first, the sky before my eyes unfurls
a vast, boundless silver canopy,
spreading further along the line of sight,
covering the fields beneath my feet,
and the forested hills that lie beyond.
the land, which had been
as still as a sleeping creature,
is the first to wake, slowly shaking off
the last lingering drowsiness
that accumulated through the night.
right after, amber sunlight breaks through
the clouds, spilling into the expanses of woods,
settling on the calm lake surface,
and spreading over the fields
and grain plots in the mountain hollow.
a pair of hands holds a farm tool steadily,
turning over clods of dark, fertile soil from the field;
every clod brim with the nutrients
that can grow strong, thriving crops.
when sowing seeds, everyone carries...
a steady, earnest wish, gently
tucking the seeds wrapped in hope
into the freshly turned soil.
in the long stretch of days that follow,
someone tends to this field at all times,
devoting wholehearted care to
every single seedling, putting in
full effort working in the fields each day,
watching over the crops’ roots
as they dig into the ear.
358.
My Abomination to Archdemon Belphegor
Oh Archdemon Belphegor, accept my abomination!
You who are identified as “Master of Laziness”
I do not want that time filled with nothingness!
You wish to just sit, eat, and sleep with all drowsiness
I do not need that space occupied with emptiness!
You relax yourself all day with such unfruitfulness
I resign from such negligence leading to rottenness!
-03/14/2015
(Dumarao)
*My Demons Collection
Drowning in drowsiness, my eyes try to wander.
Escaping these rose bushes,
leaving with more cuts than memories.
Alone and exhausted, disassociating and crossfaded.
My second heart starts beating.
As the blood courses through my veins,
a second voice calls out to me.
Become one with it, I say.
Heartbeats, rapid drumbeats,
a melody unable to make me sway.
All I can focus on is the mysterious girl in shrouded mist.
I can hear myself dying.
If hate’s all you want, that's what you’ll get.
Dark streets with dim corner lights pave my way.
One stop sign is too many.
Lust, jealousy, envious, resentful.
Feelings lie awake, wanting to die.
My shadow speaks in whispers.
Smashing a mirror with cracked knuckles,
I must suffer to salvage the victim.
I must save myself.
A sleeping sow rolls over one of her piglets
it squeals, the drama is quickly doused
by guttering shades of drowsiness.
Eyes unglue behind their windows.
The goats are stumbling off their knees
instinctively looking for a hill to climb.
A clock in my head stops ticking,
it opens its face, summoning me
to the fields,
where there is nothing to look upon,
until a dawning sun eats the night.
I turn to feed drooling mouths,
beasts that stare back at me now
in their daylight dreams.
The drowsiness
passes...
the dream,
lives...!
baby ghost
wrinkles the river
I gaze
at its drowsiness
as I masticate
on the meanings of why
because inside me is misaligned
and its cold, sleepy eye
- cautionless -
shall twitch
like visible white noise
when TV boxes snap
neither shoals
nor skipping stones
breaches the facade of a conspiratory sea
river rattles
'cause it's my baby's ghost:
The Deer Hunter
picked her blossom
tending his garden
of wicked passion
for crooked lotuses
laying dead
afloat
The hiker decided to travel solo,
something he wasn't accustomed to.
After several hours hiking he decided to turn back,
but then quickly realized the sky was turning black.
As he struggled through the darkness and the rough,
he came across a little house, luckily enough.
He knocked loudly on the door, an answer never came,
but as he was dog-tired, he entered all the same.
Once he was inside, he saw something rather strange:
a large bed was in the center, quite clean and all arranged.
As he tried to sleep, he noticed paintings round the room;
portraits of strange people, staring in the gloom.
Each had a smile that sent chills up his spine,
but drowsiness overcame him as he continued to recline.
Next morning, he woke up, then had a sudden shock:
there were no paintings on the walls, and the door was strangely locked.
Aging braincells get rewired
And one way I surely know it
Is that I am always tired
And my face and body show it.
Even after hours of sleeping,
If I sit to read a book,
Sometimes drowsiness comes creeping
And it grabs me with a hook.
Or, if slightly after eating,
I relax and watch TV,
I’ll doze off before completing
“Law and Order: SUV.”*
Seems within that tangled webbing
Of our brains, the gears are clicking;
Thus our energy, now ebbing,
Lets us know the clock is ticking.
*It’s really “Law and Order SVU,” but
SUV is how my husband & I refer to it.
dusk settles on an Anglican Shrub
vespertine is downy down upon the vertical horizon
spring like frost is unraveling
toward a sunset on its late afternoon decline
at this stage of early-black twilight
a cygar shaped delirium is seeding
its exotic fragrance sweetly empowering
will linger until the crack of dawn
tenderly grown staked and supported
the poisonous angel scrumpet trumpets
a crepuscule's sundown into darknness
a pitch illumination begging to brighten
bathed in orange moire reflecting
by her petaled drowsiness unfurling
a day dream and a nightmare
time travel in tandem
lying dormant now in a trance
like flesh inside a nutshell
vespertine pulls away from early-bright
she's never this reflective in the sunlight
December 03, 2023
___________________________________________
Dissipating drowsiness
In the elmwood of the mind
Eras and realities collide
Having body crawl
In the gloomiest of night hazy drizzle.
Dullness seeps in
Across increasing veins
As faraway as the sunshine
Switches to a slower pace
Laughter from a bygone era
Cuts and scrapes
Leaving me breathless.
The resolve is unwavering
And sustains the ultimate breath
Every day in bitter shadows
In pursuit of Eden insight
My cornea has been burned.
Written: December 03, 2023
____________________________________
It is either life or death
But there is also controversy
Within the boundless
Accrual occurs as well
There is either love or hate
Just...hostility
Who might control it?
Is verity
One can be either first or last.
There is only a disparity
And who would be in charge?
assists the vast majority
There is both space and time
Only drowsiness in between
Things are wild and free
Have vastness.
Rose Meadow
Into a lovely enchantment I wander
Soft stardust sprinkles a meadow of night blooming roses
In perfumed hues of scarlet-rose and lavender-gold
Stretching out my cramped and cockled legs
Into thornless rhapsodies of drowsiness
In floral fields I embrace intoxicated reveries
Returning me to the fragile rose meadows
Of lyric verses that fall like velvet tresses
A dulcet supplication delicate as petals of a dreaming rose
When moonlight nectars drip with midnight’s invitation
Float into the lacy blush of dainty filigree shadows
Twine my sinuous spirit and chorded heart in dreams unity.
4/26/23
Cockled means crumpled, creased
Sitting surrounded amidst the heap,
Like a gale or like a storm
They come every year every month
All the cheer they sweep aside
All a sudden Heavy books heavy pile
With dark bags under every eye
Cramming night sleeping daytime
Drowsiness engulfs from the backside
Head up focused yet mind outside
Ticking clock running the time
3,4,5,6
Mental trauma making way inside.
A drowsiness that borders on fatigue:
some say I’m spending too much time at sea.
My boat’s a rail and seat and little more;
nineteen inch stick and web strap for an oar.
Engaging workout always buoy me;
I might as well get in another league!
----------
A Scupham stanza: 6 lines, isosyllabic, abccba rhyme scheme
Some works are brought about by the mind veiled
Lungs breathing, eyelids blinking, the heart beating non-stop
Are done in the mind asleep with no will
Emotions flow here and there with no guide
Though we can build dams to have some directional flow
Emotions still ripple through gaps and cracks
Other works are done with a lonely will
Most are born into the world by the bodily mind
Pleasures and darkness are its short-lived dreams
Some are designed by the rational soul
The foundation of all man-made castles and towers
Morals and duty are its drowsiness
A few come to light by blazing spirit
A silent pearl that is within every plant and tree
Silence and mystery are its daylight
Intent and works come from sleep and awareness
From battles between water and soul, sleep and spirit
You must choose which to follow in these long battles
Contest: Just before release Poetry Contest
Contest sponsor: Unseeking Seaker
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.