midnight verse

Sans sleep

midnight creep

thoughts deep

future steep

yawns bleak

notifications beep

dreams meek

I'm beat

cool night

sleep tight

insomniac plight

daily fight 

weary might

spent sight

feverish blight

what's right?

Dead low

teary woe

sickness slow

nightmares tow

irises glow

words flow

bedtime show

let's go.

Night cat

Late night guests. 

They purr their way into your heart, into your home and your nighttime bed. 

I could do with a furry bedmate, one that makes space in the small nook between your head and a careless pillow, with absolutely no consideration for you. 

I can feel his deep purrs vibrating through my elbow and into my arm.

He's a content cat, and why not? Burrowed in a soft cloud of clean sheets with an ever eager buddy to carress him at his every whim. 

Nighttime tattle

Scattered pieces of broken light.

at the precipice of lingering shadows and emerging illumination, there are spaces where the dark almost blurs silently into the bright. 

when it's a dimly lit night and the bed hugs you back with a tenderness so fierce, it absolves you of your daily sins, absorbs you into a mattressy depth of soft layers and springy jauntiness.

When it isn't too late but not too early either. 

Sleep around the corner and dreams in the making..and a series of flashing images and thoughts as projected by an unforgiving mind. In a pupil curtain, when your eyes shut; somber shadows emerge from the murky depths of psychedelic flashes of nothing, from the backstage of a retina. Dissolving faces evolving into a rainbow of mummified memories. 

Poem jetty

That time of the night when I think I could write some poetry

lit under a little light

peering into a screen white

I feel like I could come up with a verse

hoping to be inspired by a voice terse

of awake cicadas outside of my window

singing in a sonorous buzz

of monsoon wet humid fuzz

and dew drops that glint and glow

I could write a poem

or words that'd make sense some

or not, for who's to read

except you and you and you alone 

blandly crushed by incoming sleep

here are some lines, some rhymes deep

the deepest part of the shallowest end.

I'm hoping to be inspired

in this drowsy state it just might transpire

a poetic revelation

right behind this slumberous bend

for you see, 

I'm hoping to recreate

that moment of strung out daze

when my head stayed benumbed in a stoned haze 

and each blink was a moment epiphanic

rhymes had rhythms and sonnets had symphony

just being droll a touch

for in that smashed out stupor

I reckon I didn't write much. 

Baggage battles in nighttime twinkles

You'd think he's sad that I'm leaving, but really he doesn't even know if he cares. 

Cuddling up to me at night, he starts meowing his lovely lungs out to open the locked door, while moi is in the middle of a dream, where I'm almost about to 'epic' something..and suddenly a taxi screeches in the background and continues screeching until I open my eyes, realize that my dream was sabotaged by a miserable feline, and let furry lucifer out into the carbon night.

Nights aren't much to write about either.       They'd probably form dark matter of the darkest part of our universe. 

Not a shooting star in sight nor single stardust from galaxy afar.

 

Day and then Night

In my possession is a magicians hat that pulls out excuses instead of rabbits.
Excuses that fill up my day..some of which have atrophied, some evaporated, some lingered on as hobbies and habits.
And that is my day
crammed to the throat
copiously abundant
to the point of ugly bloat
with excuses to stay busy
some which spill over
into the next day, and I roll my eyes dramatically dizzy.
oh I'm so lazy (I feign) a yawn..didn't even realize, the day has come and gone

Enter night left of stage, right through my window
with trepidation I realize
no gullible little fool this
this discerning night
turning blind eye to my excuses
gazing accusingly at me
knowingly scrutinizing. Challenge accepted! I'll give it a fight.
skinny, dark, thin. tar black and pricks like a pin
I open a book and stare at words, I'm reading..only I'm not
my little theatric of excuses
coming undone each filthy night
still pretending to read, I think I might get caught, by this thousand eyed gloom
that lingers on in my room
dusk to noon. It knows my little charade
when each time I turn a page immersed in plot
and stifle a real yawn
when I masquerade into a poem or pretend to art. When I adjust my spectacles, sneering into the day, laughing at it gobble my excuses.
When night comes, it tears down that singular facade
my pretty veneer of smug smart.
Dearest night..gimme a break. Have a heart!

The now of now

Did you know darling, sometimes my heart swells with so much love it becomes a burden to bear. 

So heavy it could've anchored titanic.

--

When you stare at the cerulean waters in agony from a distance not too far, seated on a petal rug thirsting to sip from the diamond surfaced purity, waiting to bathe in liquid indigo..when your craving convulsions can only be assuaged by devouring the water—soul and flesh, when you finally sink your hands and pull them out a lacerated mess; for you found in those, a tangle of thorns, a nest of needles and a world of spikes. Those are your waters now, to plunge in day and night. 

--

In that there was a dream of white serenity, of calm solitude, placid tranquility and zen— meditative stillness and harmonious silence and blissfull achromatic hush. 

Yet dreadful miserable times are these, and lost in translation those dreams..granted privacy of isolation, miserable seclusion and white quarantine.

Another night

another night

collapsing eyes

avoiding sleep

escaping dreams

nocturnal fright

old memories

slowly creep

silently seep

abysmal deep

fears unleash

still asleep

breaking sweat

mangled heart

past regret

scratching wounds

bleeding wet

quickening breath

unreal dreams

choking me

wishing death

midnight strangle

matted hair

sweaty tangle

and jolt

mad bolt

silent scream

suddenly alive

still breathing

another night 

nocturnal fright

bad dream

present hauntings

ancient grievings 

Mirror

The mirror in my room stands abruptly, awkwardly on a small table of vintage rose pink—it has no place being there, unadorned, nonplussed, unattached..leaning against a wall; unhooked, detached. It found no place to stick, nor a nail to hug onto, latching itself into a room, morose, artless, homely, commonplace..tall and skinny, bored and grumpy, useful most uselessly—standing, leaning, waiting..silly, simple, unimbellished, insipid, unharmonious,  stupid.