Long Sleepwalking Poems
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SLEEPWALKING
Two families were great friends cum neighbors
One had a good son, other owned a daughter.
Mutual care and share freely flowing
Boy and girl of same age gradually growing.
They studied in same class, played together.
As friends, boy and girl loved each other.
No trouble, no problem between boy and girl.
Boy shone as diamond, girl glistened like pearl.
Parents were worried as both were victims
of sleep walking in half-conscious dreams.
Often the boy in sleep walked in neighbor’s garden.
Sleeping girl walking appeared all on a sudden.
Both being grown up, friendship turned to love.
Parents watched them as pair of cooing doves.
No trouble, no problem wedding took place.
Two sleep walkers woke up with bright face.
Congratulations to newly-wed bride-groom.
Sleepwalking is stopped, confined in same room.
07/23/18
'Sleepwalking' Contest by John Hamilton
In the hollow hours before dawn,
when shadows stretch like grasping hands,
I search through rooms I’ve always known
for something I can’t understand.
The mirror holds a stranger’s face,
familiar yet somehow untrue—
eyes that once held fire and grace
now stare back empty, cold, and blue.
I walk through days like sleepwalking,
my footsteps echo on the ground,
the world around me keeps on talking
but I can’t hear a single sound.
Where did it go, that spark within?
That light that made the darkness flee?
Was it lost to doubt or sin,
or did it simply tire of me?
I trace the paths I used to know,
through gardens where I once found peace,
but every flower seems to bow
as if to mourn what won’t release.
The books speak words I cannot feel,
the music plays but doesn’t sing,
and nothing left feels wholly real—
I am the shell of everything.
Yet in the deepest, darkest night,
when hope seems just a fading dream,
sometimes I glimpse a distant light,
a whisper of what I have been.
Perhaps the soul is never lost,
just buried beneath the weight of days,
and though the journey bears a cost,
it waits for us in hidden ways.
As dusk floats on a garden strip
Time replays an unspoken dream,
Where jasmines press upon my lip
Lens closed, these warm hands fling upstream.
With mist adrift, I prance arise
As dusk floats on a garden strip…
Hours stay, then dash like a firefly
Leaving me to hunt for old ties.
This walk of sleep imbues moon’s tip
Enthralled by past kin's astral glide--
As dusk floats on a garden strip
Till heaven opens zone's divide.
And nightingales wheel mellow tunes:
Returning, I doze into joy's whip
Back where trance of comfort resumes,
As dusk floats on a garden strip.
7/28/2018
Sleepwalking Contest for John Hamilton
oh, how the pyramid, does grow and grow.
how was i to know?
i signed that dotted line, in repose.
should have dotted i’s and crossed my legs.
my first hint arrived with labor pains.
i squatted jewels – diamond, ruby, emerald.
wore expert rings with the likes of dr. spock.
i devoured each sweet honey book.
but woe to me, i thought i’d suffer solely from “empty nest”.
those birds flew high and strong, then crooked and lopsided.
i wracked my brain, contemplated walking the plank.
sleepwalking, i found profundity, a book of eureka gold.
apparently, there are experts in rearing “adult children”.
i furiously speed read, all the pages. i scanned its horizon
for clues and answers. they came with blue sky ribbons.
i slid to the floor, bewildered, wide-eyed, relieved.
then my children became experts, in rearing their own.
taught me how to use my adult voice - unlike a duck,
no squeaking allowed. and how i should let them cry,
and let them fall. who’d ever heard such crazy talk?
i’d still sign that dotted line, but with eyes open wide.
my husband and i reside at the precipice of the pyramid.
it quakes with birth pangs of shattered glass.
still, our family’s strong. none will crumble. none will fall.
The child loves to go to the park
and pick up sticks.
Like a dog,
he will try to bring an impossibly long stick home,
but he is 4 and by 4 o’clock he is getting tired.
He will not let go of one end
but drags it, tottering to the waiting car,
by the time he gets to the lot
he is actually sleepwalking.
I wake up;
a wandering hermit crab slips back into its shell.
That stick I had to abandon was a prototype,
a totem, a measure
of the many things I have had to let go of.
That kind of midnight dancing
is a stick that never ends.
Loss is often only trivial
a vexation,
just something left behind we thought to keep,
then maybe it’s an actual life
that once drained through our hands.
Whatever that stick represents
perhaps like me,
you still want to take an impossible thing home.
Attentiveness is the currency of life & to flow
it needs your permission
It can't flow without you within its wave
so, you must control your attention
Our observation is a key to the doors of the many
mansions available to you
Unlock your dreams by awakening to this as many
doors are in need of walking through
Sleepwalking is an action of the blind & many are
living life with closed eyes
Their perception has been blocked by narrow thinking
leaving the mind in a state of compromise
This dream is as real as any other & you are water
in a world solidified
Tithes are paid with the flow of your attention so
keep track of the direction of your tides
Avert the eyes to dismiss the undesired for this is
needed to avoid sinking ships
When you drop anchors at the point of fluid focus
the results are really hard to miss
The black negligee just made me hotter
for my Stephen who waited downstairs,
but before starting my descent,
I thought better skin than silk.
My lust grew with each step.
I heard him breathing.
He called out. Then—
I woke up!
I WAS
nude.
Steve
said, “You’re
nekkid, Ann.
Ain’t you chilly?
Sleepwalking again.
Some night you’re gonna fall!
Before you go back to bed,
could ya get me a beer and—Hey!
You’re standin’ there like Cy Young about
to hurl a baseball. Ha, ha! HAND it-- Owww!”
Date: October 12, 2019
Contest Title: Nude--Descending a Staircase
Sponsor: John Lawless
An Epiphany Dawns 2-13-26
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
An Epiphany Dawns
I wander in step to the rhythms of wind and chimes,
In the first light of astral darkness,
Slowly shifting in pirouettes through unconnected labyrinths
Of cleareyed dreams
Ascending in flimsy silhouettes from reborn hours
Dotting the flowing hills of my dreamscapes
Where fields of moonbeams bloom
In shades of ivory passion
And clear shadows of gossamer.
Sleepwalking with focused eyes
Through naked validity
Like a butterfly I lightly touch
On moonflowers ephemeral love notes
To drink of their nectar
From a chrysalis born of the nascent
Before the amber fingers of aurora
Spread through barren limbs
In ruffled dawns of new stars
So I may journey into epiphany.
It seemed the day would never end.
Murphy's Law had been my friend.
Phones that rang, needy voices, terrible choices,
Undone chores, a heartache sore, even more.
Problems still unsolved,
Issues not resolved.
A troubled day, a weary brain.
I couldn't wait to hide, ....escape
That night I tumbled in between the sheets.
At last, ... I fell to slumber's keep.
From blurry depth's of morning's stupor,
Where consciousness droops in a vague defeat,
I arose once more to light and meaning,
The familiar voice of twilight street:
A dog's gruff bark; the sound of tears,
A rasp of a broom that sweeps the years
Tramping feet, and shifting gears;
And rippled laughs of childish jeers...
Deep was the vaporous peace of my dreams,
Where angst nor fear won't be discerned.
My life called back from twilight sleep,
I return once more to face the street
Back on the road to reality....
...............
For the Sleepwalk Contest: Sponsored by Craig Cornish
In the labyrinth of time, where shadows spread their dark wings,
My thoughts float like ripples on a silent river, gliding among lost dreams,
The air breathes through the mist like ghosts, dancing on the edge of the abyss,
Humanity, sleepwalking towards oblivion, between skyscrapers and shattered illusions.
With eyes closed, hearts wrapped in logos and neon ephemera,
You sing melancholy melodies on chords of clay, runes that cry out at sunset,
The skies bend under the weight of irony, under the devastating healing of silence,
Born in fields of gold, bound to the earth that breathes forgetfulness.
Rivers of hope pour into an ocean of illusions,
I feel the years pass, like pages of paper, yellowed and torn by the cold wind of consumption,
A macabre dance under the light of advertisements, choirs of digital sirens,
The sleep of reason gives birth to dreams of iron and concrete, while the heart weeps burdened.
Among the ruins of dreams, among the great cathedrals of greed,
Unfinished paintings remain, skeletons of ideas that were never reborn,
I, you, we - prisoners in our own labyrinths of illusions,
Wondering if awakening will ever find us.
Your eyes, corners of unexplored universes,
I breathe the whispers of time, buried under the dust of reality,
A world dressed in brand cloaks, in cemeteries of dreams,
And I wonder, always wonder, when we will begin to dream again – together.