Drowsily Poems | Examples

Sleep

The whispers in my mind take over

The wind of my heart as my eyes close,

In the world, I feel like a clover

When I wish to feel like a rose,



The blankets I lie in are my meadow,

Drowsily carrying me to sleep

All the thoughts seem to echo

Pulling me in deep,



I must escape this feeling

That stays while I'm awake

The sleep begins the healing

The sorrow starts to break



When I lie alone, I am safe

This pillow holds my heart

The nights offer more than the days

The sadness departs



Will I sleep, or will I lie awake?

God Bless You!

God Bless You!

Finished shift at eleven o’clock in the night
and go to the underground station, the train flying
to the next stop, changed the line here, at Baker Street
Get on the first carriage, I am always sitting here, the best place
My bag dropped on the seat, I sat down, I love the train window
Movie of the passing night view of the city, and views. I said, ‘Finish today.’

A man sat across from me. He was dressed interestingly, like an
anachronist artist, with long hair. He said, ‘ Yes, finish my shift too, twelve hours.’
He asked my destination, ‘It’s not too far’, I replied, ‘two stops, fortunately, that’s it.’
‘Good for you. I am going to the final stop, then change to the bus, 
which is thirty minutes more.’ He said and looked ahead of him, drowsily, and rested.
I watched for a while. He looked for a good man, like a teacher or an actor; a gentle, friendly
My stop arrived, and my book closing in my hand, I went to the door and watched back
‘Have a good journey and night.’ I said to him. ‘You too my friend, and God bless you.’ 
He answered and smiled in a friendly. From the window he watched me. He was a rare soul.
God Bless You!

The Sunlight was Playing

The talkers were talking,
texting.
Walkers were walking,
skipping, jogging.
Strollers were shaking,
prams rocking.
Kids were shouting,
yipping, yelling.

The pond went roundly around
a circling ground of sound,
shorts on bicycles
were lazily wheeling.
Girls were sky-larking,

He sat under the sun,
a drowsily winking sun,
eyelids heavy and closing.
lashes flickering, tickling.

Sunlight was playing,
Shape-shifting his thoughts,
images
that turned around and around
the ring-a-round pond,
while he slowly melted
into a sleepy smile,
over there somewhere,
where no one looked to see.

Mustard Yellow

Canada is afire and I’m confused, shouldn’t the snow put that out?

The Boston sky is an interesting shade of mustard yellow,
and there’s a pale orange haze where the sun should be.

Lisa, drowsily asleep-walked into the kitchen for her morning coffee. 
“So this is Mars,” I observed, “Elon Musk will be so jealous.”
“Good,” Lisa said, “I was afraid it was nuclear winter.”
“There’ll be no breathing today.” I updogged.

We could almost hear the slow, delicate pitter-patter fall of micro-ash.

“*There’s aaaa bright golden haze over Boston..*” Lisa began to sing softly.
Lisa knows every Broadway score and can easily interpolate a song into every conversation.
.
.
*Webster: Interpolate: inserting something, like music into a conversation

Raindrops From the Inside

Ever so drowsily awakening to
the seminal dark and next to last

Falling leaves barely still clinging
and hanging onto the winter tree

I myself from here safely snuggly 
wedged inside

Now looking outwardly have to squint
in order for me to be enabled to see

What lies beyond the precipitation
which resembles raindrops only on
the inside of my this here front lounge
window

Both trapping and holding me in its
deathly stare and nothing gaze

Instill and cause a deep and trifling
malaise of discourse and certain
unease

That shall I without doubt have to
spend the rest of the day leave me
in a stricken state of mass maligned
distress

So i wish not never to undress or
wash as godliness come forth or
be summonsed next

And may just well relieve me from this
what fresh new hell

I have or may not possess the will
to carry on from

Lazy Afternoon

LAZY AFTERNOON

Heady with scented freshness,
The drowsily flowing river
Glides through a sun-skimmed 
Summer's simmering day - 

As outpoured wine to be savoured,
Together with the static, fevered tones
Of a hot, unquenchable breeze,

Slow-meandering in its languid state,
Unhurried by the lazy afternoon's stillness,

Spent in the somnolent embrace
Of a weighted, swaying hammock,
Where the beat of time seems suspended.

The Glow of Dawn's Horizon

Daybreak usually greets me when it ascends each day.
Yawning, I drowsily rise from the comfort of my bed
as the horizon glows with colors in resplendent array.

Dawn announces, "The warmth of Ra is on its way!"
Soon, over land and sea, aureate beams will spread.
Daybreak usually greets me when it ascends each day.

Sunrise shines on foxes in meadows where they play,
illuminating their coppery coats of orange and red
as the horizon glows with colors in resplendent array.

In shallows, sunlight dances with waves as they spray,
creating prisms in nuanced tones of variegated thread.
Daybreak usually greets me when it ascends each day.

It does not matter where I wander or aimlessly stray.
Mornings are idyllic once somber darkness is shed
as the horizon glows with colors in resplendent array.

How I'd dread a cause for the rooster's crowing delay.
What a folly if the moon continued her reign instead.
Daybreak usually greets me when it ascends each day,
as the horizon glows with colors in resplendent array.


August 11, 2022
First Person Villanelle Contest
Sponsored by L Milton Hankins

Masculine Freedom

The fixedness of certain things exhausts-
like my own shadow, this old tree and the sun.
I climb out of my dream,
Put on my clothes
And do not turn back.
I still carry the scent of you though-
The warming aroma of spices,
Juniper and citrus.
I sense in me a rare smell of masculine freedom.
Behind, I feel your eyes blaze intensely,
I do not halt. I walk. Not the brisk early morning walk,
but the lethargic walk, drowsily stretching after a sleep,
the last sleep before waking in which dreams appear.
I still feel your shoulders, 
my lips pressed against them in my dream.
We stood like two bodies dissolved in a song.
I must remove you, the last strains of you
that’s somewhere within me as close as breath
but I will hold on to your last whisper,
one last thing you whispered into my neck-
“You’re reborn. You’re never the same again!”

The First Things We Do

We first laugh our heads off
Before weeping our eyes out,
First nice suggestions scoff
Before their richness we tout,
First charges deny publicly
And later admit them “As Likely”
Praise-worthy hygiene show openly
Soon behind doors The Slovenly
First, issues make an emotional thing
Before picking their sober ring,
First ourselves stretch drowsily
Before folding mats lazily,
First in restaurants eat our fill
Before remembering the sure bill.

By the Candle Light, At Midnight

Dreams of a distant past
Dance in the dungeon of my heart
Driving me to drop my daily duties
And to dare wonder
At how shall it be
When,
Breathless, I shall be in your gaze
Trying to look as neutral
As would be a statue
In the midst of a storm!

Shall the winds blow the frail grip
That I hold on reality away?
Or shall the waters leave the river bed
And drag me to the ocean’s depths?
Or,
Shall the skies start twinkling
In broad daylight
Too ecstatic at the thought
That at last,
Their will is being abided to?

Dreams of a distant past
Dance drowsily in my heart,
Bidding slumber and its heaviness
To fly away from the branches
Of my poetry house
And thereby leaving me
Cold and numb,
Wondering always
At what shall be the outcome
Of those few exchanged words
That we owe to each other?

21st April 2021

Harris Dawn

Peat smoke drifting in the frost-chilled air,
a crofthouse snugly slumbers in its lair.
As starlight sparkles on the hills around
it drowsily awakens to a sound
from down the years, an infinite encore,
the ocean's heartbeat lapping on the shore.

Summer Appetite

On a summer’s day, 
Drowsily as I lay;
On my soft bed, 
On an empty head;
Eating all the muffins away! 


'Summer Laziness' Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mohan Chutani
Written and Submitted on: 05/06/2020

Poesie Slumbers

poesie slumbers
quietly breathing
swathed in white noise 
deep in reverie

poesie trances
in an English garden
picture windows
take after an Anglian sky

poesie rolls over
on freshly cut grass 
hedged in by Japanese Quince
the color of wild things waking

poesie sighs deeply
someone's pestering
a spiny shrub grows taller
a pond furthermore darkens

poesie tosses and turns
throws back the covers
lavender makes its entrance
into a parasoled cottage

poesie shivers 
someone's cuddling
icy rain babbles against the leadlights
like a lot of raucous stones

poesie comforts
between loud mirth
and crushing sadness
fluffy visions inquire

poesie is awoken
drowsily recalling 
a dream of a nightmare
a downy rousing to alertness

poesie rubs her eyes
yawns an aspiration
and utters a fact
the dream's gone too fast.

By the Water's Edge

A ruby-red sun slowly starts to sink;
its sanguine sunbeams coloring clouds pink.
And as a molten moon mirrors Sole's face,
its gilded beams begin to fall in place.

And as dusk's darkness drowsily descends,
a star-studded sky suddenly transcends.
And, wave wrinkled waters washing ashore
form frothy foam tops, the seagulls adore.

The beach sands are orange with crawling crab
that tides, tethered to the moon, cannot grab.
And a fog fashioned from droplets of mist
fosters faint feelings of just being kissed.

Now, night navigates through the tides of day,
inking indelible shadows that stay.
And as ebony engulfs everything,
charcoal clouds corral the moon in a ring.

Old Fogies: Part I

During the day
there's a deceptive lull
in the staid common parlor
when the home seems deadly dull

Stale air, disinfectant and potpourri
stirred only by the worried, hurried strides
of harried nurses down hectic halls
stuffy efficiency personified

In contrast to those, the steady repose
of regular residents
dressed up and posed
as odd antique mannequins
in fusty old clothes
like some bizarre storefront
window display

Obsolete, old folks
like aged birds perch
lean and lurch
awkward and angular
nodding and napping
half-waking, flapping
on various arm chairs

Others like basset hounds
lay the room 'round
eyes shut, drooping jowls
intermittent gentle growls
little subtle snores
comfy and carefree
bodies drowsily draped over
the sides of settees

Insensible to sound
and drooling a bit
sweetly sleeping all throughout
like innocent toddlers
with cookie-smeared faces
ingenuous and
all played out

Then eventually, nursing staff
bustles them awake
for activities, dinner
more medicines to take...
Then off to bed
as visitors leave
deluded and deceived
thinking that's all there is
pitiful old people, tragically perceived

• Short Drowsily Poems
• Famous Drowsily Poems
• Best Drowsily Poems
• Read Drowsily Poems
• Long Drowsily Poems
• Drowsily Quotes