(No sleep for you!)

yearning for the rest
I crave. Save me
from this tossing,
Burning the midnight oil,
my need for sleep.
weeping for relief
my belief is
is churning in my head.
Stuck in this bed
without a clue
what to do,
how do you keep
asleep while I’m
discerning my plight
I’ve been up all night
to my
Sandman fighting,
Bed bugs biting,
I’m begging on my knees,
please, oh pleazzzzzzzzzzzz.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2018

Miz Quickly’s MuhwufSS – Black and Blue Bedtime Blues: Restless Night


I go to bed exhausted, bleary eyed,
teary eyed before long and a strong sense
that all is lost if this lack of slumber
costs me any more grief.
The sandman is a thief in the night,
stealing the light in my eyes
and casting a pall on my wishes
for sweet dreams. It seems my affliction
is a dereliction of somnambulist seclusion.
Insomnia plays like a raucous rumba with my R.E.M.
Narcoleptic fits are every bit as annoying,
toying with my sleep patterns; a smattering of
But the Apnea sleep Nazi screams, “NO SLEEP FOR YOU!!!”
So it’s true, I lay in a heap and finally feel the heaviness greet
my eyelids. The ensuing headache breaks and
takes what small packet of napping it can.
I’m not even sure I dream anymore, or if my subconscious
mind can find the root causes for these nightly pauses.
My legs twitch, as if an unscratched itch is festering,
pestering me to no end. And without warning, I buck
and lurch, a search for a solution. A new sensation,
I am falling while asleep; falling, asleep.
The bottom comes too soon, jolting me to a new
stage of awake with the ache that pulses around my eye.
Off the floor to rise, flipping the pillow and trying
to find an exit from this never-ending horror story.
I go back to bed exhausted, bleary eyed;
like I’ve always tried, expecting things to go differently.
In any book, that’s insane.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Poetic Asides – Wednesday Prompt #369: Patterns


A good night’s sleep is all I crave.
But, I have become a slave to my disorder.
Limbs once nimble now churn as I burn
the midnight oil. I toil each night
seeking rapture. But I have been captured
by my demon and random thoughts swirl
as if strewn by the wind of memory.
Heart beating faster, a runaway freight train
through the prairie of my barren soul
with no control of my own.
I cough and groan, throat emitted as I spit
in a foaming fit of rage, roaming the halls madly.
Sadly, I’m ready for a padded vault.
It is Disruptive Sleep Apnea’s fault.

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013

SUNDAY WHIRL - Wordle #111
Wordle #111

Written for the SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle # 111

and presented at POETS UNITED – Poetry Pantry #153

also Khara House’s 30 x 30 Challenge – Day 2 – Slumber


Kissing the Ceiling by Fred Muram

Waking up in a purple haze,
it’s one of those days where you fight the urge
to stay in bed and splurge on your comfort.
The warmth of blanket and bodies pressed
together again as best friends; lovers
of life and each other. It’s in your eyes.
No surprise begins with a flourish of trumpets
or raucous guitar riffs. Just butterfly eyes
and a silly grin. I’m in for one of those days
when being alive gladdens your heart.
It’s always a fresh start waking up
in joy and elation; a celebration.
Excuse me while I kiss the sky!


Written for WE WRITE POEMS Prompt #91 Kissing the Ceiling


Fighting a battle often lost in the darkness
of a weary mind. There is no rest there.
Cursing the single candle lit to offer
its illumination; to infiltrate this
mental stagnation. Accursed slumber
why do you wage against my will?
Will you release me like the leaves
of October’s colorful flurry, left
to scatter in the cool winds from place
to place; a migration to discover the peace
that I crave. You have found me, October.
You have extended your lifeline in fine fashion,
a saving assist for one clamoring for control
over heart and soul,
over heart and mind.
I clutch your hand as I am flung over
the edge of reason. Your season is here.
You want me near, October, where I belong.
Anything else would be just wrong.

LUCA BRASI (Rispetto)

"Luca, dorme con i pesci!"


A boorish brute, loyal to the last.
a henchman, evil and brutal.
He’d seal your fate with one quick blast,
begging for your life was futile.

Don Corleone was your boss,
protect his life at any cost.
Brasi, your death was quite messy.
Luca, dorme con i pesci.*

* Sleeps with the fish


It seems that sleep is elusive,
a sometimes thing that fights my will.
It’s disruptive and effusive;
but wide awake, the room is still.

I listen to the lack of sound,
a gentle respite all around.
The silence of the night soothes deep,
I do not hear it when I sleep.


The weather forecast delivers as predicted;
a wicked downpour, torrential and damaging.
All the while, I keep managing to sleep.
It is a deep doze, nearly comatose is my brain
as the rain continues. It appears she brought friends.
The lightning flashes and the rumbles never end.

Thunder rattles my windows, but it does not disturb my slumber.

Oddly, insomnia escaped me when the rains came.
The same can be said of my apnea, I wonder
if the hum of the thunder plays into my slumber?
Does the electricity cause static that makes it cling
within the ring of its timpani; a “drum” laden symphony
that pacifies my eyes allowing them to not be breached?
Does the lightning beseech my heart to remain still
until the thrill of thunder’s wonder subsides?

Thunder rattles my windows, but it does not disturb my slumber

and therein lies my answer. Is it right every night
to pray for the rain that offers my tired strain a respite?
For the hypnotic roll takes full control as I lay in a heap,
awash in dream filled sleep, unfettered and undisturbed.
But, the silence of the night supplies a fright that says I will lay here,
awake all night. It is then, I thank the forecasters call for rain with thunder.

Thunder rattles my windows, but it does not disturb my slumber.