Long Somnambulist Poems

When sleep deserted me
I crawled out of my bed unseen
To delve into the crevices of the dark
With the curiosity of an explorer
And the near comatose of a somnambulist
I walked up and down the steep slopes...

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Sleepwalker


And in the darkest sweeping wings is held all probable
The night of dreamings; wished embraces of gossamer senses ponder miracles 
And leave their mark; ever in hope....

She is waiting

Pale in naked moon lit sexual stretches
Fanning...

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Calcutta. 

Hot and unberable in the searing summer heat 
and unberarable for more reasons than the heat. 
In a popular tourist cafe an American widow 
obsesses on her dead husband: she has a bundle 
of...

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"Life is being on the wire; everything else is just waiting"
                        ...

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after the sky drops. 
The walking corpses come out 
the veil of night masks 
the decay 
the rot 
of humanity 
Plague of the earth. 

Found from the ashes 
My phoenix we bled 

Has she ever...

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Where had I seen you? I know your cloudless face, bleary-eyed forehead. 
Everything says what I imagined you in my remotest dream and desire. It takes a 
long while to forget your intrepid looking body...

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Etched in my soul
is the peace of a lonely ruin,
an old chapel on the skull
of a hill surrounded by pastureland
and wind-swept trees.
Below a lake stretches into the distance,
its waves lapping the mottled shores,
its waters harboring...

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Nudnick
By Sy Roth

Self, I say
Self,
Wake up.
Your ganglions 
Are asleep again.  
Wakey, wakey…
Those around you, nudnick,
Are whirling dervishes
Those who come and go 
In the Speakeasys of their lives
And I am a silent partner. 
Wake up...

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My nights have lately become sultry
as suffocating heat chases sleep away,

I lay wide awake unloved and sweating
beneath the murmurous ceiling fan
hoping for some refreshing relief.

Each eventide I hear her bittersweet song 
drifting from the verdant...

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A Forgery of such style 
In a touch shall call,
		again, to sigh and fall.
To the Ageless Jazz leap,
				'round midnight
A Generique Portrait 
		Consumed out of Love 
		Never wasting their pretentious time,
 Claim to reveal your elite...

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Evening raises the curtain
from the waning horizon, 
dusk tip-toes on the moss of darkness 
casting solitary shadows 
that stroll like somnambulist.
Flames of flapping fireflies follow 
the trill cries of chirping cicadas

Perched above, like a yellow...

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Love hearts and scabby knees.
Dead flies and stinging bees.
Dirty nails and sweaty lips.
Fishnets with ragged slips.
Eyeholes in a hessian sack.
Pimples on a tattooed back.
Toys that she just can’t unpack.
Helen. 
Secret Helen.

Lies from a mother’s heart.
Secrets...

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SOMNAMBULIST

She stood before me in the mist,
That beautiful somnambulist.
Eyes open, yet I doubt she saw me,
In the mist she stood before me.

She was dressed in night attire,
Designed to set men’s hearts afire
And I was suitably...

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putrid rascal was a real truant
and also a junkie
and a somnambulist too
and wicked gourmet bought a new guillotine

then the rascal walked dizzily 
like a mechanic dancer
around the cinnamon circle
right under the scythe
and underwent a severance

the...

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I received her phone call out of the blue,
I felt I have encountered my poem.
I wished nothing bad happens to her,
When I looked at her first time.
When she is with me,
All of her is there.
She...

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There’s her sweet, succulent
voice soothing your sorrows
in your ear. 
Like soliloquies, soft
sonatas surround your once
dark shadows.
What compares to the composition
of music? Of operatic opposition?
Of triads and miscommunication,
the minor scales know not what to say
when the...

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Here comes the neutral ninja:
The smiling swords that pierces through
Souls, homes, palaces, and ghettos
And leaves on them a mark of the grey sky,
Never seen but stings the visible; 
The Somnambulist that snuffs gold 
Out of...

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I peacefully live in the mind of my own
Moving carefully and calmly 
Behind my house lies a great unknown
I’m a regular there when I’m lonely
I tiptoe, closing the door at command
My inner voice tells me...

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Behold the fate of one who chose the night
for writing poems. Poet fell asleep,
I mean, he thinks he's sleeping. He can cite
Baudelaire asleep or calculate the sheep
that graze on misty pastures of his mind,
call forth...

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The wayward wanderer, wonders whilst walking; 
when woken the somnambulist savagely screams solipsist soliloquies!
Shaken...
Subsumed...
Shunning salvations sweet succor s
                 ...

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How deep is this mark, 
this ridge of pale skin?
When, when will the sun 
do its cursed work?

Shall it never cease
branding me as one
of two, when one,
I am, now at peace?

Will it eat at my...

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