Best Waking Poems
The sweet breeze through the window
asks nothing as unseen birds call.
It asks nothing of the sun
as it sweeps across yards,
yet it whispers to waking dreams.
My dreams ask,
Did I love too much?
behind my mind’s eye,
visions
and what do they mean
when we give of ourselves
so fully we are spent.
Now I’m alone.
Canadian geese gather
crowding a path along the river
as the day passes,
so consumed with each other
they ignore the mothers
and children who pass.
A ski jet slaps waves,
and the river breathes.
The gaggle whispers among itself,
and nature speaks a language of her own.
In endless moments waking
Alone she sits at twilight
to dream of shimmered lace
While staring at the moonlight
reflecting on her face
The winds of change are brewing
through evergreens they call
To question what she’s doing
believing in it all
Her heart begins to travel
with wishes sent a far
As boundaries unravel
to touch the farthest star
She floats on wishes sharing
so soft upon a wing
While in the dark she’s staring
to futures it may bring
She knows it’s disappearing
for night is soon to end
The daylight she is fearing
a morning comes to send
Until the dawn is breaking
her eyes they cast a glow
In endless moments waking
that only she can know
I stood on the step by the unopened door
Far from the meadows that precede the shore
Grasped tight the railing I longed to explore
Searching for truth in the lies
Looked at the mat as it welcomed me in
Wondering when all of this would begin
Washed up and worried and covered in sin
One that the world would despise
Juggled a dish after dropping the spoon
Spotlights were shining, they lit up the room
Still not enough for this unending doom
Praying the end would be near
Paced cross the stage as the audience stared
Thinking I saw one who looked like she cared
Checking my pockets for things that I shared
Knowing not what I might hear
Then like a siren but quieter still
Came forth a voice that presented a thrill
When on my spine formed the funniest chill
Just as she called out my name
Chris, was the echo, a melodic song
I have been waiting for you for so long
Something like this surely cannot be wrong
I don't care who is to blame
I took her hand and my heart skipped a beat
Who would have thought that an angel I'd meet
Me, oh so sour and her, oh so sweet
She must have come from above
Then I awoke with a yawn layered scream
Only a nightlight providing the gleam
All of this poem was merely a dream
Waking before I found love
Every morning, before my caffeine
I enjoy waking up with Ilene.
No, it's not what you think -
I wake up with her INK;
The fun thoughts of her daily routine!
She writes poems day out and day in,
With an admirable discipline.
Every day, a new post
Of the topic that most
Strikes her fancy and makes readers grin.
She may ponder the day's biggest news,
Certain holidays kindle her muse,
Or the nasty COVID,
Or a lovely grandkid;
Daily "rhymes of the times" that amuse.
She may also share tales of some sorrow
Or of wishes to beg, steal, or borrow,
But her daily insight
Always starts my day right
So I'll wake up with Ilene tomorrow.
One good ear to the quiet pillow,
one bad ear to the unheard fright,
between, one step from the waking
or sleeping door to the end.
One for the price of two,
clutched with the value of half.
Two eyes toward the edge of light
or sealed at the core of the night,
betwixt and between, followed,
chased to quietly wonder.
The value of half still halved,
for one the price is two.
Half a night’s slumber, tenuous,
sleep is not found, waking deceives,
dimly lit reality too unreal to keep,
pitch black fear is master.
16th January 2019
Sat in rows dressed for summer, we convene to talk about winter and death. There are four screens in the room.
one in front
left right
and behind
that/reflect my face and body. I feel like an angry dog, wishing, anxious, snarling, wanting to claw at the animal. In the tomb of my ancestors, carefully collecting pieces of cream porous bone to dash out my brains, asleep and awake and dreaming—a staircase, with its finality!— The spirits that track scum within my veins (The professor says that Loneliness creates Weight) are restless and full of impure intention. Relieve me of dogs, winters, ghosts. Let me catch myself upon the concrete wall and maybe I could grasp what it is I’m supposed to be thinking about. Anchor me against the day, forlorn with torn, torn nails. It were
as if my plastic chair was wood
and the ground before me scattered with
locks of a girl’s hair, every few seconds
I am executed. My brains fried
beneath the metal dome, cold
and shining like the hand of God.
Twitching, extending outward, I
release
foam from my mouth
wishing to feed someone’s children
baby, baby birds. My executioner
asks again if I had something to say,
and always, I will say
continue.
The sun sneaked through the curtain,
And lightened up the place,
Where you'd normally lay your head.
And as I lay alone, beside you,
I can almost feel your breath,
Upon the back of my neck.
I drag myself into the day,
And for a second I see you in the mirror,
Sitting on the edge of our bed.
As I walk into the bathroom,
I hear you call me from the bedroom,
But when I look, you are not there.
I laugh at myself,
In the kitchen,
As I put back a second plate.
I feel the warmth of your arm wrapped around me,
As tears full of my love for you,
Fall from my face.
I waken to a rush of sound and light.
Somebody honks a horn as cars whiz past.
My friend has driven us into the night
and to a place where life is moving fast.
I sit upright so I might take it in.
The skyline is a smear of pulsing glow.
Resplendent is this blur amidst the din
of traffic. I see artwork of Van Gogh!
A starry starry night could not compare
To how this city looks when I’m half blind.
But now I grab the glasses which I wear
for my nearsightedness, which tricks my mind.
The street lights - still so bright - are right and clear
when blobs of luminescence disappear!
The scrambled word is T A R N D A I
Written 10/3/14 by Andrea Dietrich
For the "Find the Puzzle" Poetry Contest of nette onclaud
backside, front slide
whatever celtic profile
drips into the moon's pool
shawls twirl of mirrors unbidden
phrases and alphabets of waters wander
collapsing around the waist of marbles unturned
shelter me with a thousand
embraces from the moon's blankets
the wind torments me with granite whistles
when mother dusk wails for morsels of biblical mercy
this decadent night crawls with exiled breaths. i breathe.
I woke this morning to the sound of sleet tapping on my windows but after several minutes there had been a hush. I looked out and saw a soft blanket of snow. Not in itself cause for wonder, but in New Orleans it's very unusual. It was only a couple of inches, but it was the impetus for this write.
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They twirled in the swirling wind
No costume worn, ever twinned
each a beauty that transcends ~
each crystal from the sky descends
I danced among them like a child
filled with wonder, I was beguiled
until I realized and sorrowfully felt
my touch was spurring them to melt
From my window I watched, enthralled
as feathery fliers they lay sprawled
safe from the heated warmth of me
a flock of snowflakes, a Winter flurry
i was sleeping to be a beauty
struggling to be a queen
i was carrying the dead weight
of having no self-esteem.
my self worth had diminished
i did not seem to care
all i wanted was his love
i wanted him to care.
i felt sorry for myself
rock bottom i had hit
the new me was outdated
he and i just were not meant.
one day i took a look in the mirror
i vowed to make things right
no more sleeping for affection
i must wake up and first love myself inside.
Waking the demon
Do not try to conceal your lies
I know there is no truth inside
The words you spit are just to hide
For nothing good comes from lies
You will just get lost in your mind
Brewing slowly the blackness becomes
Overwhelming storms if deceit
Ones that drag and bury you deep
Crushing, smothering you need to break free
But the lies have you by the throat
No what can you do besides choke
You can flail and scream in its grip
But sorry now this one won’t slip
You built all this, your own decay
You woke this demon now you pay
The only way is out just to say
"This is it there is no other way"
There coming now don’t try to fight
Your body’s weekend, walk to the light
All this time you have thought you deceived
All this time you thought you got away
Too bad everything’s not how it seems
And that to you was just a dream
I open my eyes.
All around me,
everything is unfamiliar:
unfamiliar wallpaper,
unfamiliar white leather sofa,
unfamiliar country.
I moved here to teach,
and here I am learning
that I’m underprepared,
underqualified,
underdressed,
and hungover.
He wouldn’t let me leave last night,
you see.
As the party was dying,
I coloured his bathroom
with oversweet Georgian wine
and washed down chicken wings
that came back up.
He decided:
I could miss the last metro,
sleep on this atrocious sofa,
recover.
Of course,
now it’s 7am,
and I have to teach a class
of engineers,
bridge builders,
about ing phrasal verbs
in less than two hours.
And I have to do it
with a hangover and a smile.
I think to myself
as I struggle with front door locks and keys
before climbing out of a downstairs window,
what a strange story this will be.
And yet waking up here,
it could be a whole lot worse
than this beautiful Baku sunrise.
Only he will remain
With or without a song in his heart
He wakes up humming the tune of treason
Bitter, like the taste of the drugs that remain from the night before,
he walks a long road only to find himself at home
Can the night life be more than just a burdon?
Living like vampires, we makeout in shadows and feed off the moonlight.
Sometimes he stares at the posters on his walls
He looks for the meaning of what he can't even imagine
(Pill 1)
The sound of his heartbeat begins to play louder
(Pill2-3)
The world as he knew it is fluttering by softly
(Pill 4-6)
The music from the radio has become a voice in his head
(Pill 7)
He's falling asleep as the sun begins to rise
hating the way he breathes and the tears in his eyes
What if this is where the ground and he sky meet?
Is there a challenge in the clouds that only birds know about?
Trees don't grow from nothing,
they have start with something...
...and he wishes he meant as much as the seed.
Dew slips down the gentle leaf,
Unburdened by the sunlight’s reflecting
Grace over the mountains, misty
With remembrance, beautiful like the burning
Wonder of a painting, only these colors
Can’t be created by any hand other than the One
Who created the stars, the dew, the sun…
The One who created grace for everyone
Secreted beneath a fog, misty moments
Surrounding the ridges, blue and gray like mysteries
Echoing softly, sensations remembering
Prayers and praises, preventing the melancholic
Sensitivities, flames of forever pouring over the mountains,
Healing the past with tender sighs, blessings
Erasing the doubts and bringing joy to the colors,
The soft flow of blues and purples, green that inspires
Such delicate kisses, touching the spirit with gentle,
Kindness embracing the entire memory,
Containing all the hope of a life built by His hand,
Creatively, amazingly, crazily the plan… His plan
Rain drenched words peel back layers of laughter,
Soothing the soul – stirring up the smiles,
In ways that can’t be described, intense like the passions
Felt by artists, extreme – unspeakable, powerful
Thirsts for the moments when wonders are like wildfires
Pouring over the forests, chasing away every thought
With wisdom, glowing on the edges of the heart –
Still, cool dreams and feelings, expressed by thoughts
Who believe in the music played by heaven’s sweetness,
Arousing souls to dance, free and graceful, like the wind
Who frees the spirit to believe in His everlasting peace,
The melody expressed by the purity of praise,
The promise of His grace silencing the dread, the dark
With a love that lingers, lighting the heart!