Long Sleeping Poems
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SHE SPOKE TO CURVE HIS FEELINGS
THE VERY FEELINGS THAT
SHE DECIDED TO AROUSE
SHE WOKE HIM AS HE WAS SLEEPING
ONLY TO HEAR HER WHISPERING SOUNDS
THEY MADE COMPLEX THE WAYS
TO SHATER THE THOUGHTS OF THOSE
VERY PEOPLE SHE WISHED TO DELIGHT
CARING AND ENDORING IN PRIVATE
YET IN PUBLIC
THEY BEHAVED ANOTHER WAY
MAYBE TO ENTERTAIN THOSE
WHO FOUND IT WORTH TALKING ABOUT
THOSE THEY DEEMED ENTERTAINMENT
THOSE WHO'S CHARACHTER SEEMED LESSER OR
UNWORTHY OF WHAT THEY SAW AS APPEAL
WHY, AND THAN WORDS
SPOKEN ARIFFED THE FRUSTRY
INDUSTING PEOPLE TO GAIN
AND THEN BE LESSER THAN
WHAT WORDS SPEAKS TO THOSE WHO WISH
TO BE HEARD, LIKED PR LOVED?
WHAT TOPIC SPEAKS TO THOSE WHO WISH TO HEAR
WHAT WORDS!
The heaviness of this bed draws indications that I’m not sleeping alone
The squeaky sound of a loud spring creeping in as it moved like an aggressive ocean wave at night
I could hear I’m not breathing alone
The shivering sweat ice skating coldly down in the back area
Making-it difficult to toss and turn
Not moving quietly listening to each and every sound just to pick up a diverge scenario
What could be it that is joining me at this very night
Starring at the time will it passes 2am
I’m still awake wondering the weight that exist in this bed
As closed as my eyes the heart pounds hardly with fear I can even taste the figment behind with a ounce of fog as I’m breathing in and out
Creating the event of course invading my resting cage
Merchandise my movement
I’m no longer in rest
I can feel the breathing it’s getting anticipated as much as I’m panicking
It felt like both of us are as much scared at each other
The crib of the sheets stout the fingers as it was tied
The unknown visitor in this bed has no introduction
It felt so cold it needed my warmth
The irony is the actual senses felt the same energy
As if the same weight and heat belongs to me
Ashleigh Ngoqo
I pretend you're on a shirt, in a movie, The. Color. Blue. For. All. Things. You, talking about music, what you would do, and especially laughing with you. You were always an adventure even without going anywhere, you would play, and you would pretend that you were a character from a movie scene, you could sing and play the guitar and wrote like you were a star and now you are. And I bet you still play pretend, but instead on earth you are in heaven jumping to the clouds as they roll in. And all the souls are laughing and smiling, and I pretend that you are listening, and when I'm dreaming that's when I am seeing you and you keep me feeling young like I could run and maybe I do, but only with you and only when I'm dreaming and sleeping that's When. I. Am. Seeing. You.
Form:
while sleeping
i hear the pitter
but not the patter
that will come later
(how many thought
"latter"? "ladder"? or
"lather"? it doesn't
matter, dreams are
that way, happily
ever after...) but in
nonsuch lets say:
the feet steps of
a little creature
running top my
roof (really just
a squirrel, but lets
say we decided
to use "lather" in
stead):
the sound of drops
perhaps raindrops
since it would
be insane to say
there's a faucet
above my house
but since it's lather
let me finish washing
and massaging my Muse
then get a rubber
should get a rubber
washer first to stop
the dripping drops
that patter and keep
me from getting
a good night's
sleep
Form:
Broken mirrors crush me under deceptive appearances,
mutilated wisdom whistles hesitantly,
the heron gropes, flying through fragile fantasies and follies lost in the penumbra
Penumbra that pulses,
words flow like a black river rolling shadows,
Shadows that gaze at me with empty eyes,
routine breaks my shattered steps,
meaning seeps away,
I wonder if the murmur is worth it
The gloomy murmur of the moment hides a strange beauty,
the sky cracks with lead weeping liquid silver,
bitter drops burn my skin,
wounds sprout like lost roots from trees fallen in silence
Silence that presses,
nostalgia is the ash singing of a extinguished fire,
the obsession with time pours a cold blind eternity,
eternity that crushes weak dreams,
the moment captures and absorbs everything like a sea chewing shadows
Shadows of lost ships melt into viscous waves,
echoes fall silent under the broken sky,
meaning whispers a concocted story,
Story that bites,
silent screams vibrate under my skin,
broken light rocks me gently
Gently I float through the mist, the walls breathe silence,
shadows dance on dusty and cracked floors,
Cracked like the soul,
the dry leaf glides on a nameless lost river,
melancholy caresses a thin veil between longing and oblivion
Oblivion that calls me,
the abyss growls a strange peace,
the black moon grins in the sleeping waters,
Sleeping waters whisper,
thoughts break like scattered threads,
the sky crushes the moment,
The moment crushes meaning, water runs far
Far flies the heron buzzing over the mist,
words merge with winding shadows,
routine gnaws at cold roots,
eternity sleeps under the dull shining slab,
the dull shining slab calls me in a dream
Gallagher never expected a heavenly welcome
For he was not religious, nor spiritual.
He thought dead was well,
Dead.
His death was unexpected, he was young,
Invincible, not anywhere near death
Until it came and got him
Two weeks past his twenty-second birthday
A loud angry horn blasted.
His eyes popped awake
In time to see the semi barreling down on his car
It might have been better if he had stayed asleep
He woke up in a field but felt exhausted
So returned to his sleeping place.
Many angels surrounded him but he did not know it
He was unaware
When he was ready, he followed his instincts
Into a wilderness of a forest
There were violets and mushrooms
The smells were heavenly
At the end of the walk someone took his hand
It was Jesus; this amazed him
I never believed, he said.
Yes, you always did, Jesus reminded him.
“Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts”. Rachel Carson
Mother Earth! In love and awe, we salute you!
Though you are just a speck in this vast universe
There is no other planet to match you in grace
Explorations to outer space have been there since long
But so far, no habitat like yours is found anywhere.
Dear Earth, we see you and call you as our Home.
You have birthed and nurtured countless generations.
You are decked in sprawling vistas, prairies and gardens.
Dressed in green, you soothe our eyes and ease our pain.
In you, there are running brooks and quiet creeks,
Snow-capped mountains with jagged peaks,
Sleeping valleys and towering hillocks,
Sunny beaches, dense woods, canyons and plains.
Wherever we gaze, whatever places we tread
We see a world of beauty and wonder with mysterious live forms
Oceans girdling you are home to numerous marine creatures
Deep in the forest’s shady realm, beasts roam and birds’ twitter
Fawns play, rabbits hop and squirrels dart up and down the trees.
If we roam through the landscape, glimmering with dew,
Listen to the brooklet's susurrus murmur,
Watch the starry eyed flowers with bees humming around,
Our ailing hearts will be soothed and stimulated.
If we contemplate on the beauty of the earth,
We will surely find great reserve of strength to last a life time.
Though Mother Earth provides everything we need
In us is a tendency to exploit and drain her,
Polluting and disrobing her, leaving her so vulnerable,
With carbon emissions and toxic chemicals,
Creating holes in her protective ozone layer.
Thoroughly deprived of clean air and crystalline waters,
She is left sterile, barren and ugly, so unlivable.
Oh, Mother Earth,
Benevolent thou art, still ever malevolent men,
We assault you and we maim and mar,
We suck the life sap – we leave you dry,
We ooze out the blood and cast you dead.
Oh! Pardon us!! ‘Spare your rod’
Lash not – we fall at your feet!
Rosemary's Bed
Maylands Salvation Army, Girls' Home
I am in the entrance foyer of a large house.
The wood floor is highly polished.
There is a large stairway with a turned, wood bannister.
Dad is telling my three year old sister and me
that we must stay here because
he has to work and can't take care of us.
Mum has gone away somewhere.
THE MATRON takes our suitcases and *smiles* at us
instructs us to, "come with her".
Dad says, "he will come and visit us every Sunday".
I am taken to a dormitory and told which bed will be mine.
The bed on the other side of the fire place
belongs to Rosemary.
Our beds skirt, either side of a fireplace
that is midway along the wall, with rows
of beds on each side of it,
as well as opposite,
twenty beds in all.
At the end of the room is an alcove with a curved bay window.
There is a bed there, all by itself.
I can remember being so scared in this room.
The older girls told me, "there is a man with an elastic arm"
who lives on the roof
and, "he can reach down the chimney and grab you".
Although I didn't really believe it, a few nights later,
we were all woken by a piercing scream.
THE MATRON came down to investigate.
The girl who slept in the bay window bed, said,
" a man with a monkey's face" jumped on my bed.
THE MATRON searched everywhere inside and out -
we saw her flash light beam- out there in the darkness-
her report was, " it was nothing." -
probably one of the cats that lived in the wood pile.
I always had trouble sleeping after that
and after lights out -
although it was strictly forbidden -
I would creep across and climb
into Rosemary's bed.
Although her bed was an equal distance
from the fireplace as mine
the human warmth and contact made me feel safe
against unknown forces of the night.
I slept on the edge of nightmares until, finally
I left that place.
Suzanne Delaney
From- Rememberances of an 8 year Old.
For Frank H..... I recall.....Contest
Left alone, the abyss of failure
closes in,
for days it seems like weeks,
though months are now reduced to counted minutes
Coffin’d stances form the stoic barricade
which surrounds my hope
in picket lines of untrained defectors
I claw at its lid,
thrashing mightily to my sides
as collections of miseries
flood this chamber of my coerced sleep
“I am here!” I shout,
hearing my words
echo in distance dance halls
two stepping on my memory,
spitting above where I lie
Here - a relevant term
as columns of disbelief carve themselves
from my mind.
Forgotten, left for dead,
erased from the blackboard
by the firm swishing hand of fate…
reduced to dust (I don’t feel like dust)
Blisters climb my arms in search of answers,
none can be found here,
where ever the hell here is… yet, I am here
My brain circles the skyline in desperation,
the gutters below cry, trash strewn as if it were me
sleeping off my drunk
in that Frigidaire box
“I am me!” I cry to the empty corridors of someone else’s life
One I’d rather be
Or one who would rather not?
...............................................
Someday my file may lie open,
atop a desk,
a partitioned sanctuary of hidden ethics,
beneath the crumpled Cheeto’s bag,
now layered with orange crumbs and fingerprints
maybe someone will see
maybe still forgotten
I am the dreamt of the Dreamer
knowing no more what matters
can be acknowledged, are you still
sleeping oh thou I perhaps have called
God in my younger years of sleep
imbued with the sense of aloneness
never to be seen no more than a
rock stillness persists despite all of
the advancement which is simply running
on the tracks of time, over and over
again we disappear into machines
angry hearts forgetting the restfulness
of silence...oh Dreamer of a billion years
where have you gone...do you remember
why you began this dream? Were you
lonely or merely alone in your creation
of imagination? What if you could
animate the furniture of your mind?
what if you could awaken to playmates
playing back with you, just as in chess
my turn, your turn, and so on
until it was time to put the dream to
snooze alarm hit –more time required?
bordering on the mundane I think you
have forgotten what you began...are we
alone now?