Long Fitful Poems
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The I-phone buzzes off and on all night.
An annoying sound, perils of playing multitude of word games.
Mostly scrabble, but others. Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.
I turn it off, but the buzzing continues. In uneven intervals,
Not a pretty rhythm or sound.
My I-pad is a culprit now. It is now buzzing too.
How she linked up with my I-phone is only known to my husband
Who thought he was helping me.
The electronic age is becoming annoying now
As it is bothering my already fitful sleep.
I unplug everything, feeling like the master.
Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.
My nerves are becoming irritated.
I am thinking of tossing them both out the window.
seizure
The pages flipped as the words wrapped around my brain
Like a rainbowed hurricane
Faster the colors embedded inside of my head
While I shook in bed
An intake of breath
After I lay awake from my fitful rage
Locked in a cage
Stuck in an eternal dance of death
Demonic forces lay only waiting to be awakened.
My nerves still remain unshakened
Only wanting to escape
Seeing through new eyes that only see distorted shapes
Clarity
Lost in my own disparity
I'm binded to this nightmare
serenity is my one and only prayer
In this game I am the one and only player
The shoots and ladders lead me further into my own isolation
Numbness is the only sensation
Sleep is my only medication
Searching for the escape route
This loneliness I could do without
Full of my own uncertainty and doubt
Is this a sign
From the devine
To a time where control was mine
Will all change in time?
Waiting for our hands to become intertwined
Pulled out from the deep recluse of my mind
You rescued me
My thoughts no longer askewed
The inner workings no longer feud
Clarity has found me
When I arise in the morning, after “Thank you, God!” I often ask,
Am I fully loaded for this day to meet and complete my many tasks?
Have I spent the necessary time in thoughtful contemplation,
And calmed my overactive mind with deep yoga meditation?
Am I free from negative, nagging dark moods and fitful emotions?
Can I rise to the challenge of this day with faith, praise and devotion?
How I start my day sets the tone and pace of my achievements.
Gratitude, praise, and love are the highest spiritual vibrations.
When I fill my spirit with these before the morning work begins,
I know I am fully loaded and positive waves of faith pave my way
With all the help, encouragement and support I need for the day.
Chula Fleming © August 17, 2024
I open the door and in the darkness
I see you in the bed,
Like I have so many times before.
You look at me, your eyes sparkling with sensuality,
An inviting smile upon your lips.
Your arms are open wide and beckoning
For me to come find comfort in their warmth.
I undress and crawl into the bed, reaching out for you
But all I find are pillows.
I lie in the darkness trying to sleep,
But I am restless
With the memories of you.
This bed is too big and I am alone.
I lay the pillows next to me, as if you were there.
Maybe now I can sleep.
I need you. Here. Now.
But all I have are pillows.
I drift off into a fitful sleep
I hear your voice calling out to me.
I see your eyes and can taste your lips.
I reach out to touch your face -
But the image shatters!
Once again, I am awake.
Cold. Alone. In pain.
And all I have are Pillows.
the pillow he lies on
is occupied.
when his form stirs,
i am likewise aroused.
our sheets sacred
silhouettes,
our shared blanket -
molds and drapes,
like a greek toga.
our shared yawns
draw a chuckle
before dawn.
warmness of
our marriage bed,
oneness of
entwined ivy vines.
we are kindling,
fueled by memories,
experiences,
where we have grown -
through highs and lows.
like fitful sleep -
tossing and turning,
tears on twin pillows,
transforms coal
into diamonds
of contentment and peace,
harmony and love.
oh so close!
so trusted!
so bonded!
lip-locked in love
Kim Rodrigues ©2017
Words! Words! They swim in my head.
Words unwritten, and words unsaid.
Always dangerous, a maelstrom they say.
Perhaps they’ll become useful one day.
I’ve a lot of them jumping and paddling inside;
Backstroke, breaststroke, and on their side.
Dipping, and diving, and splashing around
The clever ones careful to not make a sound.
Words! Words! They dance in my head.
Words unwritten, and words unsaid.
Always dangerous, treacherous they say.
Perhaps they’ll become useful one day.
I’ve a lot of them reeling and wheeling inside;
Backward, forward, and to the side.
Whirling, and twirling, and spinning around,
The clever ones careful to move without sound.
Words! Words! They sleep in my head.
Words unwritten, and words unsaid.
Always dangerous, spasmodic they say.
Perhaps they’ll become useful one day.
I’ve a lot of them dozing and drooling inside;
Fitful, fetal, and on the side.
Snoozing, snoring, and slumbering around,
The clever ones careful, not making a sound.
Write! Write! They scream in my head!
Write in morning, and write in bed.
Always dangerous, frightening they say.
Perhaps they’ll become useful one day.
Write! Write! to capture the words!
My psyche screaming to be heard.
Capture them quickly before they run free,
Cheerily flitting away from me.
Write! Write! Before they escape!
For their debut, my fingers wait.
Amid plotting plans they make for themselves,
I ‘ll catch and bind them on the bookshelves.
Uncle Josh was everlasting, ethereal, but to me real
For I was six when he passed, this is a memoir in his honor.
The first time I saw him after his funeral, I had a high fever.
I awoke from a fitful slumber noting a blue light from my closet.
Of course, being six, I thought how clever of the space aliens!
It was an electric blue light, neon-like. It did not flabbergast me though.
Magnitude of what I was seeing when I opened the door was lost on me.
Seeing Josh there may have struck others as odd, since he was dead.
I remember that he told me I could not touch him. That was okay.
I was not a touchy-feely kid all the time. We had a long talk.
He had some intense messages that I gave to his wife. I remember that.
However, I have no idea what they were.
The second I delivered them to her, they flew out of my memory.
He told me that he would be back sometime when I am older.
I am older now, and very much looking forward to his return.
Beauty wears a face
In a sexy pose
Finesse styles fond grace
In a fitful dose
She is the poetry
Of my humble daze
A warm certainty
Fond wonder moves craze
All her ways converse
In ample embrace
No wordplay can burst
Sheer verse her smiles trace
I write to reveal
The wonder I find
A deeper touch seals
Sound poetry sans mind
She is the dance here
In sexy swirls fond
Joy's bubbly burst spears
Deep feelings love spawns
Round and round and round
Fond gaze hurls delight
Upon these grand grounds
Laughter weaves insight
Leon Enriquez
23 April 2017
Singapore
The chance was there—then quickly snatched away,
but that moment became the reason she sustained hope.
Her captor had failed to lock the cellar door one day.
The key would turn moments later, but she wouldn’t mope.
Knowing he might forget again would help her cope.
Before her fitful sleep each night, she smiled about
that moment, his brief lapse, and felt there would yet be
the perfect chance to embrace freedom with a shout,
when once again this devil would fail to turn that key
and this time walk away. Then no more his evil face she’d see.
Each day she wondered when she would be sold.
This trafficker who held the key gained perverse elation
from taunting her: “The buyer’s on his way. You’re not bold,
like when you tried to escape, causing an altercation.”
She remained tethered to hope of terror’s cessation.
Meals were nutritious and delicious; the bed, just right.
All accommodations were the very best.
He’d get more money for a healthy product, a pretty sight.
He came bearing lunch and vitamins to invest
in his captive and a gun to control this unwilling guest.
The familiar sound of the key being inserted
was followed by--not a click but a loud thud. She ran
and opened the door. There he lay, holding his chest. He blurted,
“Help . . . heart attack!” She called the police, ending his plan,
the fourth day, but it seemed like a year since the terror began.
August 24, 2021
Contest: This or That, vol 6--Tethered to a Moment
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
My Face Or Yours
(Ship-wretched revisited)
Out on the reef, lurk broken timbers
Phantom remains of his long ravaged boat
Each fitful sleep brings a new silver moon
And his silhouette yacht now afloat
But in the day those dank timbers sway
Like some awful thing that expects you
So he watches the ocean for one little motion
That might suggest imminent rescue
And there in the ocean churned lather
He spotted a floating cadaver
But it couldn't be someone he’d known
For he’d started his voyage alone
Then at the reef where his boat came to grief
Still no-one else was aboard
He’d made all the checks about previous wrecks
So he muttered some words to his lord
He dragged the man out and turned him about
And stared momentarily thrown
The face smashed about had its eyes eaten out
But the ear ring was what made him groan
His certainty grew as he knew it would do
When the arm with the sticking out bone
Had the words Tom and Sue in a heart shaped tattoo
And the disfigured face was his own