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Title: Dreaming of Dreaming - Poetry by Peter E. Williams
Author: Williams, Peter E.
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Dreaming of Dreaming - Poetry by Peter E. Williams" ***

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Copyright (C) Peter E. Williams 1999





                             Peter E. Williams

                      Meet Electrified Publication #1




                                 Poetry by

                             Peter E. Williams

                                 Edited by

                                 tiM McCann

                           Meet Electrified Press

                I wish to thank tiM, editor, but firstly and
              foremostly friend, for his honest criticism and
                undying enthusiasm that he has shown towards
              my poetry. Without his work, this book would not
                               have happened.

                            Dreaming of Dreaming

                        Poetry by Peter E. Williams

                             ISBN 0-646-38552-6

                     Copyright © Peter E. Williams 1999

                          First Published 1999 by
                           Meet Electrified Press
                         24/255 Northbourne Avenue,
                              Lyneham ACT 2602

             Cover illustration - monochrome reproduction of a
               water colour by Peter E. Williams, circa 1980.

                             Table Of Contents



   Mind Stew 

   Dreaming of dreaming with my cat. 

   Piffle the Cat 

   My Mum 

   White Space 

   Life's A Beach 

   Merchant Banker 

   Mega, Giga, Tera 

   A million to hate

   To have lived our fantasies 

   And the Expletives Remained

   Spinning Out

   Walls & Sledge Hammers


   "He's fallen in the water!"

   Voices again. Been there, done that...

   An Abecedarian Story 

   Hollywood Romantiks 

   Are we there yet ? 

   It didn't really happen 

   Lovely Passenger 

   Lust Looking Good 

   Circular Poem 

   From Attitude to Gratitude


   Remembered Turf 

   One Tuesday in February 

   One Wednesday in March

   My Brother. Oh brother... 

   Religion, sex, etc. 



   Bill of Rights Cut-up (last 3) 


   Just `orrible 

   What is love ? #1 

   What is love ? #2 

   About the Poet


   Crazy as a cashew.
   Unbelievably lucky,

   I keep my job,
   live alone,
   lead a lucky life.

   Always the same old job,
   17 years of it.

   Go nowhere.
   Be nobody.
   Do nothing.

   Sheer luxury.


   They got to me.

   They drove me
   off the deep end.

   But I'm lucky
   with my label,
   and my safe job.

   Shame I'm nuts.

Mind Stew

   Boil, boil, and
   on it stews,
   the broth that cooks,
   on the stove
   that is my mind.

   Ideas bob up,
   then quickly go.
   But some will stay
   and add to the
   flavour that is
   my twisted mind.

Dreaming of dreaming with my cat.

   (Dedicated to Go the cat)

   Early this morning in bed,
   I had a very pleasant dream.

   I dreamt that I was asleep
   on the sofa
   with my cat
   (that I don't have anymore)
   curled up on my back,
   and we were both
   warm and happy.

   Those types of dreams
   are always the best
   and I never want
   to wake up from them.

   But then again...
   I'd never get to
   see the beautiful day
   in store for me.

Piffle the Cat

   My cat came to me in a dream last night,
   he needed my love and my reassurance
   that things would be okay.

   His name was Patches,
   but he answered to Piffle
   and he was a sook and a cuddler.

   My cat came to me in a dream last night,
   he never deserved to go
   the way that he did.
   no-one did.
   you see, he was killed by vicious dogs
   at the front door of his home

   He never did learn to fight
   only to run
   But he wasn't fast enough that day,
   he was getting a little old.

   My cat came to me in a dream last night,
   I told him I loved him and he told me the same,
   for it was twenty years ago
   that he was taken away
   to the very day.

My Mum

   I love my Mum,
   I always do,
   always have,
   always will.

   She's always joining dots,
   but never quite
   getting the picture.

   So we're always
   drawing those pictures,
   Dad and me.

   Framing them,
   and hanging them
   on the walls,
   for Mum to see.

   I love Mum!
   Everybody does.
   She's such a
   loving, lovable, caring
   and wonderful human being.
   God, I love her.

White Space

   Here I sit,
   at my word pro,

   the white space
   staring me down,
   but not out.

   I experiment,
   pseudo-random words
   into pretentious,

   Then with an afflatus,
   words flow,
   whispered by my muse,
   into lines and stanzas.

Life's A Beach

   I am not you.
   You are not me.
   Me, myself and I will get alone just fine.
   Fine for that is life.
   Life in the suburbs is sedate.
   Sedated in the psych. wards.
   Wardrobe looks a little bare.
   Bare all at the beach.

Merchant Banker

   Merchant banker
   willie wanker
   likes to spank her
   can't thank her

   change the lock
   adjust the clock
   darn my sock
   suck my cock

Mega, Giga, Tera

   Down in those malls
   those super malls
   we've got mega stores
   and we're making them bigger

   1000 times more,
   giga stores
   make them bigger still
   a million times better
   more freebees
   a million times bigger...
   we'll call them TERASTORES.


A million to hate

   how many men could I find to hate ???
   how many have betrayed me ???
   10, 100, 1000
   or a million times more

   It's just how you look at it;
   'cos if you don't have the time
   or the energy to hate
   then you will find true peace
   if only you look inside.

To have lived our fantasies

   I found you
   you found me
   we corresponded
   we fantasized

   I gave without questioning
   you promised it all
   but you delivered nothing

   had you really promised without thinking ???
   or did your feet turn cold ???

And the Expletives Remained

   The lines flowed,
   the poem wrote itself
   and the expletives remained

   Fuck the Poetry Police!
   Fuck you all, very much.

Spinning Out

   The last time I was
   " hearing voices" again
   was only a couple of days ago.
   I was sick in bed
   with a viral infection.
   I was trying to sleep
   but voices kept saying
   " Think what you know is true."

   But then I would think,
   " Well what do I know is the truth ?"

   Then I'd think of something
   and say, well that's true,
   and quick as a flash
   another voice would say
   " Is that really what you believe ?
   Is that what is true ?
   Isn't that bullshit ?"

   And then I'd have to think of
   something else to believe in.

   And this was not a relaxed process.
   No way!
   It was manic.

   It seemed to happen
   a 1000 times a minute,
   and it just wouldn't stop.

   At least, it went on
   for an hour or so,
   and it seemed like an eternity.

   Just another day
   in the life of
   "a person with schizophrenia."

Walls & Sledge Hammers

   Where do I start ?
   At the beginning of course,
   but where is that exactly ?
   I am
   (to state it in
   politically incorrectly language)
   a schizophrenic.

   And I have been living
   with that label
   for the past 15-odd years now.

   I live by myself,
   have a few close friends...

   But I count myself as
   one of the lucky ones
   because throughout all of times
   in and out of
   psych. wards of hospitals,

   I kept the same job,
   with a large
   government organization,

   and they've been very
   supportive towards me.

   Today, at work,
   in my lucky full time job
   as a government nobody,
   I get largely left alone and
   to my own devices.

   For better or for worse,
   but always with an occasional
   supervisory peer
   over my shoulder
   to keep me in line.

   "Oh yes, ,
   your job is safe,
   we do value your work,
   just keep going
   at your own pace.

   We're not too sure
   where or
   how exactly you fit in,

   but we like
   having you around,
   and, hey,
   somebody has to
   do the odd jobs,
   and we think you're
   just the man."


   I am not lucky enough
   to have a job that I'm in love with.

   My career is not my life.

   Sometimes I think that
   I'm just a tiny cog
   in a ridiculously enormous machine -
   but there are also moments
   when keeping that cog turning
   seems to make a (slight) difference.

   I have good days
   and other days.

   Sometimes the other days get ugly.

   But, I always try to do
   the right things at work,
   for recognition perhaps,
   or perhaps simply
   to prove that I am really
   not incompetent at my job.

   I can do it well,
   and I do it the best
   of my capabilities.

   And if that means that
   I hit brick walls then
   so be it -

   I just have to get help
   when I hit one.
   I have learnt
   through bitter experience,
   that when I hit a wall,
   they will almost always out-stare me.

   So that's when I get a ladder,
   or maybe a sledge hammer.


   (Dedicated to Mistress Alexis)

   I am naked,
   assume the position.
   I know it well.

   She grabs her rope.
   Around it goes.
   Through my arms
   and around again,

   knotted then back.
   " Keep still, please."

   and through again,
   and back around,
   again and again,
   and tied off in
   a love knot.

   She double-checks
   the bondage.
   Finally she is satisfied
   with my helplessness.

   Then she leaves me alone.
   I struggle a little.
   It is hopeless.
   I am helpless,

   I move around a little,
   trying to become comfortable.

   The ropes bite in.
   Time passes,
   Hands become numb.
   The clock ticks on.
   I lose track of time,

   it goes so slowly,
   how much longer will
   she make me wait ?

   More time passes.
   Eventually she comes back.
   Soon I will have freedom,
   but not before we
   have played some more.

   Oh, the agony.
   Oh, the ecstasy.
   I truly love it.

   I can't wait for my freedom,
   then to do it all again.

"He's fallen in the water!"

   Ying tong tiddle high poe
   and other shades of Goonism
   drifting in and out
   of the corners of my mind
   reminiscing about those

   hazy radio days
   crazy voices reverberating
   around the room
   antics of Milligan and co.
   amazing, surprising,

   always echoing

Voices again.
Been there, done that...

   I can still vividly remember
   the last time that I was "hearing voices"
   (to use a worn out metaphor).

   It was less that a week ago.
   I had been there a thousand times before.

   Yes, I am on medication.
   Yes, I do take it regularly.

   But this was only
   a short lived episode.

   It was a Saturday, and
   I hadn't gotten dressed all day,
   but instead I had
   been napping off and on all day.

   I had also done my weeks washing and
   had it drying on a clothes horse
   in the lounge room
   (as is normal, being winter).

   It was early evening and
   I wanted to go to sleep.

   Slumber was a blissful escape,
   or perhaps only sometimes.

   Anyway, I couldn't get any sleep,
   and my mind was racing.

   "Everyone's going to find out
   all about those secrets.

   Everyone will know the
   worst things that I can imagine.

   They will know all about me
   and everything that I imagined
   people saying will be true now."

   They keep on going around in my head.

   They're crap,
   and I know it.
   They're just voices,
   I tell myself,
   but why won't they go away ?
   A short time passed.
   More voices,
   different voices,

   "You know what to do,
   Mother always says so.
   What should I do now ?
   I don't know!
   But you know what to do,
   don't you ?"

   The vicious circle kept going `round.


   Time to get up from bed and
   ring Mum,
   after all
   she knows what to do.

   Scattered and shaking,
   I do this.

   I go to the phone,
   sit down, and
   phone ever-reliable Mum.

   She is my tower of strength.

   It's an STD call
   but I don't care.

   She tells me to ring the Crisis Team
   (aka the Mental Health Triage)
   but I can only fumble with
   my electronic organizer.

   I know exactly how it works,
   inside and out,
   but I could not operate it to save myself.

   I get a pen and Mum tells me
   the phone number of the crisis team and
   I write it down.

   She tells me that
   she can be on the next bus
   if I need her to be with me.

   I tell her "no thanks,
   I think I'll be OK".
   I hang up the phone and
   call the Crisis Team.

   I speak to a lady who knows me,
   although I cannot recall her.

   She talks me through it and
   tells me to watch a bit of TV or
   listen to some music and
   to occupy myself until
   later in the night.

   My mini-crisis passes
   as I follow this advice throughout the night.

   Was it because I did all of
   the "right things" or
   was it simply that my "medication"
   was taking effect ?


   The above episode
   was only a small tremor,
   but it still scared me a bit.

   I guess that I took it better
   than I otherwise might have
   because I have been there before
   and done it all before.

   But that doesn't make it
   any less scary at the time.
   It's only with the benefit of hindsight
   that I can see that I could cope with it.

An Abecedarian Story

   Aardvarks' abacuses abate academia accordingly as
   Beavers breech bridges built by
   Cats claws cleverly constructing,
   Dogs deeply dig ditches downward
   Eels electrify electrons, elevating engineered entrapments
   Fish flatulate food foully
   Gazelles glide gracefully
   Hawks hedonistically hold holidays
   Ibexes idealistically indulge inexpensive infidelities
   Jackanapes jam jazz, jealous Jehovahs judge
   Kangaroos' karma kills kindergartens
   Labradors lament lost love
   Macaws mainly manipulate manure
   Nags napalm nasty necrophiles
   Ocelots often open operas
   Panthers persistently piss
   Quails quantify quarrels queerly
   Rats relegate responsibilities
   Salmon seldom sing songs
   Tadpoles tastelessly tell tempting testaments
   Unicorns unknowingly, unwittingly upbeat urgent urinal usage
   Venison vent verbal volcanic volleys
   Wallabies want wellingtons with wings
   X-Dodos. x-tinct.
   Yaks yell yesterday's Yiddish yoo-hoos
   Zebras zip zodiac zones.

Hollywood Romantiks

   I long to be loved,
   just like in the movies.
   It's all so easy
   for the love-struck stars

   They met
   They didn't get along
   then slowly...
   they fell in love

   It's so easy
   for them,
   they just fall in love
   easy as pie

   They say,
   " It's not fair,
   It's so easy for them.
   Why doesn't it happen to me ?"

   It doesn't happen to me either!
   Life is not a fairy tale.

   And yet love will happen.
   Of that I'm sure.

Are we there yet ?

   Here we go...
   on a fantastic journey
   of self discovery.

   He told me:
   " Just grab a pen
   and write whatever you feel.
   Let it flow.
   It's best
   when you don't
   premeditate your writing."

   I should:
   edit my writing,
   not my ideas !

   I should:
   take my own advice.

   But, I think,
   that's easier said than done.
   Don't I always try to think
   of what I'm going to say next,
   before I commit it to paper ?

   But then I think,
   " What is good writing anyway ?
   How will I know when I'm there ?"

   "Are we there yet ?"

It didn't really happen

   You went down the street
   just an ordinary day

   you saw a young girl
   innocent and sweet
   talking to her dad
   about everyday stuff

   their freezer needed defrosting
   happens everyday

   did you really tell her
   or did you just dream it
   how to make a little... tiny... flame thrower ???

   of course you didn't !!!
   you're not that stupid,
   and even if you did
   you weren't serious.
   she'd know that.

   you'd never even tried
   to make one yourself
   but you'd heard it somewhere...
   that you can make one
   from an aerosol can and a flame

   and she could even reach that freezer
   if she just stands on a chair


   try telling her parents
   try telling her
   you weren't serious
   you didn't even know
   if it would work

   try living with the memory of that scared little face
   all covered with bandages
   never the same again


   but don't worry
   it was just a dream
   it didn't really happen at all, did it ?

   just keep telling yourself
   it was all just a bad, bad dream.

Lovely Passenger

   Here I sit,
   on my bus,
   seated behind
   a vision divine.

   She is young
   and beautiful.
   But mostly she is
   a nubile,
   young thing.

   She looks
   a little tired,
   but young at heart.

   She sneezes.
   Will I say
   " Bless you" ?
   Perhaps not.

   Oh, I pine for
   the days when
   she may have been mine.

   She is truly
   a vision of
   loveliness, divine.


   This morning,
   on my bus,
   travelling to work,
   I passed a woman
   sitting in her car.

   She was very attractive,
   I recall from
   my two second glance.

   lovely face,
   and such nice,
   long, black hair.

   and did I crave for her ?
   lust for her ?


   desires for her ?

   beg for
   sex ?

   why, no.
   You do believe me, don't you ?

Looking Good

   She has:
   Terrific tits,
   Beautiful boobs,
   Loverly lungs,
   Magnificent mammaries,
   Nice nipples,

   a cute arse!

Circular Poem

   Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,

   oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

From Attitude to Gratitude

   No longer do I have
   the sheer luxury of
   a do nothing,
   be nobody,
   go nowhere job.

   It's good to have some real work to do.
   But now, of course,
   I have to work with
   crappy computers and
   a card file system that
   have stood still in time.

   As the world evolved
   and got ready for
   the next millenium,
   we are stuck here in
   a 70s time warp
   with nothing but
   dusty old shelves
   and compactii
   and junk
   that belongs in a museum
   to work with.

   And still,
   to get results
   with antique systems
   can give me
   a feeling of self worth.

   I do indeed lead a lucky life.
   After all, I have a job
   (with good conditions
   and people too).

   I keep my job,
   and try my darndest
   to do a good and honest job.
   Because that is what
   makes life worth living.

   Good friends,
   and the satisfaction
   of knowing that I will live
   to enjoy life another day.


   Do I believe in God ?
   That depends on what you mean by God.

   Do I believe in life after death ?
   That depends how you define life,
   how you define existence.

   Do I have a soul ?
   I don't know how you define a soul,
   but I suspect that I do.

   I believe that there is something to look forward to
   after death.

   I believe that in some way, in some "place" the
   souls of "good men" end up and exist together.

   I don't know what or where it is,
   But I'm looking forward to it - one day,
   one eternity - perhaps.

Remembered Turf

   I've got the password
   and I'm into the system.

   It's precipitating wet stuff
   out of the sky,
   but I'm warm and
   dry in here.

   And tiM was blown away
   by his wet suit,
   the other day at the coast...

   And now I'm just listening
   to some jazzy kind of music,
   playing on the stereo,

   as we remember the amazing
   turf sculptures
   in Civic,
   in some abandoned
   bank office building,
   now reclaimed as art space
   for the common man.

One Tuesday in February

   It's a beautiful day to be alive!
   I have just stepped outside the building
   on my lunch break
   with a can of Coca-Cola
   and now I can quietly relax
   and enjoy sitting on a bench
   in the sunshine and sit
   and quietly sip on my drink.

   The quietness is interrupted
   by a helicopter flying overhead
   for a moment.

   A few more sips
   and the caffeine
   and chemical cocktail
   begins to work,
   to give me a "rush"
   - or perhaps just a nudge.

   One quick ten minute walk
   around the buildings
   and I'm half way
   back to my building.

   I'm a little puffed
   but feeling good.
   Better start heading back
   to my office soon.

One Wednesday in March

   I walk outside into the glorious day.
   The sun shines brightly,
   another lunch time,
   another can of coke.

   Sweet as honey.
   Sickly sweet.
   I find time to sit
   in the shade,
   enjoy the beautiful day
   and sip the sweet nectar.

   Such a change from
   the stuffy offices -
   air conditioned and
   closed and
   controlled climate.

My Brother. Oh brother...

   I have a brother
   who thinks that he understands
   all about my condition.

   But, deep down
   I think that
   he thinks that
   my condition is
   all caused by a combination of:

   low self-esteem,
   not thinking positively,
   bad diet, and
   a guilty conscience

   (presumably about either
   not working hard enough,
   seeing prostitutes, or
   forgetting birthdays, or
   some crap like that).

   He has lots of good intentions
   but basically he can't
   come to terms with
   the fact that
   I earn a good salary
   (not unlike him)

   but I spend all my money
   (basically on myself)
   with not much to show for it,
   and he has a wife and
   four kids to support.

   If I mention on the phone
   that I have to go down the street
   to buy a few groceries,
   then he will gladly spend
   half an hour telling me about
   his favourite recipe, and
   what ingredients to buy to make it
   (and how good it will be for me) -
   even though I tell him that
   I could not be less interested in his recipe.

   Oh brother!

Religion, sex, etc.

   I have some ...
   shall I say
   unconventional views on religion.

   I was touched by a Christian "anecdote",
   for lack of a better thing to call it,
   where, the story goes
   that a man talks to god and
   says (basically)

   "throughout my life
   I have been walking along a beach,
   and I saw two sets of footprints,
   yours and mine.

   But in the worst times of my life
   I only saw one set of footprints.

   Why did you abandon me God ?"
   And God replies
   " At those times,
   I had not abandoned you,
   I was carrying you!

   You see I never abandoned you,
   I was always there for you."

   That story always gets me right there.


   But basically
   I don't call myself a Christian.

   I don't know if I believe in God,
   but I believe that
   there must be something after death.

   I believe that the souls of good people
   end up in some kind of eternity,

   I would not exactly describe it as heaven,
   in the Christian definition.


   I believe that the Bible lays out
   some very good ideals of how to live
   and how people should
   live by being "nice" to each other
   and so on,

   but ultimately,
   I guess I just don't buy all of that
   fire and brimstone stuff,
   and miracles left, right and centre.

   I even found out a
   little bit about Buddhism,
   and liked some of the
   stuff I found out,
   until I found out that they have,
   shall we say,
   very strict views on
   sexually and
   what is sexually "proper"
   (for the lack of another word).


   My sex life is
   what I call normal,
   if only slightly kinky.

   I have a friend who I have an arrangement
   to see when the want arises.
   She is a prostitute and
   one of my best friends.

   She keeps telling me
   that I am very special to her.

   We are not exactly straight-laced
   (neither of us),
   but we know what we are doing and
   we are both consenting adults and
   that's really all that needs to be said.


   In the past I have been
   betrayed by people,
   who I once trusted -

   all in the name of
   playing a practical joke,
   to humiliate and
   embarrass me about my private life.

   I don't like what they did to me,
   but I don't despise them for it either.
   (I don't have the time or
   energy to hate people).

   I think that their actions only go
   to prove just how shallow
   they really are.

   I don't work with these
   people any more
   (because they have moved on to other jobs).


   Here I am again
   in the club.

   Came for lunch,
   stayed for a beer,
   and to play
   the one-armed bandits.

   The victory jingles
   of many machines
   are deafening,
   but they are not
   playing for me.

   So many times,
   one off that
   big prize.

   Better to stop now
   than later.


   That is a poem
   it is a lyric verse
   all lyric verses are poetry,
   therefore all poetry is lyric verse.

   That is green
   it is a blade of grass
   all grass is green,
   therefore all things green are grass.

Bill of Rights Cut-up (last 3)

   establishment of religion,
   freedom of speech,
   peaceably to assemble,
   redress of grievances.

   a free State,
   not be infringed.

   in any house,
   time of war,
   prescribed by law.

   persons, houses, papers,
   not be violated,
   supported by oath
   to be searched,
   to be seized.

   otherwise infamous crime,
   in cases arising
   in actual service
   be subject for
   life or limb;
   witness against himself,
   process of law;
   without just compensation.

   right to a
   State and district
   district shall have
   of the nature
   witnesses against him;
   in his favor,
   for his defense.

   controversy shall exceed
   shall be preserved,
   in any court
   the common law.

   excessive fines imposed,
   unusual punishments inflicted.

   of certain rights,
   by the people.

   by the Constitution,
   the States respectively,
   to the people.


   Thoust spake lies.
   Lies, lies and more damn lies.

   Thoust tongue is forked.

Just `orrible

   This is an `oribble poem
   about `orrible Ed & `orrible Sid.

   Now `orrible Ed
   had an `orrible `ead,
   but `orrible Sid
   had an `orrible kid.
   And that's enough
   of this `orrible poem!

What is love ? #1

   Love is:
   walking through the park
   holding hands,
   great sex.

   No that's just a fantasy.
   But it's a great fantasy
   of mine,
   and one that doesn't
   impose any stereotypes on anyone.

   So I'll hang onto it.

   We  would  like  to  suggest that you try reading this poem backwards,
   line by line.

What is love ? #2

   "Love is a many splendid thing."
   that's what someone said,
   but don't ask me who.

   Love is different things
   for different people,

   but for me,
   love is about
   being there
   for someone special,
   and about them
   being there for me too.

   I love my Mum & Dad,
   and yes, my brother too,
   and all his family,
   and all my other relatives,

   all my close friends,
   and the other ones too,
   who I only see now and then,

   I love Annie on 2XX,
   who I've never even met,
   who just talks away
   to me on the radio,
   happy as can be,
   brightening up my morning.

   I love:
   rock stars,
   pop stars,
   movie stars,
   and lots of people
   who I will never even know,
   except through their publicity machines,

   yet if you asked me,
   I'd say,
   " Sure, I love:
   and Kim Hope too"

   and so many more,
   whose names escape me,
   leaving me with
   only fleeting images,
   from movies, TV, and magazines.

   I love happy people,
   and struggling souls,
   and down-and-outs,
   and just about everyone!

   I love beautiful people,
   and the rest too,
   because beauty isn't about
   size or shape,
   it's about what's inside,
   and what you think and do.

   But I don't have
   someone special in my life.
   A lover,
   to love,
   and be loved by,

   so instead I dream on,
   just loving life itself.

   And yes, I go on loving
   those girls
   from bordellos too,
   just occasionally.

   Hey, I'm only human,
   and I need loving too.
   Or is that just sex & lust ?

   I need loving,

   I need love,

   I love loving,

   but don't ask me
   what love is.

About the Poet

   Peter  Eric  Williams  was born on 1st of November, 1961, in Adelaide,
   South Australia, and grew up in places which include: Adelaide, Berri,
   Sydney,  Oro  Bay  (Papua),  Sydney  (again),  Canberra, Penang Island
   (Malaysia);  before  then returning with his family to Canberra, where
   he  finished  primary  school, then High School and College, living in
   Lyneham.  He  then  got  a  job  with  the Department of Defence, as a
   Trainee  Draftsman, just before turning 20, where he continues to work
   to date (currently 1999), as a Technical Officer.

   He  has  only  recently taken up writing poetry. When he enrolled in a
   poetry  workshop last year, with the ACT Writers' Centre, he needed to
   bring  a  sample of his own poetry to the workshop, and he didn't have
   any, so he wrote the poem which became "Nuts" (in a shortened form) in
   the  evening  before  the  workshop.  It  was  warmly  received in the
   workshop,  and  thus  the  germ  of his poetry writing was planted and
   grew. He continues to share his poetry with fellow poets at the Closet
   Poets,  who  meet  twice  a month at the ACT Writers' Centre, and also
   occassionally performs his work on radio 2XX.

   Peter was diagnosed as a Schizophrenic approximately 15 years ago, and
   now  leads  a relatively "normal" life, with his full-time job, and on
   continual anti-psychotic medication. He lives in a rented, two bedroom
   flat in the Canberra suburb of Hawker, where in his spare time he uses
   his  personal  computer  for  the internet, programming and of course,
   writing poetry and publishing it on his own personal web page.

   A  large section of Peter's poetry appears on his personal home page (
   http://members.fortunecity.com/pew ). Some of Peter's poetry currently
   appears  on internet web site "The Australian BDSM Information Site" (
   http://www.ozabis.info/stories_poetry.html  ),  in  the "short stories
   and poetry" section.

   Peter  said,  "I  hope  that  this poetry will: amuse, bemuse, entice,
   entertain,  delight, shock, inform, educate and inspire the readers of
   these  pages." Read this book and you will discover some of the quirky
   corners  of his mind, about what turns him on, turns him off, and what
   turns him a little crazy...

*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Dreaming of Dreaming - Poetry by Peter E. Williams" ***

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