Long Somnambulant Poems
Long Somnambulant Poems. Below are the most popular long Somnambulant by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Somnambulant poems by poem length and keyword.
My Dream Within A Dream Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
9/16/2025
Edgar Allan Poe: "All that we see or seem / Is but a dream within a dream."
My Dream Within A Dream
Somnambulant dreamer,
Dancing in time to silent music,
Pirouetting arabesques,
And grand jetés performed as on stage.
While all around her people stared,
Astonished by what this darling dared.
Leaping, spinning, and body rolls,
She danced through her dream out of control.
Tumbles and twirls, tempo frenzied,
Her youth and beauty were so envied.
Lithesome grace utterly entrancing,
This young beauty caught dream dancing.
So lost in the dream, her steps faltered,
Lovely dancer, soon to be martyred.
Upon the pyre of lust and greed,
Selfish desires of the watchers' need,
Pulled against the dancer's grace,
And brought a tear to the lovely face.
The crowd's screams broke the count,
Her mistakes began to mount,
Until what once was sweet and pure,
Became something so unsure.
The dream, a nightmare instead,
The dance, a thing of terrible dread,
Our lovely dancer dreams no more.
I did not sleep that night,
the motel room was already taking on
the chill ambience, smell, and sounds
of an intensive care unit,
weary eyelids
sensed the tubes and restraints
already binding me.
Latex-gloved fears
kept me on a weary high wire.
Occasionally there’s distant laughter
in a corridor where people are carefree,
I pretend to laugh along
but my voice croaks and trembles
fearing the passing of time
taken to hear anything
and to respond to it.
I did not plan on Cincinnati
I know I mean nothing to Cincinnati,
Cincinnati has no memory of me yet,
and If I die in its University Hospital
I will still be a hole within a hole
of a book never read.
During the 4 a.m. G.P.S drive
it rained a soft black rain.
My headlights plowed into time-left.
Behind me in the motel room,
I am still packing and unpacking
while somnambulant eyes
look away and try not to see
the looming Hospital entrance;
retreating before the dawn.
At this hour
The entrance is a dim electric tube
that withers, and reflates
like a dissected promise.
His wife dies.
You have seen it all before,
you can tell what will happen next.
He will recline in the home
that she has woven around him.
He will let the ivy
of their long years together
coil around his somnambulant thoughts.
The house grows imperceptivity
into a mausoleum.
Some warmth remains,
within her carpet slippers
and housecoats.
He keeps them close.
The cat will always be
the shadow of her hand.
He is a watcher,
not at the funeral or the cemetery,
but from the other side of a bed.
He arranges ornaments,
puts them back the way they were.
Takes out fading photographs
of them both on vacation,
good times, also
times when heartbreaking rocks
had to be climbed.
He places all those sepia moments
into a shoe box
she has provided,
knowing he would need it.
Formidable flourishing fiends...
harangue since landing
yours truly immersed
in a dream-like
fiercesome state of war,
not quite a dream
can be described
as a "hypnagogic state"
while virtually in Singapore,
where Katy Perry
namesake of a lion doth roar
noise amplified courtesy dissonance
while nine inch nails synthesize
scraping across chalk board
evoking discordant soundcloud
foo fighting beastie boys
comprising a quatuor.
Socked away within
cerebral nooks and crannies
house mailer daemons
inconveniencing yours truly
i.e. an Indus das scribe
hub bull mendicant
bullying jimmying,
jump starting, joy riding
junket at breakneck speed
disregarding dangerous signposts
warning reckless (heedless) highjackers
speeding stolen heavily
sedated body (mine)
slap happily, obliviously,
jauntily (devil may
care attitude) careering
across rubble strewn
bombed out stone age terrain
gunning engine like
there's no tomorrow
zipping past crumpled
suspended abridged abutment
jarring sole abducted,
bound and gagged one tramp (me)
hurling over edge of cliff
temporarily free of gravity,
(albeit an infinitesimal eye blink)
between life and death
rapidly descending in accordance
with laws of physics,
when suddenly motion stops
as if thee Earth stood still
freezing all life forms
held as if invisibly tethered,
when ghostly debut appearance
courtesy Rod Serling
rattles of his trademark narration
"...fifth dimension beyond
that which is known to man.
...This is the dimension of imagination."
I resort to aforementioned loose analogy
to approximate mental state of limbo,
asper...this man falling to Earth
minus parachute on par
with crash test dummy
an absent firmament
to feel securely grounded
held stock still,
when moments before plunging
pitched head over heels...
only to find this mortal,
either entering or exiting
somnambulant state
only groggily awaking
out of deep sleep
falling out of bed
singing hup bout poor lovely bones.
Most of my Lix spittle
+ four additional anniversaries
since exiting birth canal
as full term newborn
re: minimally viable existence
post doc severance umbilical cord,
nevertheless yours truly
found himself figuratively
linkedin and tethered to lifeline
particularly in formative years
(primarily academically) adrift,
and malfunctioning blinker
analogous to a boat
without an ankh (clawing
away to stay afloat)
aimlessly bobbing -
and drowning akin
to a besotted drinker
just out of rest to be
rescued by Mister Rinker
sea ming lee without
any hook, line and sinker
despite being gifted with
an above average thinker,
(who calls Lake Wobegon
his birth place)
from without, where two
brown myopic ocular
orbs shutterfly, twitter and winker.
All thru academia
just barely passing grades
nsync with avocations
such as: jigsaw puzzles,
photography, playing piano
weight lifting with free weights
and other endeavors metaphorically
suffered from anemia,
and at my nadir,
thy prepubescent psyche
plummeted lovely bones
into grave state,
courtesy anorexia minus bulimia
mental health also linkedin
shot thru through with
healthy dose of dysthymia
captioned tinker tailor soldier spy
kept awake with insomnia
peppering cerebral
cortex with monomania
buzzfeed ding somnambulant
zombified condition
with a burning
desire toward pyromania
nsync with unmanageable
raging (red dee
and bull lush) testosterone
spawning (when libido
ran rampantly amuck)
satyromania, the above particularly
accentuated, and cresting
with accursed triskaidekaphobia
most agonizing, when
orbitz around Earth
demarcated ten plus three
month date on a Friday the thirteenth,
hence death be not proud
sought after utopia
pleading, longing, and hooping
if I Willoughby
able to sprinkle
cremated ashes across Xenia
after Dayton death.
The hours have been driving me,
miles upon miles have sunk the sky,
Florida now hangs from distant cypress trees.
I almost miss the exit ramp,
This kind of waking and sleeping
is controlled by a ghost in my head.
Now I am eyes on the corners
where a flickering sunset
swings between interlaced trees.
Feet juggle over a low flying road,
while tense hands wind and unwind
on a sullen wheel.
This country road I know well, but the
fading day wants to paint me out
of my own map,
the familiar takes upon it
many alien shades.
Hours are melting back
to sleep with the Manatee,
I grind through the gears
swing on a hammock of
slow and fast moments.
The driveway dives out
of a side-show hedgerow.
Car-parts rattle into silence.
Benumbed bones lag behind
as the engine ticks on in a
somnambulant daze.
House windows watch curiously
as a stranger to Ohio
enters a place it calls home.
I do not abide
in bright sunlight.
“I’m a vampire rose.”
Recall last night
when you first came upon me.
You had wandered
unknowingly
into my woodland domain.
Like a somnambulant
delectable dreamer
you walked into
my succubus lair;
you, with your scrumptious
mouth and eyes.
Beneath the lush tangle
of myriad leafy boughs,
I waited in shadows,
hidden until you
found me there.
As you stood rooted
to the forest floor
admiring my blood red petals,
your lust became
my opportunity,
for when you tried
to pluck me up,
you pricked your hand
on my thorns.
Did you not realize
that was my plan?
You bled, and then . . .
you became my
fledgling devotee.
It was as if I had sunk fangs
into your beautifully scrumptious
pale neck.
You have returned now
longing to
“kiss me when sun sleeps”
for you are pulled by the
mulberry mystery of
my strange unnamed omnipotence.
I am your goddess.
No other rose
can you ever find
that will compare to me.
Though you take up your quill
and bleed poetry
again and again, know this:
“I own your signature.”
Come, my lover
I will blossom each night
for you.
You can caress me
in the moonlight,
but never can you clasp
“your fingers around my soul.”
Go look into the moon’s pool.
Your reflection
you will no longer see,
and you will be
drawn to me for as long
as I shall desire you to be.
My lover, my thrall,
I have bestowed on you
my cardinal immortality.
Until I release you,
your destiny is here -
beyond the gloaming.
Threadbare, uninviting, almost claustrophobic,
And cold. I could not afford heat.
I put on the lights and felt an icy solitude.
No home sweet home for me.
Would I get attuned to my new apartment?
Lonely, I ate my packed tasteless food quickly,
changed into a cosy track suit, switched off the lights
and went to bed hoping for pleasant elusive dreams.
Suddenly melodic tunes infiltrated my slumber.
I wake. Upstairs someone must love old time songs.
Like a somnambulant I climb the stairs and knock.
She was like a mirage, shimmering in the haze of a desert.
Silently she beckoned me inside the warm room.
My name is Angel, she whispered. And the dance began,
Until tired, the haze of the desert enveloped me too.
Much later I woke.
I was in my bed. Was it a dream? Probably.
The landlord said the upper flat was empty still,
But to be occupied that day, Someone called Angel.
That night I did not sleep, but waited for the music to start.
Just in case you wondered...
Yours truly, (i.e. I) quickly
became hypnagogic afore
subsequently segueing soundly
into autohypnosis booklore,
while binge reading courtesy
regarding aptitude chore
treasure trove books galore
five dollars as many
paginated fictitious stories ('bout deplore
hubble basket cases) fit into authorized bag
infernal challenge sifting evermore
alum skid more or less
bending and reaching skyhigh
toe tilly (ejaculating
what the heel) footsore
compromising writing, rather heretofore
indulging insatiable knowledge
(surpassing narcotic fix),
the world wide web hide ignore
engrossed various and sundry
enchanting, kickstarting, and revelling - bonjour
dear reader buzzfeeding...
Till chief hankering
(regarding appeasing passionate
word loving aficionado,
albeit temporarily ceased
(think intellectual fancy feast)
getting imagination (mine) linkedin
outspeeding lightning greased
experiencing cerebral capacity increased
virtual make believe
terra incognita leased.
insatiable jabberwocky yen
countless hours elapsed when
inconvenient wont head sleep
wracked courtesy (bowling) ten
pins nabbed mettlesome ambulation
often found me - hen (pecked) hex pen
sieve dishabille scattered brained brute
somnambulant analogous awake burning ken
kindled smoldering cognitive tinder even...
Chilly cooling off, where
temporal lobed hiatus taken
beefing portfolio in effort to scare
back poetic proclivity despite near
severe withdrawal symptoms
reacquainting novelty here
with effort to jog capacity
to craft poem quite aware...
Unsuspecting readers breathed
sigh of relief interim joker I went absent
posting trademark gobbledygook,
now unnamed fool rushes in,
where angels fear to tread - nay cent
return of native son unequivocally, pinterestingly
digitally... afore written dive versification
brandishing said as unsung literary event
psalm time sacrilegious Jew bull gent
bringing entertainment intent
to thee anonymous
analogously, humorously, and parenthetically
lamely affecting (i.e. poorly emulating)
Shakespearean belles lettres,
perhaps coronavirus pathogen
t'will cut me down, whereby
microbial size Clark Kent,
whoops twas Lois Lane I meant
to empower one meek and obedient
primate even during
but, and, or conjunctive
rutting season quiescent.
Slow or fast
we think behind a slip stream,
a contrail of the gone;
of what went by a momentary window
long ago.
Asleep under a blacktop,
street-cars roll over my me-mind,
the crunch of old bones
crackles like thin ice.
I am recalling a time
now set in resin.
Desiccated bugs bite through,
gnaw at half-painted pictures.
Lost paths
for the somnambulant dead.
Elephants gather to revisit graveyards.
Alive in a memory,
but let’s not call this 'living,'
double, treble dipping
into the time-worn.
Such old imagining's will eventually
kill every analog clock
with their own internal hammers.
What am I writing now?
Yesterday and tomorrow sway
like old measuring scales.
Should I think like a Greek,
or a Jew,
arise and dance
shaking my head back and forth
as if awakening
to every fleeting pause?
This is what I am writing
upon the underside
of a road...
an odyssey of sorts
one taken by a horde of lemmings.
A talking point
indicating how I got here
recalling this and that,
but then again
nothing is now real forever.