Best Sleepiness Poems
In her playground of romance,
swings of destiny swayed gently,
as a merry-go-around span endlessly,
so in a state of dizziness,
I crept inside, unaware, in my sleepiness,
I had been treading upon flowers beneath my feet,
as their fragrance faded, her spirit wept in echoes of betrayal,
but her tongue could not explain,
so, I gifted her three dahlias from my soul's oasis;
purple for prosperity,
red for passion and
white for innocence.
I can still remember the taste from
the first time I felt the moisture of her lips.
In a night where we held each other so tight,
we sizzled like the Sahara sun,
as heat kindled in our kisses,
we merged in the silent language of touch,
waiting for gravity to bring us back.
We were adrift without the need for words -
in places poetry cannot reach.
In our infatuation, following lanterns in the night sky,
I mistook our path of promises
for an intimate illusion only found in dreams
and became misplaced in her self sabotaged storm,
until I was swept away with merciless waves.
Yet, yearning rests upon the tip of my tongue,
like breathless whispers.
If only she would come to me like dawn,
so I could kiss her like ripples at 5am and
once more feel the heartbeats upon her breast.
I turn half asleep,
reaching out into the emptiness,
as the darkness paints her silhouette in each corner,
flickering sentimental slideshows in my mind,
absorbing the angst of her absence.
Now I am nothing,
and she no longer remembers my name -
so what purpose is there to remain?
Ravens gather to the rhythm of a sad piano,
as my pulse beats wistfully among weeping willows,
leaving traces on my flesh like raindrops on stone.
Reciting the last paragraph, I ponder
if this is maybe the penultimate poem,
as we cannot find new verses to ink together.
But, our memories are stitched into the same seam,
so I'll wear her handwriting until heaven.
When I am weary, tired and worn
When the day on wings has flown
When dusk comes with hushed repose
When I lie, a wilted rose
Sing to me
When my heart is bruised and sore
When my voice cannot implore
When my tears streak down my face
When my fears need saving grace
Sing to me
Sing to me on lover's bed
Sing to me, my worries shed
Sing to me, sweet lullaby
Sing to me, don't ask me why
Sing to me
With lips close to shoulder bare
With hand deep in raven hair
With voice trembling in my soul
With melody to make me whole
Sing to ME
Sing to me for in your tone
Sleepiness to stars has flow
In tune whispered in my ear
Angel song of love I hear
Yes, Sing
Sing to me
I filled a small trench that yielded fresh water.
Built as a serpentine and with a sharp corner.
A small waterfall sang a melodious sound,
A lulled sleepiness induced when it hit the ground.
On each side of the rill, fair, watery plants grew,
A great choice of Algae. Ferns, a lobelia blue.
Fitful arrowheads and water lilies adorn.
Cardinals and others begin their flight in the morn.
Already prepared was a slightly large pond,
Well covered with cement mixed with soil beyond,
I planted some hyacinths and water lilies.
Soon, dragonflies waltz around like sillies.
My final job was planting a dwarf willow.
Don't be surprised, robins made it their pillow.
The city is a milky, oval opal
cradled between the mountains' breasts;
from my airplane window I view her misty shoulders,
her features masked by darkness,
quiet in midnight sleepiness.
From my perspective she lies in peaceful slumber,
but what do shadowy vapors hide?
We descend; closer,
the pricks of light stab more sharply
until I can discern the gleaming blood flowing,
shimmering rivers pulsing through the streets.
This flight will end below
where you are waiting in brightly lit airport;
people rush upon their ways
to other highways twisting through the sky.
We will find an all night cafe,
sit across from one another
and wish our own heart fog would dissipate.
Copyright, August 13, 2015
CONSUMMATION
She came again last night
with love-lights sparkling in her ebon eyes
and honey dripping from her lovely lips
and visited my chamber in the night,
I heard her come,
I heard her footfall on my stair,
I watched the door
and saw her beauty standing there.
How lovely to be loved and love
to meld into her sacred fire,
to know myself to be a moth
to know the burning heat of this her flame,
and in the darkness of my chamber in the night
to leave my door ajar
inviting her to enter in,
to wait for her
whilst drifting into sleepiness and dream,
upon my bed of roses.
Stirring now
I know not what the cause
nor why this moth she draws
with ecstasies of fabulous desire
into her flame of love,
to be consumed, to burn, to die,
and yet, to live for her alone
upon my bed of roses.
I’ve tasted sweet before
but not like this
this silver dew upon her breath,
I’ve waited untold lives to savour this,
this love sublime, the fire divine,
I wonder if it was the dimple in my chin,
or could it be the opening in my heart
which she had made that drew her in
upon my bed of roses.
With eyes wide open
blind to all I see but she
in that sweet night I drowned again her deep eyes,
always she comes with unrehearsed surprise
and plants in me her precious seeded prize
that love which never dies.
When I recovered from the shock
and I had taken stock
‘twas she who held the key
which turned my unseen lock
so she could enter me
upon my bed of roses.
And when I thought that she would leave at dawn
she paused and drew me further in,
into such depths I’ve never been,
all this then done
in love’s embrace we both were one,
we both were gone,
no one lies here
to wet my pillow with pearlescent tears
upon my bed of fading ruby roses.
Tom.
Today I have to confess,
I have been suppressed.
By you,
Else who?
You have stolen my heart,
By you,
My sleepiness is being thwart.
The way you smile,
It freeze me for a while.
I wanna be your fringe hair,
To disturb your face,
This is my love's base,
I couldn't help myself,
From staring you.
If I am a grass,
You're morning dew.
I am tired of tolerating all this,
I love you all my life,
This is my wish......
Why I am thinking of my father
on the topic of white snows
perhaps because he seemed almost Hispanic
in his youth, tanned, dark hair and eyes
but whiteness shone the day
he came home early
worry caught my breath in chest
and only in the morning
did the firemen come, taking him away.
Such heart spasms, clench us all,
yet snow falls so softly, unexpected
and ice rains even less noticed
they drip, drip, coating the roads
and only when we step too fast
skews our vehicle, ends us in ditch
new babies without parents,
stitches in our heads.
The drips spire down the icicles,
coat the roses as buds, never to open,
and yet, sometimes, I wish to be inside
tasting the ice cold water like fire
turning blue to the ends of my limbs
in sleepiness, and setting ablaze
my very soul, like a light, shine out as call
here, with me, all the memories
a blanket of witness to eternity
dripping into us experience’s minerals.
Who could do magic with a wand
headed with all of life’s power to hold?
Who could accept magic in waves
like the falling of snow, or wonder
that we escaped from death,
that we saw roses, saw the spirals
climb down from the sky as raindrops
and drip, drip, into our thoughts
all that began as white and ended.
I am in a state of deep sleepiness
I am looking at the sky star-less
On this night of gentleness,
Remedy for the work tiredness
I am dreaming of my beloved star
Which watches over me, in particular
In a full attention, without any tension.
But, so sweet and so protective,
She teaches me, as a great educative
The golden rules of life
As for starting a party
As for continuing a time playing
Cards playing? But, what am I saying?
Lie playing, advice from our fathers
Experience and advice from our mothers
I am in a state of advanced alert
And, in the innocence of the night
I, eventually, can glimpse
A magnificent and starry sky.
© Rita Solis Radius. Translated prose from ‘Nuit sans étoiles’. September 26th 2011.
Yes I did it, it was me
When I had to go pee pee
I never put the seat back down
Now my woman wears a frown
Her white toilet is now yellow
I am such a stupid fellow
In trouble because that night
She had a hair curling fright
Half asleep and half awake
It did not take long to break
Her out of a sleepiness
When she sat in a moist mess
I left a minute before
She stumbled in the bathroom door
Now my wet bummed sleepy "zombie"
Is now torturing her sorry
Hubby who no longer can
Go pee like a normal man
I have to sit every time
For this not so funny crime
First Day of the Year, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Premier de l’an by T. Wignesan
Each moment of waking up is an act of giving birth
I use the iron tools myself on the mother
To death
Myself : Who is this myself ?
Am I somebody else other than the weight I bear
Who resists who clings refuses
To be born ?
This weight deliberately reinforces itself
Through its heaviness
It wouldn’t want ever to be anything but matter
Half-conscious half in a state of stupor
Root before being stem
Seed which pushes upwards through the ground
Without being pulled out
Meanwhile it fathoms its false state of sleepiness its
burrow
(And) in delving into it it expels proportionately
All its skin goose-pimply to the touch
Hairiness of anguish enormous world
She kneads it more and more into the narrow passage
Her own abdomen compresses in vain his anguish
Towards the interior and the exterior at the same time
An every day happening that’s always impossible
The act of giving birth
This first day of the year nineteen seventy-three
Aged fifty-six years and eight months
Once again after twenty-thousand times more
I knew I have to be born
I do not want to.
I cry out to Someone who is stronger than me
That he might pull me out of my old fears originating from
my mother*
That they put me on this earth
So that I might walk towards my end once and for all in
my stride
With my dead elder-sister for company
On this earth of living beings
Someone who is I right at the end of the route
Up above
Puts aside with might the thin-lined horizon
So that I might be born
One day the more.
• See his poem : « Now to be flesh of a man and a woman »
(Sophia, O.C., t. II, p. 416)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
What am I thankful for?
As I lay here my mind searches
Afraid of waking up
it lurches
Vacilating within
the folds of my covers and brain
Trying to return
to my slumber again
Attempting to hang on
to my infinite creativity
That partial sleepiness
and rapid eye activity
Wiping my eyes
I'm partially awake
Giving heavy hands and legs a shake
Thankful for the hard decisions
I've been forced to make
The people in my space
who are real and not fake
So I ponder the breadth of my life
Sharing it with the love of my life
My sweeties tongue never cuts like a knife
She's my best friend
lover confidant and wife
The gift of family without the pretend
A life and future
Not a desolate dead end
I never expected
To find myself here
I used to loath
what I seen in the mirror
Now in God's Grace
I have nothing to fear
Now I am older
Feeling more content
My thoughts flow freely
I'm not bogged down in cement
Thinking the things I think
Now I can say what I meant
No longer linear
My thoughts can be bent
So I thank God
for an open mind
Knowing what it mean's
to open the blinds
If a man searches
he'll be surprised by what he finds
Love health and time
Should never be wasted
Food, touch and moments
are gifted to be tasted
Give more then you take
Your heart will be sated
Forget about comparisons
They are way over rated
Ambition and stuff
A poor substitute for living
Those who are take take taking
Have forgotten about the giving
Blessings change to curses
Not the place to go
Instead I want thankful
It helps my heart to grow
Richard Lamoureux
Written October 12th 2015
Contest Judged October 25th 2015
Trashed # 3 sponsor Broken Wings
As the web of sleepiness leaves me now.
Remembers the time. And alone.
As days go by and the seasons change I can only dream.
I should have stayed asleep, I'm not alone there.
Heart of mine which pumps my loneliness. Stop.
Vague thoughts and hopes crushed every time.
And the truck shakes my house as it goes by.
You should have taken the best of me.
That seed of mine, with cold lies dormant.
It's comfortable waiting for warmth.
And my dreams wait too.
Tears provide but the thirst won't give up.
We started alone and we die alone.
I loved you and your calm.
It helped with the end.
Be like a poet, prepared for spontaneous inspiration. You may see a wisp of smoke blowing from someone's cigarette - follow its flight into space above you, until it fades somewhere between the ceiling and the smoker's head. Some more wisps of smoke will float aimlessly to join other wisps but these don't grow heavy like clouds scudding the sky on a spring day. Imagine them wrapping around each other in some invisible limbo of their own. You could get hypnotized to sleepiness in no time trying to pierce this hazy veil of smoke.
Don't count sheep, be a shuttlecock in the wind, its feathered flights across the court a rhythmic to and fro soothing sound. As the wind blows around it, feel the leaves rustle like tattered pages, the forest whispering a lullaby, rocking you to sleep.
Have a vision of you dripping wet under the rain, scrubbing you clean. Ride with the tendrils curling downwards until they evaporate on the ground. As you and the rain melt and become one, your essence evaporates into a dream pulling you into deep sleep.
When sleep is elusive, let your mind just wander into the deep end of the sea Touch the undulating weeds moved by the waves above it. Search for a sea.nymph, and when you find her, hold her hand or her fins or her tail or whatever part of her you can latch yourself into. The very act of trying to catch her maybe so exhausting you could fall asleep into oblivion.
Now, was that so hard, falling asleep?
@jjote 0828/2015
COFFEE
His voice, confused, warm,
Apologizing, smiling.
Coffee smell, longing...
Distant voice carries
Early morning sleepiness...
Attraction complete.
***
October 31, 2016
I knew muse senses were waning
when I rose so late from bed.
All the world seems spinning
and sleepiness still dances in my head.
Some days life just gets you down
and nothing you can do to change it.
So here I am just pondering displaying a frown
that the day is lost and I just blew it.
What's left to say?
Blah, blah, blah.