Short Sleepwalking Poems
Short Sleepwalking Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Sleepwalking by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Sleepwalking by length and keyword.
The radiant girl looks down submissive
A smile that's flirtatious, not aggressive
She suddenly lurches forward
Fell onto the floor awkward
Facedown nude waking up delusive
10/17/2019
There was a smart young lad named Blaze
stress and nervousness on test days
tried to "calm down," laugh and talk.
The night before he'd sleepwalk,
he’d find himself in the dawn rays.
7/26/2018
Semi-sleepwalking
Ev'ry day is déjà vu
When my love's adrift
---
Nashville to Kentucky
The state line divides my heart
So where lies my home?
---
The journey stretches
I'm like Kerouac, on the road
Or Frost, miles to go...
Fully standard man
Come straight out the can
Right into the pan
According to plan
Sports fan
Sensible sedan
Don't ask how it began
Sleepwalking man
In some kind of jam
Wonder where I am
Think it all a big scam
Malfunctioning man
February 24, 2018
I’ve woken in the strangest places
If, by strange, one means faceless
Scantily dressed, if at all
A parking lot outside a mall
A park, a street
In unsocked feet
An autopilot’s nighttime journey
Assless gown upon a gurney
Uncertain of what brought me to
Embarrassed, shocked, without a clue
Sleepwalking through the day
there’s a heavy price to pay
Tapping into feelings within her
opportunity gone-a-glimmer
Friendships never formed
lives never transformed
Delicacies swallowed whole
unseen flight of the oriole
Holding a basket
Full of the flowers
That have grown from the blood of
Her forsaken ancestors
Bearing a smile
Charged with the sympathy
And lies
Of a hundred miracles
She laughs
A tired sun rolling over
This deceased horizon
To meet her innocent eyes
God has left us
But
Sleepwalking in a lost Eden
Innocence lingers
Form:
- When you feel like your in a trance
baby things tend to get bad
The way you feel and think
Determine you daily decisions ,drained or demise
You've got to understand
That you live in the present
Hey , that's now my friend
Stop acting like nothing matters and live
This is your onceler moment
The way you act now depends on it - AB
I zip up my sleeping bag snug below my chin.
Inside my sleeping bag I slip on my mittens.
This is not me retiring during an evening of over night camping,
this is my solution to help control my chronic sleepwalking.
I can not escape my sleeping bag half conscious wearing mittens,
which prevents situations that for me could prove to be quite life threatening.
a restless heart
you are on my mind
and yet once again
I sleep alone tonight
where are you?
are you missing me?
or do you not ever
even think of me
miles and miles apart
several time zones away
is it just geographical
or are you feeling it too
I’m here sleepwalking
through each and every day
my thoughts always on you
while these questions still remain
a page is such a cold place
pen has a sage who delves for inner face truth's
the page entrances with silent mocking
word thought dances just outside the blocking
the sage thirsty now craves sweet success
but only digs graves in the sheets of paper white
mourn the poems never born
sorrowful worlds in the words
sage now sleepwalking
his empty words never talking
Form:
Am I aware of who I am?
Or just an animal, following after my next meal
Sleepwalking
If all I do is what I’m told
Am I really alive at all?
Sleepwalking
Guiding me in the night
Chasing after the next meaningless goal
Sleepwalking
One step at a time
Until something wakes me up
From this daytime nightmare
Sleepwalking
Until I awake
And break free from everything known
Sleepwalking in unlit
night, grabbing the
moon, for a bite.
Very difficult to chew
the contradictions, to relieve
the heartache.
Endless drumming of
woodpecker to mark territory.
A war begins for insects.
It was the Adam’s instinct.
I will not fall on
the burning coals.
In a dewdrop you will
see a miniature tree,
shaping out for the sun.
Satish Verma
Flying birds never sing the blues
Blue skies never tell secrets
Heard while flying birds
Passing by like the winds
Whisper that humans are odd creatures
Cast upon mischief’s missions
Wearied they sit and entertain the blues
As if life has but grey hues
Yet myriad colours fly without flaws
On masterful jolly-jollies
Sleepwalking through seasons
Enfolded in fickle glories
I N D U L G E N T I N D I V I D U A L ,
Where are you?
Sleepwalking back to B E D
wanting to see rare S I G H T S ?
S C A R E D O F G E T T I N G O L D?
imagining F U T U R E problems you may have,
feeling like lavender smells.
The sharpest things,
become dull,
E V E N T UA L L Y
like imaginary L E G E N D S
Waiting for neon,
Pastel M E M O R I E S
to leave.
Existing in chaos, mind’s fog
World of haze, devoid of color
Mindless drone, autopilot
Going through the motions as if
Sleepwalking
Through the dense gloom, the gray horizon seen
In a daze, the cold emptiness never ending
Sleepwalking by day
Existing only to find solace at twilight
Overindulgence, ceasing the chatter, ceasing the noise
Sleepwalking, hoping to one day awaken from this prison
What inspires me to write poetry
is inspired by much variety.
A beautiful landscape may inspire me
or maybe a certain period of history.
Sometimes I'm inspired when I innocently
eaves drop on others while they are talking,
but ironically my best poetry
has been written while I was sleepwalking.
It's spooky but true.
I wouldn't lie to you.
...(Yawn) Excuse me. I just woke up. Did I write this?
Walking through a field of mind grenades
I think of all the explosions & how many X
I have died
Perhaps I was sleepwalking when I laid the mines under the light of the moon
& the cracked dirt trailing across the floor
I blamed on the cat
I said nothing about the earth between my feet
I said nothing...
Nd' that silence is what pulled the pin & scattered my body to the wind...
Sleepwalking in my birthday suit
My mother thought was rather cute
But as I aged my little flute
Was soon declared forbidden fruit
Sleepwalking on my chosen route
My teen physique left others mute
Some neighbours claimed they'd prosecute
But soon could see me more hirsute
Sleepwalking as an old galoot
I do not fear a bare salute
My grandson is a new recruit
And just like me, won't give a hoot!
You there, on the wrong side of the road gathering
particles of burst bubbles
Me here, a sizeable dent in my cruise
going the wrong way on a one-way
Inattention, looking beyond and backwards
unaware and uninterested, sleepwalking
Until a voice unheard before . . . . .
Between the eyes particles burst
bubbles float on a whim
Axis rights itself and
goes the right way on the one-way
And then the nightmare awakened sweet slumber
And cracked sacred dusk with spiraling thunder
Who brought this on, who’s spell am I under?
Pinch me and wonder how this has transpired
From which wizard’s wand has this bolt been fired?
Who snapped their fingers, who left skies divided?
And origin’s wish has been granted, redeemed
A stray beam of hope sleepwalking in dreams
Fear demons disguised as white lights make us scream
sleepwalkings a trait suffered by many
sleeptalking could cost you many a penny
for some its divorce
and there shown no remorse
but sleepwalking it won't cost you any
be sure if you do go sleepwalking
ware a sign I'm asleep no talking
cos if you answered back
you might get a good slap
and I'm telling ya I'm not joking
Edited 07/16/18
Sleepwalking Poetry Contest - Sponsored by John Hamilton
7/16/18
Land mirrors balaclavaed moon tonight,
The dark blindfolds insects in drunken song,
And censors bawdy bullfrogs’ ancient rite.
Our starved eyes protest truant fireflies’ wrong,
As we raise high a flame of bright sarong.
Pixies may dance nude with rioting sparks,
A sleepwalking coyote somewhere barks,
While hot crackles heckle the clouds away.
We thrill to a new June the warm wind marks,
Think of the bonfire of summer at play.
Beyond the sex
he was sleepwalking in shame
hiding his faith ingloriously.
A poacher in harem
of politics, where you stack the hidden
virility for killing the money.
A single mate must die
making love on screen in the vicinity
of god’s house.
The monstrous lie will
press the knife to the lips
for shedding the blood of a monk in a brothel.
If we must forget
the accidental shot,
the spring will never come to olive grove.
Satish Verma
All night
a sleepwalking death
stumbled in and out of his prone body.
He had been drinking again,
whisky fumes rolled around
a dry, thick tongue.
The air in the room
wavered from hot to cold,
feverish self-repeating scenes
of Paganini trilling a fiery violin
haunted his aching brow.
A sledgehammer dawn hit him.
Death withdrew from dulled senses,
yet it lingered like a bloodshot eye,
at the bottom
of a half-full decenter.