Insomniacs Poems | Examples

Trash Trucks

Chirpy birds disturb my deep sleep.
Sky pastels reflect in a somber ashen tinge.
Sun seems to be lost in a floating mist,
cloaking wet slates and chimney smoke.

As lamp lights reflect upon puddles,
poured into uneven pavement slabs,
it seems like an abundance of angels,
wept like irritated insomniacs overnight.

In the backdrop of contemplation,
a trash truck thunders and plunders,
with boisterous waste collectors,
wheeling bins into its hungry mouth.

Sky paints in an apocalypse aura.
Mind is intrigued - pondering,
if only it wasn't just palpable garbage,
that was taken away and forgotten.

Circling the Square

Can nothing extend 
beyond something…

Can never be
possibly where…

Can dreamers awaken
the insomniacs sleep…

Can no place
ever be there…

(Dreamsleep: January, 2023)

The Good Ship Dreamtime

This is the good ship Dreamtime
And she sets sail every night
Weighing anchor for her cruise
With the fading of the light.
Her passengers are all dreaming
That they are all still awake
Suffering from insomnia and waiting
For the arrival of daybreak.
Her crew are all phantoms
Spirits of the sleeping brain
Watching carefully over 
Those on this ethereal main.

There are screams and moans
And some of them quietly weep
As they journey through the night
None realising they are asleep. 
She drops anchor to disembark
Just before breaking dawn
Transporting the travellers home
To their own bed early each morn.
Where they awake exhausted 
For each of them still think
All through that long long night
They’ve not slept a single wink.

The good ship Dreamtime then 
Fades quietly from their sight
Until the next dusk when She’ll 
Reappear to cruise another night.
Every night She cruises 
Answering their call
And no matter how many ask
She accommodates them all.
She is the good ship Dreamtime
Who, in her own  special way,
Helps sleeping insomniacs turn
Each sleepless night into day.

It's a Play Dough

Time warped, perception bleak. Clay bodies falling apart.

The shift of stance in reality motions the notion, that inherits a vast chasm of possible retribution.

Cracked mood shifts met with insomniacs last choice, lies wake with the dread of falling asleep.

Escape From Chestnut's Edge

The split level blinks
	at Chestnut End under 
	twilight's tremble, ripping me, 
	the oily menhaden bait,
	from the under boot

The Chestnut dwellers bold
interrogative flushes him down 
then plunges-up the flotsam 
village scrawler

	the way you talk
	to a blooming night blooming
	to a blow-fish blown unsuspecting
	of the scuttle, skating the wake away

The insomniacs billow from
their raged ranches, wisely, 
and after supper, tumbling 
the trickster tumbledowning 
the scrawler, the baitster 
dip-fished in his own inkwell.

	Ripped and chipped 
	in my underbrush
	I hunker down loading
	the mossy mossbunkers 
	inside my spitball.
	Kicking, winding up
	tumbling down madly aiming
	for the ramshackle fence,
	escaping once again

in my handsome
lederhosen.

Perspectives

I might have seen,
(not on a movie or television screen),
but had looked where the mind flickers
when I am not there 
      to block the view.

In that place, where my dreams
see through a darkling glass,
skins and organs put on new clothes,
mind-bones structure the unfinished scaffolding
      of forgotten lives.
Life-stories just threads in a flying carpet,
a legend for a Navaho shaman 
to drape about his shoulders. 

Perhaps reincarnation is a book of dreams
for insomniacs. 
I watch for facets in a prism,
each one is cut into a hundred views,
a casting of what was or could be.
There are names and places,
      all sorts of leasing’s
destined to always by-pass each other
until all arrive as one
      in one multifaceted picture.
 
Those faces mean nothing much
until the mirror reveals your eyes watching,
      as if you had just walked
through a door in a mega-mansion 
      you helped build.

Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep

When you play fifty or sixty 
scrabble games day
you get incessant beeps 
on your cell phone


day and night, 
weekends, and week days.
It is a comfort 
knowing other insomniacs are up,
not able to sleep either. 
I love this!

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Count Your Blessings, Fellow Insomniacs

How easily we nod off at dawn
                      
                       ~ though we can't a wink sleep all night

Over Exhausted

This exhaustions overwhelming 
It's draining and it's grueling 
Day in and day out 
This exhaustion it is ruling 

The exhaustion shows on time 
From lack of sleep I get 
Night on top of night 
This exhaustion is a threat 

Exhaustion is a drug 
I didn't ask to take
Insomnia is an addiction 
Exhausted up so late 

This exhaustion never stops
My eyes they barely close 
Now I can not hide it
Exhaustion starts to show

This exhaustion is extreme
Year and a half now tired 
This insomniacs had enough 
This exhaustion it's for hire

This exhaustions yours to take 
Please take it off my back
So I can rest a bit
I'm exhausted, sleep I lack

Written 2-25-19

All I's On Me

Ideas instantly infest imaginations
& it  could lead to inqueries
From imbusiles with iffy intelligence
There indecision will never get em
In position to be anything more
Than inconsistent, if that
Still irritated with my own irresponsibility
As an individual I intend to illustrate
Intellect that intercepts incorrect 
Information before it can get, in a head
Incapable of storing it, because once it's said
Then it's left, to your own interpratation
I hate when idiots impolitely interrupt
With insignificant stuff that sounds ignorant
Inconvienent to hear
And impossible to understand
And has been insincere since the infancy 
Of its inception, industries are built on if's
If you can do this for me,  your in
If not someone else will happily fill your seat
Kick rocks
Inch by inch i introduce my intentions
To wreck wreckless MC's
That immatate me way to much
And this can lead to serious injuries
In a sleep only insomniacs would dream of
Now isnt that intresting,
I intervine on impressive instrumentals 
In order to insert my two cents in
Justust because its inexpensive
All i's on me

Exhaustion

A savior slain by restlessness
In a land without solace
The sun never sets
Illuminating everything
Descend into madness
A craven fool
Who are you to seek asylum
In the Underworld
Your curse
Is to wander the wasteland
Enslaved by the sun
Always beating down on your back
And much like your heroes
You're going to fall
For exhaustion eventually claims us all
But is particularly deadly
For insomniacs
In the end
You're just another victim
Of the Sandman's cold scheme

Raving and Misbehavior

I can dream for us both
Time and time again 
Beneath Strobe Light's 
And dance clubs 
Orchestrating strings of ecstatic joy
In smoke pulsed 
Insomniacs blanket's 
Of desire raving steps 
Faster than the heart beats 
The D.J advances an avalanche of sweat
Met with uniformity of seductive bliss
The flock rise hands to skies 
We are reborn 
We come 1
We dance till the rising sun
Clashes to ashes 
And nothing else matter's 
But Love and Warmth 
We burst we stand
We land
Together 
Tomorrow 
We borrow 
1 anothers itch
We fix
We mix

Keyboarded Fingers

Morning filled with conversations
in my headsetted ringing ears
under keyboarded fingers
across the ocean
next door

I want to drink wine with you
read Walt Whitman with you
sleep in your arms
publish with you
dream

Coffee for me, with sleep drunk eyes
you horrible insomniacs
you funny inspirational
sharers of poetry and
friendship

I sit down with you, to beat loneliness
keep it at bay, at distance
I reach my hand to
you all with tears
of love

***

March 18, 2017
Copyright © Darren White

Civilisation of the Highest Disorder

A god's dream is existence
In the hearts of these amnesic men 
Most are insomniacs.
Lackadaisical,
whose survival
would always be undermined.
Then we colonize
Make them walk on their feet.
Blinded by their ego,
we neo-colonize
And I think, they still need to be recolonized
Gust of wind in them when luxury comes
Like an electrical surge, 
they bring looted fortunes to us
Oh, a sudden rush

All, all, all of it
What surfeit! Clouded race
If you are white ,
 you must be a supreme being
I am white
      " formalised
      " civilised
      " plagiarized
      " pride
      " overestimated
      " ..proud
What has Elysium got?
Good tidings?
Air food ?
Free jets ?
Sky cars?
Invisible structures?
 We are making them
 Trust me 
 We are making them !
Just as we made a car / a fish
Just as we made networking  /a storm
Just as we made power / heat
Just as we made robots / men

Metrospotting

contours of the church
sing towards the dusk skies
above the vineyard
and it’s a ghostyard too

sweet machine gun Santa Maria!

there was a murder at the toy store last Sunday
attack of the insomniacs 
one for each sign of the zodiac
missing their ringfingers
cold to the touch
thoughtless and toothless
in a wreckage of their minds

circling around the bell tower
a streetcar named Gunfire
traveling from new lands
still long forgotten
a smiling woman sits inside
remembering the days
that repeat through history

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