Best After Midnight Poems
(saw a mistake with a rhyme and just now revised this)
I’m on a Greyhound bus – six hours till dawn
It’s late and dark. I think that I must be
the only passenger whose light is on.
I’ll keep that tiny light trained down on me
because I want to write some poetry!
Are people sleeping on this late night ride?
Perhaps, but I will still keep on my light.
There’s little talking; maybe some folks bide
their time while looking out onto the night.
Not I! I take delight in time to write.
Aug 5, 2019 for Janice Canerdy's English Quintain Poetry Contest
written 8/2/19 after midnight in Iambic Pentameter
CHERRY BLOSSOMS AFTER MIDNIGHT
his sweet voice, I savor
i shake off the shivers of December
his cordial words warm me
i adjust the heat, grab another blanket
the vibration of his vocal cords
similitude of a lover’s lullaby
the sea so gentle, the silver moon
i’m lulled to sleep by his cherry blossom lips
12/19/2018
A Succinct Treat Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Michelle Faulkner
Finally, the hectic day is over,
and all I want to do is sleep.
But, as soon as my head hits the pillow
that voice of inspiration comes to me in the darkness.
Brilliant words flow to me from out of nowhere.
And as I have learned before,
if I don't write these lines down now,
they will be gone by morning.
No matter how hard I try to remember them, I cannot.
The poetry that came to me in the darkness. is gone forever.
I am blinded as I turn on the lamp
but, I find my paper and pen, and begin to write.
The endless ticking of the clock on the wall
is like torture, as the time flies past the midnight hour.
But, every time I turn off the light and lay back in bed,
that haunting voice starts to torment me, again.
So, I have no choice, but to get back up and write, again.
The same thing keeps occurring at 3 a.m., 4 a.m., 5 a.m.,
and now the light of dawn begins to show.
Under these circumstances,
poetry can be a blessing and a curse.
Because, some of my best work
has come to me after midnight.
I just need to get some sleep,
As I lay here beneath my quilt,
Yet, I know these words will not keep,
By morning they will die and wilt.
Turning on my lamp, hurts my eyes,
As I sit up in my warm bed,
No matter how hard it tries,
The lines won't remain in my head.
The clock says it's after midnight,
But, poetry waits for no one,
I'll stay up until dawn's early light,
Until I can get this poem done.
If I try to write this tomorrow,
The words will have left my mind,
My heart will break with sorrow,
When the poetry I can no longer find.
I've become a tired, weeping willow,
But, I didn't have a choice,
I want to lay my head on the pillow,
And, try to quiet down this voice.
YELLOW IS THE SUN IN THE SKYLINE after Midnight- -
Once upon a midnight flat;
It was matte, imagined that!
'It's that even,' I muttered;
Yellow as sun and butter;
…..a rainbow of mystic skies;
Beautiful site between the eyes;
Passions liken a blonde celandine;
Bright byzantine, lupine, and benign!
Solar capsicum minds the incline;
~Yellow sun shines the skyline;~
3/30/19
10 Lines, 5 Words:
Rhyme III Cash Prize Poetry Contest
Rhyme poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Lu Loo
There's a time of night that's heading towards morn
often I find my creative side born.
Beautiful images cascade around me;
worldly depictions of life that astound me.
Maybe I'll stare out my window and think;
perhaps gaze up at the stars that wink.
Be a weaver of dreams with my mindful loom
in the quiet realm of my peaceful room.
The longings of midnight tempt me awake
with lovely bits of art that I make.
or a song I sing in the piercing night;
a sweet tune to carry the lyrics I write.
Designs in poetry,pictures that speak
of a creative mind with some ideas unique.
In the life beyond midnight-that's where I thrive
and feel so wondrously alive!
Raina, who lives next door
is always tending
her garden after midnight
sipping Milagro straight
from the bottle
Once I watched her
awhile from my window,
as she cut weeds and thumbed
her flowers sans glove, smile
unbroken
Curiosity came and I called
out, asking why she only
tended her garden late
She answered without looking up
that darkness was her thing
and wise ones never run
from true nature, or it'll
haunt you in your dreams
Then she went back
to her work-hum-sip
and that was that
Scores of white lilies bloom - slicing night air
with a deadly perfume.
Nostrils flicker and consume
scented ghosts haunting the room.
Wide Awake At Two Plus Hours After Midnight...
(actually, now at present time juiced
well nigh high noon same day)
On this January nineteenth
tooth thousand and nineteen
dogged by an earlier notion
searching soul to glean,
(while at Collegeville Diner)
above place previously wrought
poem hammered from this peon
expounded possibly seen,
asper belated birthday
outing now I mean
to expound upon nagging, yet keen
existential question, sans what purpose
validates yours truly within skien
of terrestrial webbed wide world,
no...no...no not
simply pocketing green
backs (banknotes, legal,
tender, money, et cetera), but now bean
older, and displeasing lee not so lean
when just a slip (pre) youth decades ago
yea, that would be
when I hapt tubby a teen
with nary a concern,
nope not even to preen
myself much to the dismay
of my late mother, nay
no idea why lackadaisical, illogical,
and antithetical bee hay
vee yore prevailed, but more to the point
rarely when young and naive did stray
thoughts besiege my mind,
that LX vintage sketchy,
shady, and seedy gray
area bothered concerning,
hounding, pestering and fill lay
mignon noggin ready toboggan
any price you say
for this staged coached blarney
finding this mortal questioning... ray
zing meaning, purpose,
and underlying importance, gestalt, design...
of life more so today
meaning since recent past
also taking stock of
accomplishments from way
back, and feeling stymied okay
at a loss to delineate
any rhyme or reason
to shout hip...hip hooray
quite the contrary, which following
admission might appear cray zee,
but aye decry barely
living capped off with oy vey!
Shards of lambent moonlight drift across crumpled charcoal sky,
gleaming snow clad laneways flaunt ancient ghostly footprint,
dream world boisterous cabals lurk in blue ink shadows,
glow worm street lights peer o’er nocturnal hour hush,
swirling toll of dulcet midnight bells defrost black ice veil,
mud stained slush from madcap drivers spray giggling sweethearts
Methinks resurgence of wakefulness
after bewitching hour i.e. midnight
quickly dissipating before dawn
quasi baptism regarding
preternatural soulful immersion
amidst spiritus mundi
foretaste awaiting expiration
regarding corporeal being
yours truly approaching mortality,
despite atheistic predilections
mine consciousness anointed
amist pantheon renown authors
analogous to dead poet society
ephemerally, fleetingly, gloriously
rejuvenated injecting inspiration
channeling, kindling, tindering
divine ethereal effervescence
allowing, enabling, proffering
exquisite jubilant outlook,
albeit phenomenal, quintessential, surreal
flash dancing unbelievable arabesque
spellbinding one garden variety
no name brand mortal
with dizzying evocative
silent springing summer
re: August gifted wordsmiths
avast swath of diverse
literary creative minds
amalgamation spanning
representative creeds, ethnicities,
genders, nationalities, religions...
disembodied spirits
peacefully commingling
immortal legendary outsize resplendent
universally vaunted writers
inaccessible to communicate
become linkedin while
this body (me) electrified
with sensory awareness
merely sneak preview
after life coming attractions,
nonetheless spark zealousness
to hone poetic craftsmanship
never approaching supreme
talent these masters endowed
yet also aspiring
to tamp down intimidation
beholding gold standard
benchmarked excellence
no matter mine deft
flourishes with English language
never earns raves
still enjoyment arises
enamored with kickstarting
indulging reverence expressing
emotions, thoughts, yearnings...
thru milieu courtesy
twenty six symbols,
where dictionary equals Bible
said tome in tandem with thesaurus
treasure trove of untold delight
and affinity since boyhood
until...corporeal flesh
attains posthumous summons.
It's midnight, another long, lonely day is through
so tired yet wide awake, missing her as I do
In the dark I just toss and turn, waiting to find sleep
Time passes by so slowly when loves wounds cut in so deep
At one am shaking hands light another cigarette
into the darkness I can only sit and stare
crush out the butt I was just smoking
the strain is starting to show some signs of the wear
Two am passes by, I'm still up, it's too damn quiet in here
not listening to her sleeping
now deaf from the sounds of my fears
It's three am, I must be lonely, suddenly feeling very weak
wanting her so badly, fight back the tears that roll down my cheek
At four I write her another love note
Then pause wondering how love can be so unfair
I'd like to send the many letters I've written
if only I knew to where
It's five am, the sunrise just beginning to creep
put out my last cigarette
then finally I'm able to fall into the void of merciful sleep
When death sent out its calling card
the heavens came in view
Psalms to reach the Angel’s ears
one voice had broken through
Grace within her every word
each feeling soul infused
Patsy singing from above
—to bless the chosen few
(Remembering Patsy Cline: May, 2022)
Where Upper West and East Side ended in sounds
Showing me the way where the female singer Carolina and I
Together shall meet the Law of Natural was translated
Into glorious flesh and in fire all
My body and tears emerged in the flow.
Till the vigilant noon
Took us away since we could swiftly
Speeding through the floating water.
I did not mind who's waiting there
For the moonlight after she said to tell me
Goodbye.
I just wanted to see her more, with a short uneasy blast,
In my Greenwich Village apartment
Quietly sailed on and on my back;
And then, after midnight for another jazz night --our Song, I guess
That made history so thinner and heavier
Let my vision went away with my female singer
In jazz night.
Have to keep the door closed
(after that midnight treat)
The coyote or wolf far off
(too close)
Can’t remember the plot
(salsa has tightened its grip)
upon awakening
(not at all sure of that)
the widening of the dark
I open the door slowly
to the shadows
(a strange light and likeness)
The wild animal is scarier
enclosed, inhibited
(it tears at my throat, claws
my innards - from a distance)
The pillow next to me
has no face or hair
(hope he’s living
downstairs!)
I need his warmth, his touch
(I’m shivering cold)
ALL THE LIGHTS GO ON
the bathroom
the sink
the bedroom
the hallway
the living room
the stairs
He’s there, in his chair
I tell him I need him
He says he will be along
shortly, so
I remain, reading
in my recliner
shortly waiting
then the warming begins
side to side
his hand over mine
a warmer blanket
after midnight the wolf
will wait to attack
and with waiting
he satisfies his appetite
I’m still cold at midday
but my fears sleep