Not anything.
It’s not a sleeping face in me.
Just gradual nothingness.
As if I’m being stewed, and stirred for hours.
But that’s just-
The Not Sleep World.
Dreading being locked up.
Feeling fascinated in a Not Sleep way.
Like there’s a bowl of ice cream under my bed.
Being devoured by dust bunnies.
It’s a ‘haha, panicked, wait a minute, ok’ way.
Not anything good or cozy.
Eyes blinking like corn on the cob.
The Not Sleep World.
Makes it into morning.
Like breakfast, or being.
Crazy corn on the cob feeling.
Just unbrushed my teeth and scattered.
I have work in a wavering, squinting way.
In a slapping the wall way.
Not good and cozy.
I hear them clapping.
Because I slept an hour at some point.
Now I can entertain the waking world.
When dusk screams in the fury of the night
At the city edge, I greet its tragic departure
Written in a trust to be contemplated with its pampering hue
But darkness dominates the peace of feeling
Until it plunges into the sadness of the night birds' whistles
This body is increasingly swayed by the ambition of the emptiness of space
Pressing the soul to focus more on reflecting it with seduction
While whispering longing to the sharp rocks
But no beautiful smile greets it sincerely
Only the angry waving of the bushes in their own hustle and bustle
I want to return to the embrace of romantic solitude
Carrying a million loves in the purity of my heart
Carving them on plain, colored sheets
Keeping them with a string of prayers to God
To be remembered while the breath of life still lingers
Atambua-NTT, December 1, 2025
Time to unwind and float like a fish
In sleepy land where dreams are
Perhaps I’ll be greeted with a red kiss
That’ll make a brown girl glow like star
I’d fly so high with my imagination
Fairy wings crafted by green leaves
In my slumber emerald emancipation
Till I wake rested ready for morning tea
And I will look for the newest poem
Written by the light of the moon
From authors whose hearts sing songs
And make the hazel sun swoon
Good morning dear poets if it is
Or shall I wish you good eve
Lovely to read whatever I miss
While in the land of sleep
I see you in sleep
I see you in stillness
My heart moves with thoughts of you
Unsettled, oh my heart
Only sleep with you can still me
A love never known who moves me like you
Where are you, I, anguish
Still my heart love
For without you
I cannot find sleep.
Fiction is a theatre within the mind;
Two layers down, disbelief unwinds.
My mind’s a rusted gate that groans,
Locks echo phantom steps of bones.
Half-remembered embers flicker and sigh;
Plots in slumber leap, collide, and fly.
The heart becomes a trembling compass,
Pulled by whispers across night’s atlas.
Hope is a fragile bird, born from ruins,
Its wings sewn from silver-threaded tunes.
Reveries are rivers, sometimes trash, sometimes gold,
Flowing through the mind’s cathedral, cold.
Nightmares illuminate the human fear;
Monsters recoil, yet terror feasts on me.
Ink-spilled twilight drifts through thought’s stream,
Lantern-ships sail silently on visions’ gleam.
The waking world welds fractures with sign,
Yet dream-gold lingers, silver-threaded, mine.
Nocturnal wandering walks near the feet of all,
A universal totem of the human call.
The heavens have opened the clouds above
Raindrops are joined by a windy shove
Leaves are dragged to the ground
After the storm, only a few are found
Clutching the trees, waiting the drop
As autumn comes to a sudden stop
If I had the stars of heaven beneath my feet
Full of God’s golden sparkling light
Floating in the dark of universal night
I would spread myself out over them
And remain awake sleepless in your sight.
But since I have only the grass and the wood
I’ll lie down as best as any man could
And softly dream and pray
And fall asleep in my own way
Thinking of reaching you.
Don't think; when the wailing valley wind on the ridge drives the shivering leaflets from the trees,
think that all is not over: the rainy season will return
you will see the buds, leaves, and flowers.
Don't think; when the earth grows cold and closed,
and the weary birds above mourn,
don't think that all is over: God still lives
Praise and sunshine will return.
Don't think; when your heart is empty and gloomy,
when your precious hope grows cold and gloomy,
don't think that all is over: God has mercy on you.
He will wipe away every tear.
Don't think; crying for just one night won't last.
God will eventually bring morning.
in the cold buds of every rainy season,
sleep tomorrow's flower buds.
Atambua, November 28, 2025
Snowflakes flutter to frosted earth
On a perfect winter day.
They glide through frigid wind,
Refracting whatever threads of light
Peek through the sky's soft gray quilt.
I stand on snow-crusted ground,
Craving my neck in awe
Of the chandelier of quartz drifting down.
My boots leave indents in an ever-growing cushion.
I want to let one settle on my hand.
So I can run my fingernail across
One of its many crystalline branches.
So I may feel just how smooth
A rigid structure could ever be.
So I will know that something as grand
As the smoky giants that sleep
Lazily above the horizon
Can craft something as intricate as it.
But I worry that the heat from my hands
Will melt and do away its delicate form.
If I were to tap it, even with the
Weakest edge of my nail,
I fear I would cleave it,
Between the roots of its symmetrical beauty,
In two.
A long days come to an end
Time to say nite nite my friends
It won't be long until the sun
Wakes up. The moons job is done
With sleepy eyes I start my day
A few yawns. I'm on my way
To the drive thru where I'll be
Serving customers pleasantly
Ochre aches in shady acres,
Shadows shudder in shades of moons.
Menaced by fluorescence and glasses whose gleams,
Glare with indifference in particle tunes.
Sleep tight my little darling.
Rest until the sun decides to rise.
Plenty of adventure awaits you.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Time for me to go to bed
Close my eyes and rest my head
Snuggled up so cozy warm
Dreaming sweet things until morn
Sending my friends everywhere
Lots of loving heartfelt care
Good thoughts being sent your way
Until night turns into day
Those Whispers
by Positive Mark
The memory we ran from has found us again.
It rides above confines of space, time, and limits.
Those whispers are rubbish. Don’t speak to dead men,
but the bird hit the window and broke his lil’ neck.
I don’t wanna talk anymore.
I just want to sleep.
Analyzing life
Wondering why
Anquishing past choices
Kringing at every noise
Eternally tossing and turning
Specific Types of Sleep Poems
Definition | What is Sleep in Poetry?
Poems Related to Sleep
coma, slumber, dream, trance, torpor, dormancy, torpidity, lethargy, nod, catnap, repose, doze, nap, rest, shuteye, siesta, snooze, dullness, forty winks, hibernation, sandman, bedtime, sack time, slumberland, few z's