somber, sacred, salad, sail, seal, shuffle
love, light, lemur, linger, lumber, lurch
energy, edge, exist, eleven, evade, electric
effect, evoke, enter, exist, element, exchange
plane, poodle, play, peaches, porch, piffle
yes, s l e e e e e p y ............
How speedy yet sweet the swift
how slow and sleepy the sloth
how creepy crawly the caterpillar
metamorphosing into a moth
how flutters by the butterfly
how groaning grumbly the grouse
how caterwauly the cat
wailing at night outside the house
how snips when shears the snipe
how doggedly dogs the dog
how hops skips and jumps
the tadpole now a frog
how kicks and bucks the mule
shucks how dodges the duck
that's the lot it's all I've got
there's no more so you're in luck
this actual poem,
that I am write.
finally, an actual poem,
during the day, during the night.
I write this poem,
start to end.
a proper poem,
my mind starts the bend.
as my quill runs out of ink,
I'm so tired, starting to sleep.
my eyes start to drag, I constantly blink.
the final full stop and then I sleep.
(did I really rhyme sleep with sleep, I'm a genius poet.)
Little fella draw me a poem that you witness in the sky
The left pupil an hour before that succumbs to sleepy Frye.
The poem declares not to linger in mourning, "I didn't die!"
My father was a hero in my metaphor, he still roams
yet I ponder, what could be the absolute actual tone?
Must be the same tarry, must be same seminary had a shift
and the seamstress is still decided not to finish any of those undone!
a puddle of rainwater I used to reign upon is still a flash flood aftermath
and you know, you do not make sense sometimes with coping and mood question at all!
He still helps you there and you still feel blessed that even with you in your unwholesome intact
you are happening outside of the body that did cut nails with a nail clipper just yesterday
Life is a voice note on occasions sometimes whence you are a line away, anyway, anyhow!
A little star blinks in the night,
It watches over you to keep warm,
And gently whispers, "Go to
sleep."
A little brown bear yawned
and crawled into his cozy
cave to sleep.
Outside, the fluffy winter
snow began to fall gently
in the dark.
He curled up tight, dreaming
of sweet honey until the
spring returned.
The silver moon begins to
softly gleam,
To guide you safely to a
gentle dream.
The stars are tucking in the
quiet skies,
As heavy tired eyes close your
sleepy eyes.
Goodnight, sweet dreams,
until the morning sun.
Lately, when he isn't being creepy,
we've seen The Donald get very sleepy!
Before he goes off to the electoral dung heap,
he'll likely be known as the "Commander-in-Sleep."
With him, we shouldn't have to bother;
let's just go ahead and call him the "Nodfather".
Meanwhile, that crowd over in Tehran
just laugh and call him "Dozy Don".
Of course, they know he's full of baloney
as they chuckle and snicker at "Don Snorleone".
Maybe he should be encouraged to go into hibernation
so America can emerge from its economic stagnation.
It takes a while,
time gets trapped behind closed doors,
mice need to be nudged into awareness,
whiskers electrified.
A sleeper adjusts its mouth,
for often lips arrive
behind a scream.
The brain is now ready for its screenshot.
The body stretches to a window,
neuronal mice
pull upon somatic ligaments,
yank upon slabs of connective tissue,
slowly reshaping a new reality.
Unfortunately,
you are not exactly transferable,
you can’t get on the same hamster wheel.
A new you must be rehabilitated,
the world also must be trained
to accommodate this au currant -
this avant garde prototype
of an old guy.
sift tender what the sandman leaves your eyes
thus soft with dreams meandering, that swoon
the gauzy soot that dusts the day's goodbyes
grown weighty from their cares of life, too soon
and borne upon the bright beams … of the moon.
Rewrite December 19, 2025
For the “Bite Size Number 131 Poetry Contest”
Line Gauthier, Judge & Sponsor
snow falls stern and strong
cotton shroud on sleepy trees~
stars frozen with cold.
I spent October inside, until fall had fled
Stresses proliferated, and a hospital bed
I missed the foliage on the Adirondacks high
Yellow, orange and red against the blue sky
I remembered where I had seen colors before
Just 40 miles from my cottage door.
An old Dutch Church, built in 1697
And the graveyard behind, a waystation to heaven.
I made my way south and walked up the hill
Between mausoleums were trees and the color would spill
copper and red and orange and gold.
I let it sink in, and peace took hold.
A stone path opened up a Hudson River scene
I was the only one there, it felt so serene
Then a cloud drifted west, colors lost hue
Like a muted repainting of that grave-framed view.
I've seen death before, and one thing I knew
The saddest words in life were "nothing more we can do"
I wondered if those words were sometimes incorrect
and I thought just coming for colors might show disrespect.
But many come to see the place, most for history
to see the resting place of Irving, Celtic cross of Carnegie.
And we all join the ranks; we all pay life's cost.
There's no going back, once the river is crossed.
She never smiles with her beautiful hair
Yet unapproachable I would not dare
It's not that I want her not that I care
I look at her sleepy eye's and try not to stare
She has that thing that makes beauty's bell ring
Sometimes she's dressed for attention that stings
Fashionable clothing and beautifully made up
More for the satisfaction of the one beholding
Like the one God made from the dust (Lilith)
Her youth is her treasure with which she is well supplied
I look at her and measure with the tool of my eye's
Not stalking or lusting just seeing surprise
And noteing the beauty of her sleepy eye's
Never a smile, I can't see her laughing
Just ruling part of my world
With the thing she was born having
Not love not lust but wanting to stare
Seeing her sleepy eye's receiving what is there
Oh, touch -me-not plant, Are you a mere sleepy plant?, I am a shy plant.
Somber light slants through the window.
The sun lazes behind blankets of clouds.
Grey skies are all I see.
A tranquil yet almost uneasy atmosphere
rests over everyone.
No one dares to shrug it off.
Today is a day for soft musing and true thoughts,
it's sobering and uplifting at the same time.
There will be no more doubts by the end of this day.
A chilly wind breezes over cool skin as
colors are dimmed and speeds are slowed.
Nothing resists the sleepy pull of these grey days.
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