Best Bed Sheet Poems
IV
A soul was broken to make room
For dusty halls and labyrinths.
A gossamer, nylon bed-sheet shroud
Enwraps the remnants of that mind.
And no excuses can be made;
This disease does not justify that one.
I do not sleep deeply, I do not wake easily,
I dream of cities built on sand,
Next to the swelling sea.
Oh, they should have lasted.
Why should they fall?
I dream of timber horses,
Brought between those city walls.
We should have known; we should have known better.
III
But, I am not an honest mystic;
Beware what you ask of me.
I will show truths within the liar's tapestry.
But, you will not believe; no, you cannot believe.
II
I howled for my motherland
When the mutiny began.
I heard the cry of treason; heard the cry and ran.
I saw blood be spilled,
Some of it my own, then
Felt the rest boil, that this could happen in my home.
I saw the battle through, until the very end,
Then wished the traitors pardoned,
Because they were my friends.
I
I cannot tell the difference
Between the sleeping and the dead,
So, I will dole out blankets, and keep the kettle on.
The streets are cracked and dirty,
And they all appear the same:
Shattered glass and roofing tacks
Where I place my bare and weary feet.
I don't want to go on.
But, I must rebuild; I must rebuild.
I have no grass to lay,
The trees and flowers will not grow,
So, I shall use nothing, but mortar, brick, and stone.
It's not the same; it is not the same,
But, I shall call it home.
He cursed himself for accepting the dare. He never believed in ghosts or haunted houses. He thought it was an easy way to make a few bucks if he spent a night in a haunted house.
Now he found himself in the most deserted house of the small town, reputed to be haunted. He had lain on his camp bed and hoped sleep would come soon. Certainly, he did not relish the pitch darkness of the house or outside it.
Without any rational explanation he found himself hovering between nowhere and the balcony. He saw all the houses of the town light up in a flash of multiple lightning. It seemed to him as if the whole town trembled as an earthquake rippled below the ground. The balcony seemed to disintegrate, and he found himself falling, falling, and falling right down into an abyss.
He wanted to cry in alarm. Sweat oozed out from all over his body. He woke up on the camp bed. He tried to get up but found himself paralyzed. The darkness engulfed him like a bed cover. Suddenly he thought he saw a flash outside the bedroom in the corridor. Lightning? He had no way of knowing.
Finally, he found he could move his hand and grasp the bottle of rye. The liquid seared his throat. It was not easy to drink as he laid flat on his back. The heat was now intense, and he sweated profusely. He tried in vain to pull up the bed sheet to try and wipe his face. The only thing that moved was his heart that was pumping away like mad. Relax. No ghosts about. It was only in the mind. Tomorrow he would gain those extra bucks.
It was then that he felt something moving over his body. In the pitch darkness he could not see what this could be. Suddenly a pair of malevolent eyes glared at him out of nowhere, seemingly without a face. Then he heard the growl. He wanted to scream but could not. Sweat poured down his face and his heart pumped away like a rocket propelled to hell.
His friends found him next day, cold dead, a small cat sitting on his chest.
It's Halloween, that spooky time of year,
when scary monsters prowl the streets all night.
The costumes sometimes give us such a fright -
our heads with trepidation fill with fear,
but light the candles then they disappear.
Young children's faces shining with delight,
lit up by pumpkin lantern's glowing light;
with bags of candy kids run off and cheer.
Some teenage children take it all too far
and play their tricks when they don't get a treat.
I find smashed eggs upon my house and car,
then I use language I should not repeat!
Next year I'll have my front door just ajar
and wear a white face pack and old bed sheet.
10~23~15
Italian Sonnet - abbaabba cdcdcd
Contest: Mad as a Hornet
Sponsor: John Lawless
Entered into Halloween Contest
Sponsored by Nayda Ivette Negron
Locking the door is useless,
for he has a key...
Will that sliver of light
become a wider slice tonight,
or not?
Bed sheet covers are but flimsy barriers,
easily thrown off
by hands—
Hard working hands
that roam where they should not
Tuck you to bed,
tell you a fairy tale before you sleep,
kiss you good night.
They all hold different meanings,
they always do.
The moon is a silent witness,
peeking through the windows,
where shadows refuse to dance...
but creep
Innocent eyes of a doll
that weep
“Shhh,” he says
“This is love.”
But the pounding heart,
the screaming mind
know otherwise.
This isn’t love.
It never was.
The moon can only scream in silence
with her.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sun crashes in,
dissolving the darkness
but it never matters,
for the nightmare continues...
She’s there at the stove, cooking
eggs sunny-side up
He reads the newspaper
with a smile
Yet tears start to pool
as a timid voice says,
“Please, Mommy...
Why don’t you believe me?
The Boogie Man is real.”
September 16, 2011
091620111025p1050
As have I
Has the dawn ever seen your eyes,
glowing in dreamscape whispers,
feathered by soft morning breezes,
enticing daylight wishes
& hot coffee desires,
reflecting in a summer’s sunrise
while bed sheet & flannel
affections warm you…
as have I
7/7/17
Written for “The Eyes Have It” poetry contest
Sponsored by: Daniel Turner
Forgotten Hero
I was awesome;
destined to be rich and famous when I grew up.
Until that happened,
I settled for being a superhero…
And I was!
I was untouchable.
Bulletproof.
So fast you couldn’t even see me,
and faster still in my special shoes…
which was a good thing
because I had underwear on my head.
I was the picture of heroism
posed before the oscillating fan
which billowed my bed-sheet cape
and modulated my voice
to mimic a pre-pubescent Optimus Prime.
With a giftwrap-tube in hand
I was armed for any conflict.
Yet for all my power, I was incorruptible.
My faith was absolute…
in the certainty that
good always triumphs over evil,
and I never intended to lose.
I sought the distressed damsels
because that was the right thing to do…
not for any reward;
certainly not for their cootie-infested
kisses of gratitude.
I was great beyond everything I knew,
universally loved and adored.
I was the greatest hero the world had ever known,
and everyone wanted to be my friend…
…until they didn’t.
Because wearing fruit of the loom helmets
is for weirdoes and losers.
Because children need to stop daydreaming,
and focus on their studies.
Because not everyone can be rich and famous,
and it’s impractical to chase after foolish dreams.
Because there is no such thing as “special shoes.”
Because everything isn’t black-and-white, and
standing for what you believe to be good is intolerant,
and unacceptable.
Because superheroes aren’t real,
girls don't have cooties,
and it was time to grow up.
…and I have.
07/31/15
I went to Mars on one of my trippy dreams,
Where red was the color of every theme.
Red was everything that one needs.
Red like the color of the blood I bleed.
Red were the rocks and the sea,
And red was the lock and the key.
Red like the blush on a girl’s cheeks,
Red like the Indians of the creek.
And the Martians were so red
That they looked sore from toe to head.
Red was the hue of the wine and the bread.
Everybody was red, be it the living or undead.
Now this redness started giving me frights,
There was a red sun, red trees & red moon in the night.
The color of courage was on my left & my right.
I was going insane, couldn’t withstand this sight.
So, I opened my eyes & got out of my sleep.
After Mars, my usual surroundings now looked creep.
I set aside my red pillow & removed my red bed sheet.
Got into my red slippers to cover my feet.
Then, I got out and saw various shades around me,
Violet, green & yellow seemed so delightful to see.
It felt nice to see all those colors after the bizarre dream,
Where red was the color of every theme.
I dreamed I had a raptor
Living by my bed
It only stood three inches tall
On chicken it was fed
Its tiny body skinny strong
Glistened in the light
As it ran and skid across the floor
Plainly in my sight
I wondered where it came from
As it focused on my face
It raised its jaw and flicked its tail
Warming up to race
I felt the bed sheet pressing down
By its body and its claws
But the thing that scared me most of all
Were the teeth inside its jaws
Its little tongue flicked in and out
Saliva dripping down
Oh god and the chicken I just ate
Not a scrap left to be found
Gulp!
Today
One sheep, Two sheep
I can’t seem to find sleep
Got thoughts in my head, so
Today will not let go
Hello… looks
Like a sleep.. less night
Three sheep, Four sheep
Tangled in the bed sheet
Tossing and a turning
Roasting hot and burning
Hello… looks
Like a sleep.. less night
Five sheep, Six sheep
Come on sleep, please creep
Get me out of this bind
Get her out of my mind
Yoyo… looks
Like a peace.. less night
She said, I said
Join me in the marriage bed
I don’t seem to think so
Today will not let go
Oh no… looks
Like a rest.. less night
Me thinks, She thinks
After I’ve had forty winks
I will see it her way
Get me out of today
I say… looks
Like an ease.. less night
Morning, Yawning
A brand new day is dawning
I know she’ll go loony
When I do a Clooney
Hey ho… looks
Like a sleep… filled night
Fresh Snow…
Undisturbed…
except by the horse tracks behind him
and the sagebrush,
like polka dots on a bed sheet,
stretching to the mountains ahead.
He’s alone but far from lonely
as he rides up through the snow
along a sagging fence line
with the valley down below.
Pausing where the wire is down
this old fence mender looks around
to see if he can find a clue
of just what critter busted through.
But fresh snow…
Undisturbed
covers any sort of sign
except those horse tracks back behind.
So he picks up the wire
nails it back in its place
under gray skies that cover
this wide open space.
Then the clouds split apart
by shafts from the sun
as if they’re God’s spotlight
on a job that’s well done.
Shadows shorten.
Boot and horse tracks
melt together as one
and tight wire is all that’s left behind.
Jeff Hildebrandt © 2004
He floats along in his porcelain tub
on an evening sea of gold
and the ruby eyed fish wink at the child
as he shivers alone in the cold
In his nightshirt of cotton
he baits his small hook
with a heart that he picks from a pail
and raises the bed sheet
he dragged from his room
to give his wee ship a red sail
and the dolphins do smile
as they watch the young lad
when he drops the heart in the deep
for he wants to catch a seahorse prince
to ride and gallop and leap
the lady of evening encircles the boat
and strokes the child's soft head
then lifts him right up and carries her charge
back to his warm trundle bed
and dreams of the night in the little blue boat
are tucked away in a drawer
as the angel of sweet dreams tip toes away
and silently closes the door...
1.
the crystallised handkerchief
of one’s span of life
your handloom-bird brings with its lips
some musical notation of the nimbus
holding that waves within the heart
how much growth does occur
to the sandal-line of a man
or
it does
fall
the blades of grasses are known well
to be vegetarian
the eyes of the reindeer
have cent per cent smelling of fish
then what translation would you suggest
for the fingers of wild titlark
the shirt
they have put on the body of this night-stone
what best word-meaning does match it
but land-lotus
2.
i’ve re-constructed
all the trees and plants
with
the dry straws grass twigs collectively
fetched by beak
and the monsoon
as well
the full-brim of vodka
is deep in the palms
in that moonlight
a sleeping-tablet
does take a dip-swimming
within her enfolding
there may be the whole works of rabindranath
from the breathing of cd-player
spreads around
the sound of horse’s hoof
there is the bed-sheet of dusts
on the anger
kept bound within the cover of rexin
it’s true
our vineyards are still
prone to stones
then it does not seem
that the boiled moon sets
into the tea-cup
3
in your songs
still lies
immense green
the bed-room is too
very bright
the walnuts
walking along the path
that touches the rain-shore
make me think likely
on a sunday
kept in an envelop
when the bedcover of the early morning
speaks frankly
what’s in its mind
to the soap-water
the ears of the horse
in the wall-calendar
look very crazy
i can remember
one day
the sun-boats would tear their wrappers
their whisper would want to discover
the inclinations and thoughts of the creepers and herbs
possessed by the lady-volunteers
their yawing would notice
so many unused handlooms
taking a run-away on the clouds
now
would the cat under the beautiful jersey
finally think of waking up
then i’ll go
to deposit the clever apples
along with
all the triangles accompanying it
to the nearest cold-storage
I plunged into the opportunities of life
The world such a squeaky stage
I played with the players
Competing to be the best
Quantity and quality all mattered
So with energy it had to be mastered
And hitting the gym after all that kept me even further
From my little corner
My little dancing lamp
Where the pillow saved my words
And the blanket captured my strengths
Where the bed sheet was such a friend
And I had me, alone, in tune with me
Solace in solitude
In sheath and amplitude
You tell me there are things that you can’t say
Without bruising your tongue, some things
That you repeat in your head like videos of blurred suicides.
Each face the bullet goes through resembles your own.
You tell me there are things that you can’t say
Without a bible in your hand, some things
That you’ve forgotten.
Missing pieces of a puzzle that are found.
You tell me there are things that you can’t say
Without touching yourself, some things
That you catch yourself talking in the middle of the night.
Each spilled secret staining your bed sheet.
You tell me there are things that you can’t say
Without you crying, some things
That are better lost than found
So
You throw away the missing pieces
Of a puzzle.
You throw away
The bible.
You throw away
The sex toys.
You throw away
Love.
You say things that make you unhappy, like things
Better seen in the dark, or maybe things
That you wished you didn’t know.
So
You collect the missing pieces
Of another puzzle.
You collect
Broken promises.
You collect
Four-leaf clovers
With the fourth leaf plucked out
You tell me things that I’ve heard before
From your own mouth, some things
That I wish you’ve forgotten.
You say you can’t tell me what I already know
So you don’t say anything
When we open up the cadavers of drowned infants.
There are a hundred babies down in the lake
And you don’t even say a single word to me.
One of them is your own.
So you open me up instead
And tell me the lake is yours.
i will tell you words,
that will make your soul to faint,
for i am not a saint,
Been living life, like a labyrinth.
I felt love,and i needed it to last,
but you were on a mission to satisfy your lust.
I was in love with the devil,
who roamed around capturing everyone attention.
And putting them under his spell of detention,
just to satisfy his lustful flesh affections.
To his victims life he brought imperfections.
I was in love with the devil,
who seem not to be satisfied with my blood,
went and searched on the street,
for the blood to quench his thirst.
I was the beauty and you were the beast
my body was your festive season feast
under your white bed sheet
I was in-love with the devil.
From his mouth came words,
which seemed to capture my soul.
His commands i obeyed,
from his demonic enchanting voice .
Indeed the devil is a liar.
For you lied to me and said,
you will never break my heart,
yes you did not just brake my heart,
you toned it into pieces and stole my soul,
and left me empty as a shell.
Your eyes were magnets with a strong attraction force,
my friction force was weaker than the applied force.
i was drawn to you ,with an ease.
you said we will fly together
to the bright future,
i wonder whose wings a fallen angel was gonna use.
i'm happy for you my sister for you have found your angel