough to permanently burn itself into my physiology and psyche.  He walks alone in darkness so I can walk with you, my friends, in the light of day.  He accepts his fate, and all he asks is that you give his work a fair reading.

This week the Poetry Bus is being driven by Jessica Maybury. She has asked us to help her compile a "collection of poetry about bathing. Or the sea. Or swimming pools. Or the layout of your bathroom. I want senses and unwound feelings inside."  Lemuel offers this, an almost lost bit from an old email, thankfully saved by The Bug.

Always to Dream

by Lemuel Crouse

Do you know what it's like

Always to dream?

Oh, not at night,

When mortals dream,

But always.

To dream of making a difference.

To dream of a better world.

To dream of horrors, too,

Past, present, future.

Dreams unceasing,

Sometimes overwhelming,

Always vivid, visceral, evocative.

How easy to lose myself in them.

How hard to know what's real.

How very hard to push them aside

And do what needs doing

Each day.

Without you I am lost,

Adrift on a sea of dreams,

No land in sight,

Slowly taking on water

Until I sink into the void.

This is a Sundays with LC reprise from here.