In the wee hours
of the night
Inspiration strikes
as the Muse
makes a call
to my being
It comes
in a flash
and leaves
just as quickly
only meandering
for a short while
I get it
all down
with an ease
that is mind boggling
and I smile
at the pleasure
that it
brings to me
as morning beckons
It's the wee hours of the morning,
And the rain is drizzling down.
It makes the air all fresh and clean,
As I walk the streets of town.
Although July is ending,
It's damp and cold tonight,
And there's no moon to light my way.
The streets are lit by street lights.
A nighthawk calls above me.
An owl greets me here.
A cat scampers across my path.
What else will next appear?
I still feel the quiet peace,
That comes from nightly walks.
Just me and God alone at last,
Accompanied by our dogs.
In the middle of the night, I can hear your sigh.
Shouting to those who stare outside the azure sky.
Your scent instills to my soul a feeling of calm.
Away from the abyss, reality at the edge of a chasm.
It's approaching from the insights of time; I'm aware.
As the stream of the tide is on, the echo tries to dare.
Who may tenderly persuade me to care tunes?
Who may soothe my soul with peculiar vivid boons?
And protect me with the fulness of his quietness.
Of life span glorious nights to the day's countless.
In a meadow of velvety, wispy willows by the lake.
In the chilling pre-fall breezes, we quiver and shake.
There is no limit to how distal and deep you might cease!
Currently, this still life scene is denuded of the breeze.
From swards, tremors, and wilderness to dull blue height.
The skyline is illuminated by a swarm of merciful light.
A few trees appear to be nuzzling the sky under the gray.
However, none can match the splendor of wood's hooray!
Written: February 10, 2022
in the wee hours
of the morning
i love to watch the sun
stretch its arms lazily
as it thinks about
rising ever so slowly
and the october leaves
so sparse are fluttering
in breathless anticipation
for a few warm rays
to caress their dorsal fins
and underbelly
AP: 3rd place 2022
Submitted on October 25, 2018 for contest END OCTOBER 2018 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
Originally posted on October 20, 2018
In the wee hours
My queen walks alone
Tonight my
Lonesome whittles
I bring it all to you
What succeeds the pain when my soul has suffered all it can?
Why does truth lure like a fire on a far distant shore?
When wisdom cleanses what ignorance soils,
why, in the sweet, sad hours of mourning, do healing tears stain?
Why is my spirit chained for the sins of my soul?
Why is the price of love more than my heart can ever pay?
When whispers become screams and I burn,
who will come and pour themselves on me?
Why does innocence die and guilt live on, lingering?
What can I redeem from so much so cheaply sold?
When the way is fraught with bridges so badly broken,
how do I cross softly from such a fallen world?
Why do youthful dreams still haunt the halls of my slumber?
What is my life’s worth but a pocketful of stones?
When scions are undone and I alone remain,
who will weep for me and who will know my name?
Heed sweet and sour
The late wee hours
Note silence speak
In falling peaks
Devoid of voice
In hush of noise
Listen to calm
Spread a cold balm
No one around
In sleepy grounds
Night flings nocturne
In sleepy dunes
Here as I lie
Drown in sleep sighs
Wee hours slide slow
In eerie glow
World in deep grip
In dreamy trips
Leon Enriquez
23 May 2015
Singapore
The wee hours of the night,
my kith and my kin -
my own reality
separate.
A time not free from my troubles,
nor their reflection -
a place of self crowded with thoughts,
yet finally free from others, and others'.
The hustle and bustle put to rest,
there remains only quiet -
music if so chosen,
otherwise silence is welcomed.
I can do with less sleep,
but not without these times -
not without feeling what needs be felt,
writing what needs be written.
The wee hours of the night,
my rest and my reprieve -
my own reality
ever better for them.
Dark is the night when the light fades;
Wee hours creep slow in hazy mist;
Moon beams aid sight as cold air trades;
Draught in dark show in lonely gist.
Dark fills the time as sleep comes round;
Wee hours now cast a distant feel;
Moon aura chimes in drowsy grounds;
Cold misty blast seals the odd deal.
Dark is the gaze of this nocturne;
Wee hours hurl trace as night floods well;
Moon magic maze flings a sad tune;
Dry air dries face as echoes dwell.
Leon Enriquez
08 June 2014
Singapore
The wee hours before the dawn
Small birds join in a chorus of song
A sweet and natural symphony
That makes your heart want to sing
Small birds join a chorus of song
Nature in it's awe, the air so fresh begins to warm
The rising sun, announcing another day
Fresh dew renews all plants in every way
A sweet and natural symphony
The tiny snail goes about it's way
Oblivious to how time is fleeting by
Content with his own slow pace
That makes your heart want to sing
Fresh breeze making all the branches swing
Dropping dew upon the lawn
The wee hours before the dawn.
by Steven Beesley (c) 2005-08-19
Lilibonelle:
A form by Bonnie Williams. 4 stanzas of 4 lines per stanza.
The first line on the first stanza is repeated as the last line of the last stanza.
The 2nd line of the 1st stanza repeated as the 1st line of the 2nd stanza. 3rd line of 1st stanza repeated as 1st line of 3rd stanza. 4th line of 1st stanza repeated as 1st line of 4th stanza.
In the wee, wee hours
From a deep, deep sleep,
I was jolted upright
By a clueless creep.
For he dialed my number
And my phone did blare;
So I grabbed it quickly,
Wondering who was there.
As my heart was pounding
And I prepped for grief,
I awaited news
From my slumber thief.
But he left me hanging,
The connection lost;
And for hours after,
I just turned and tossed.
Yet that hang-up helped
To make my fears subside.
After all, nobody
Whom I love had died.
Still, a part of me
Simply must condemn
Someone calling at
3:45 A.M.!
In the wee hours of the night
I sit in my little corner nook
Looking out my window
Pane…
Loneliness engulf me while
I sit all along in solitude
In my own little corner
Nook..
Vex by sleepless nights
Mind idling with wild
Thoughts...
Running through my head
As I wait for the dawning
Maybe than my thoughts
Will make sense..
Maybe I want feel so
Desperate and along
Maybe my imagination
Will bring sun….
Brighten my mind to
Enlighten my soul,
In the wee hours of the night
I sit in my little corner nook
Looking out my window
Pane…
While the silhouettes of the
Night shadows…
Brush against my window
Pane..
Making creeping, ghastly
Noises,
But the dawn will soon arrive
While the light spread..
Like the shadow in the
Night…
The sun will defy the darkness
As the sun will prevail..
For the dawning of the day
Will shine..
Until the moon rise over
The horizon...
the cigarette is finished
I can postpone no more
my wrestling with the night
pills referee my fight
tomorrow will be daylight
on fresh fallen snow
I will write
with a dead twig
on fresh fallen snow
then throw the twig
into the open back
of a departing garbage truck
that leaves tired tire tracks
on fresh fallen snow
the night’s fears
inconsequential tears
whispers from past years
weak fires routinely snuffed out
on fresh fallen snow