Best Fitful Sleep Poems
“ Affirmation without discipline is the beginning of delusion. Jim Rohn “
Relentlessly I pace around the room,
like a caged lion, dreaming of vast forests,
yearning for savannah grasslands,
vaguely remembered.
I fret for I feel inadequate,
still, I yearn despite the drudgery of life.
My thirst for you is insatiable,
always increasing though deluded,
as if I'm living in some devastating desert
where no fertile oasis thrives.
How can I enforce discipline? I cannot do it.
Night deepens and I yearn for the day.
Lying in bed I wonder
how much of all this I can take.
At last, my wife's home,
reeking of foul-smelling cigarettes,
reeling with too much drink,
dress soiled with what I dare not think.
She smiles at me, I freeze revolted.
Her kiss is blistering
as I wipe her saliva off,
I help her reluctantly
to her dark solitary cot.
How easy my fire is quenched!
All sweet song is muted. I despair.
How many wearisome nights are appointed to me?
That we should exist
when life is just like a passing wind,
it comes and goes, extinguished forever.
Till then, she and I are but chained,
each to his own devious devices.
Will I ever see joy again?
I retire to my fitful sleep
and dare to dream.
Perhaps one day.....
Who knows?
The newborn dawn is nigh,
its first rays are fresh and bright.
Yet, despite reality and delusion,
I dare to dream.
Placed 1st
Below within the dwelling deep,
while tumbling in fitful sleep;
the rumble-hum of furnace keep;
the mouse and Cat Lord Bo-peep.
Fluttering lids and labored breath
below within the dwelling deep,
furious dreams do waken sleep
attributes of childhood’s bequeath.
Horrors rise on temporal tides
a stew of insanity bides.
Below within the dwelling deep,
the cat fiddle-screeches life’s weep.
Dali cobbles retinal creeps
the mind dittles and cows moo oon,
The nightmares ending none too soon
below within the dwelling deep.
He opened his box on Christmas morn
That wondrous day when Christ was born,
But it was no gift... he softly wept,
It was his bed, for here he'd slept.
His belongings in two carrier bags
Cast off clothes, mainly rags,
Who in their homes could believe
That beneath a bridge on Christmas eve
People huddled in fitful sleep,
If they saw...they too would weep.
Entry for
The darker side of Christmas Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Richard Lamoureux
20/12/2019. Placed 2nd.
April, you fetch flowers of spring to rise;
Lacing in verdant green and fruit to reap.
Gardens seed bloom, whist bees and butterflies
Saunter by tippling passion nectar deep.
Renew daytime length increase leaden skies
Whist nighttime length decreasing; fitful sleep.
4/22/2020
Poetry Contest: Each Letter Threads The Verse
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Tuesday was the day the ogre found my kitchen.
The dog sat in the hallway for an hour watching her
Empty my refrigerator, and two cupboards.
I had never heard my dog whine like this, I thought it odd
But I was tired, after a fitful sleep,
So I called in sick, and slid back under my pillow.
By noon the ogre had emptied two more cupboards.
I know because she was a braggart.
When I trotted into my bathroom I noticed my makeup was gone.
I did not see who was wearing my eyeliner and lipstick
Until I reached the kitchen. Where the dog would not go.
No wonder. The ogre was enormous, flamboyant, and intimidating.
“Is that my lipstick?” I asked her.
She laughed, showing me uneven yellow teeth
Then she began to brag about what she had eaten first,
and how fast she had done it.
I tried to chase her away, but she refused to go.
She sent me to the store with a shopping list.
What could I do?
She was holding my dog hostage.
"...though nothing can bring back
the time of splendor in the grass
of glory in the flower..."
---Wm. Wordsworth
"...in sickness and in health/
'til death do us part..."
Your mortal flesh decays
while mental failings mount
and I, powerless, mourn
your losses, in silent grief --
no slowing of the ravages
and time's neglect --
little chance, now, to correct
the many errors of the past.
I guard your fitful sleep,
remark upon your wrinkled brow
and sparse remaining hair,
hear hesitant, labored breath,
and determine to bear
(for how much longer?)
willful, spiteful actions,
bitter barbs, prompted by
what you really -- really! --
know -- by what we both
cannot accept and
refuse to voice aloud.
You called out of the deep blue sky
When twilight was running from the night
Woke me from a fitful sleep
On the verge of dreams
Could this be reality
All the times you wonder in to my mind
When real was fare from itly
When your voice could only be heard in dreams
Now you just across the line
To good it seems
For truth to find
Tears formed begging to fall
But they never made it past my lashes
I willed them back to the portals they traveled from
This was not a sad phone call
Your voice was deep
Deeper then I remember
Perhaps it was from pain
Pain that rocks your mind, body and soul
I wanted to hold you in my arms
Make the demons that fallow you
Run and hide
If only for a short while
At times when it seems
God is not on are side
Though I can’t speak much for Them
Your words pored over me
Like water from a cup
Washing away all the fears
Dirt
That marked my skin
I heard that night
Just how much you love me
How much you want change
I believe in you
With all I am
My hart will always be yours
With all that I am
Yours forever
Erica
The “rinodemwiticus”
It stood proudly hungry
watching all the others sate themselves
promising them forever more.
It turned – I saw the other face
preening itself as it strode
through the debris of its
efforts to build a bigger nest.
I watched it struggle to sleep
wrestling with its duplicity,
doing battle with its multi-faceted
manic manipulation of the pillow.
In fitful sleep it flip flops on itself,
tells lies about the lies it claims
it never told. One voice shouts:
“I will save everyone from everything”
the other interrupts loudly:
“I will give everything to everybody.”
Six owls fell out of the trees
stunned by the depth of this “logic”.
The wolves took off their “sheep’s clothing”,
the fox moved into the henhouse,
the lamb looked at the lion and said”
“Don’t even think about it Leo.”
Chicken Little and The Little Red Hen
were led away in handcuffs.
The rotating head of the “rinodemwiticus”
contradicted itself continuously.
Soon the whole forest was aroar
with grumbling and fighting.
Christopher Robin hid the honey from Pooh,
Mary’s Little Lamb hooked school,
the Cookie Monster was “fat shamed”
into unemployment and depression.
And still the “rinodemwiticus” whirled
spewing its noxious vitriol on the
flummoxed masses lest it be seen
too soon to be the extinct two faced
aberration that it is.
4/3/2016
submitted to – A New Species – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Anthony Slausen
Awoken from fitful sleep, too uncomfortable to resume
Stifling heat prevailing one morning in early June
Through dawn's weakly strained golden haze
Fresh air my lungs desperately craved
To reach the front door, I descended the stairs
With door ajar, cooler air, under a fanlight glaze
My attention was alerted to warbling of a lonesome bird
One continuous note distinctly suspended, as in mid air
Uplifted my soul, as another bird's rendition I heard
With one accord, in duality, birds pitch perfect paired
Heralding in unison further bird answering calls
Culminating chorus of blackbirds, larks and song thrush thralls
Chirruping in octaves, as though orchestral blendings
Glorifying their earthly sojourns in joyous renderings
Listening, I stood in deep contemplation
As all industrial noise was still in cessation
All life in perpetuity as from centuries before us
I then realised, I too had been called by
the BIRD'S DAWN CHORUS
Tender loving strokes through my hair
so reassuring
so comforting
like the voice that coos in my ear
so loving
so gentle
the whisper of a mother's comfort
so strong
so warm
gently soothing away the anxiety
her voice comforts and hides the tears
that gently roll down her cheeks
as she trys to sooth her own ache
with those of the child she cradles
and how comforting, warm and safe is that whisper
as it lifts me off to peaceful dreams
where only fitful sleep had dwelled
so dark
so painful
but like the whisper of a familiar voice
so loved
so tender
it has the power to calm all fears.
Hunger holds the reins, stimulating or stifling,
driving the plant to bend to the sun and root deep,
herding the roe deer toward unsafe pasturing;
hunger holds the reins.
An emptiness of desire unfed, ends fitful sleep
as moon-tossed men pull threads of sanity, hiding,
from deep within a memory of fullness creeps;
hunger holds the reins.
Mouths and stomachs, hearts and souls, all need minding.
Un-sated, they distort, deform, in rampant leaps,
so feed your needs in earnest or you'll be finding,
hunger holds the reins.
I open the door and in the darkness
I see you in the bed,
Like I have so many times before.
You look at me, your eyes sparkling with sensuality,
An inviting smile upon your lips.
Your arms are open wide and beckoning
For me to come find comfort in their warmth.
I undress and crawl into the bed, reaching out for you
But all I find are pillows.
I lie in the darkness trying to sleep,
But I am restless
With the memories of you.
This bed is too big and I am alone.
I lay the pillows next to me, as if you were there.
Maybe now I can sleep.
I need you. Here. Now.
But all I have are pillows.
I drift off into a fitful sleep
I hear your voice calling out to me.
I see your eyes and can taste your lips.
I reach out to touch your face -
But the image shatters!
Once again, I am awake.
Cold. Alone. In pain.
And all I have are Pillows.
black sky chill runs to the bone
as I shudder from the pain
fitful sleep in bed alone
a face without a name
a vision soft in morning's light
the memory soon forsaken
the one I want to hold so tight
is gone when I awaken.
I drift among a sea of Emotion
I can grasp sadness, caress fear
I can see hate, Despair, I can hear.
But my eyes finally rest upon it
A globe of flashing pink and red
Love, pure and warm, full of life, not dead.
My hand brushes its soft surface
Joy floods into view
Passion flutters askew
I feel calm, full of peaceful bliss
O' how I wish this!
O' how I wish this to be!
But alas.
It was not to be.
The globe fades, to a dull lifeless grey
My hands fall gently away
I sink, down into the deep
I drown, in my fitful sleep
My alarm clock rips my eyelids open from the seams
And I awake once more from my wishful dreams.
Ship-wretched
Golden sand as far as can be seen
Lapped by an ocean, aquamarine
Sun blazing, high, in an azure sky
Another land hermit crab scampers on by
Palms edge the beach gifting welcome respite
from the heat of the day till the cool of the night
When the touch of an incoming breeze
Taps coconuts out of the trees
Out on the reef, lurk broken timbers
Phantom remains of his long ravaged boat
Each fitful sleep brings a new silver moon
And his silhouette yacht now afloat
But in the day those dank timbers sway
Like demonic arms seeking help
So it’s Snapper for breakfast and lobster for lunch
And supper is crab served with kelp
Each coconut lands with a thud
on his cabin of palm leaves and mud
Then drops to the cool evening sand
The coming day’s breakfast now planned
But the reef is a bountiful mark
Though the shark does his rounds after dark
So diving until the sun yawns
Brings dinner of oyster and prawns
Then someone dives over the side
Of a yacht that just anchored offshore
She gracefully swims with the tide
He isn’t alone anymore
With two passion fruits, that’s one each
He exits the shade of his tree
He halts as he heads down the beach
Dumbfounded at what he can sea
Naked she walked from the sea
Enjoying the solitude there
No swimsuit and no bikini
For no one can see that she’s bare... (Oops!)
His one overwhelming emotion
Takes over as soon as he meets her
He stares at her yacht on the ocean
And dreams of hamburgers and pizza