You come and stay for hours,
amidst the psychedelic flowers
and impossible scenarios.
Running past streets and barrios
with Joses and Marios, looking
for solace in a nightful of frightful
turns and plot twists. You’ve wished you
can finish a complete thought,
but your REM cycle keeps running out of gas.
In the foggy distance, a wail. It never fails.
It seems just when you get
to the good part of your dreams you have to depart,
trying to restart every nine minutes for an hour
until your snooze alarm comes back to call.
Category: To Sleep Perchance
DEEP REST
Sadness, like a great weight
draws downward and your fate, although
not sealed, feels so.
And when you fall so low, nothing
can make your sad heart sing;
there’s no gladness to bring you hope,
only that downward slope.
No ambition; you mope around
clutching to this profound
sensation which confounds your mind
and it is then you find
just one way to unwind. You sleep.
The only way to keep
from going off the deep end, friend.
It’s in the very end
Your brain chooses to send a test.
Accept and do your best,
Or resign to deep rest, depressed.
LAVENDER FOG
- 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
ALL CONSUMING LOVE
Snuggled, huddled close,
Existing for this moment.
In an instance, the insistence
of my heart becomes
the only motivation I need.
It is indeed, and you are close
and wanted. Pulling you closer
still, my will takes over,
and desire is the fire that
smolders, but never burns.
My lips yearn for your flavor,
my eyes for your vision.
There is no division of a love shared.
My hand in your hair and soft caresses
brings your face thisclose and most
of our time is taken up in the moment.
It takes us, and surrounds us.
It becomes us and seasons us.
It devours our passion and regurgitates
even more passion. All consuming and
fulfilling. From moment to moment.
Until the next moment arrives.
OCTOBER SAVES
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.
SILENCE OF THE NIGHT
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.
CRICKET SYMPHONY
He plays all night
working hard to get it right
one annoying note at a time.
Chirp, chirp, chirp
it does usurp
my serenity, thus this rhyme.
I hear his noise
not one of my joys,
without it I’d be fine.
I’d sleep all night
and wake up bright
and feeling quite sublime.
It’s in the house
that noisy louse,
I think that it’s a crime.
Beneath the stove?
In the alcove?
I’m about to lose my mind.
Another chirp emits,
but silence now. It’s quit!
Hooray for sleeping time.
Feeling cozy,
rather dozy,
serenity is mine!
But then, again,
I hear my friend
with its incessant whine.
He plays all night
working hard to get it right
one annoying note at a time.
REMEMBERING THE TWINS
Tall and proud they stood,
brothers from the same design.
One taller than the other;
he wore his hat to distinguish them.
Side-by-side, they kept watch
over the multitudes with attitudes,
near the harbor, they held no ill will
standing still while liberty had shown the way.
Until that day, their futures bright together,
their fates tied to their function.
But their compunction was well founded
when they were grounded. Encouraging to the last,
until the fast descent caused by one’s great fall.
The other followed shortly, two swept clear.
Ten years older if they were still here.
Tall and proud they stood,
brothers from the same design,
holding lives and dreams for all
concerned in the balance.
Under a valance of dust and rubble
there remains no trouble remembering the twins.
MY HEART SLEEPS
May your whispers be softer
than a leaf of grass,
and nestle effortlessly
into my tired ear. No fear
graces this night,
and gentle ruminations
from your breathed sighs
calm my emotions.
You have nursed and nurtured,
faint murmurs of your tenderness
find me as I seek a safe
and wanted nesting place;
my ear pressed to your chest,
connected to your pulse and rhythm.
Comfort presented at your breast,
a sanctuary that my heart defends.
And in the end, your shared peace
gives my heart rest. A most blessed slumber.
(C) Walter J. Wojtanik
Offered at dVerse Poets Pub – MTB: Sleep
**In celebration of the Chilean Miner Miracle, today I have chosen Chilean poet,
Gabriela Mistral from her work, “The Sad Mother”.
THE SAD MOTHER by Gabriela Mistral
Sleep, sleep, my beloved,
without worry, without fear,
although my soul does not sleep,
although I do not rest.
Sleep, sleep, and in the night
may your whispers be softer
than a leaf of grass,
or the silken fleece of lambs.
May my flesh slumber in you,
my worry, my trembling.
In you, may my eyes close
and my heart sleep.
LIFE LESSON 1
Like a slap to the back of the head
the awakening begins. Illusions
become disillusionment, but
reality is a great professor.
The lesson is clear; that my
expression is mine and
competes with no one. My
feelings steep within with a fire
only muse can stoke. The Great
Tender of the great pretender.
THROUGH THE EYES OF A POET'S HEART 