From the depths of my duvet sleep
Mar 8, 2010

From the depths of my duvet sleep
Your voice commands;
An arrow through the distance between
You and I, it made me
Take up the shutters
Of my insular shell
To welcome the night,
Lit by a mere halogen moon,
No Goddess for me to praise-
Only thick wraiths of choking smoke,
Absorbing what to you is a perfect orb
Of singular clarity

Sarah Richards

The trees are
with the
turn table's slow
Autumn's tapping
on the window
sill again
"let me in, my
Forget about the summer
sun who wilt your
pretty petals..."

as the morning chill
is taking
over and
I wake consumed by
my grand
I know each day
is further now
from you.

I don't want to be in love anymore.

we're only separated *by the duvet on my bed*
Circa 1994
Circa 1994
Nov 18, 2013

Remember the first time
I told you that I adore you?
And you said it made your stomach feel strange,
in a good way I suppose.

I get that same
pleasantly strange feeling
when I think of touching you,
or you touching me.
Or even just lying within arms length of of each other.

It starts
in my stomach
and leaves a tingling trail
throughout my hips.
Sometimes retreating to my lips.

Sometimes I pretend
we're only separated by the duvet on my bed
instead of the Atlantic ocean.

Do you ever want to crawl inside a duvet like a tomb.
Jun 1, 2013

Do you ever want to crawl inside a duvet like a tomb.
To have the warmth pressing in on all sides,
Like the hug you always crave
but never receive.
Blocking out the outside world.
All light,
All senses,
Like a temporary death.
Trying on your coffin as you would try on a dress.
You slow your breathing
and squeeze your eyes shut so tight, you’re seeing spots.
Can literally feel time moving around you,
Can hear the sound of rain pattering on the roof
and it’s like the heavens are falling.
You’re in your own world
In your own galaxy.
Far away from the body lying on its bed wrapped in its duvet.
Distanced from the problems,
the troubles,
and the beating of your own heart.
Craving for this to never end,
And maybe it doesn’t have to.

  trek ek weer, soos kleintyd, die duvet oor my kop
Pieter Andries Christiaan

Vanaand vou ek my snoesig toe
                                                                          in die soet-droom blou lug
iewers tussen die maan en die sterre...

                                                                        en as die liggies  my pla
                                   trek ek weer, soos kleintyd, die duvet oor my kop
                                                                                                    en verbeel myself dat
                                                             en jou honger hande
                             nie in die werled bestaan nie!!

                                                                                                                    Ek kruip dan in die sagte plekkies
                                                                                                                van ontstuimige oseane...
                                                                                                                             so tussen deur die nate van
                                                                                                   die brekende golwe...
                                                                                           en le terug as die trek
                                                                                                            van moegheid my kom haal...
                                                                                                                        en terwyl die vloeiende satyn
                                                                                                                                     my wange streel...

                                     maak ek my oe toe
                          en glimlag

this Duvet day to end quickly.
Marieta Maglas
Marieta Maglas
Aug 24, 2013

It was a kid-glove orange, a

leaf, or a Dancy tangerine

falling from the tree. I didn't

see it. I was watching a dance

of anger on TV while learning

to swing in a way that left me

needing my forlorn hope. The

change did not occur. Outside,

a drunk driver wearing zipper-skin

orange driving gloves swerved

sharply and hit my old, gnarled

tree during imbuing my hearing

with sexual innuendo. He could

not escape his awkward accident.

Much later, I heard that he had

suffered from Saint Vitus's dance.

In time, no one was able to heal

the wounds of my soul. I wanted

this Duvet day to end quickly.

A Thomas Hawkins
A Thomas Hawkins
Jul 25, 2010

Ease me slow into the day
wake me gently from my sleep
if you must steal me from my dreams
the highlights let me keep

Don't wake with a noisy bell
or unexpected calls
wake me with the sound of rain
as on the metal roof it falls

Rouse me with sounds of nature
rising winds before the storm
give me time to close the shutters
before returning to the warm

If you could do this in the morning
and wake me in a gentle way
For once I'd take the day off
and in my bed I'd stay.

that doubles as a duvet for her bed.
Jun 28, 2010

She  shuffles and scuttles quickly along
beating her way,
through the Christmas throng

The north wind cutting  her mottled face
But shes not part of the Christmas race
For things not needed, luxurious, unwise
Her mind fixed on the price and size
Of a winter coat in that Oxfam place,
she prays its still there, she quickens her pace.

The bell dings-a-ling as she opens the door
Not feeling her legs so tird and sore
Like a long lost friend it waits on the rail
she thanks her god its still for sale.

Her hurry finished, her purchase complete
She focuses now on something to eat

To the corner shop she makes to go
happier now  , her step is slow
bread and milk ,this and that
two tins of food for her little cat

Home at last her mission complete
She models her coat and warms her feet
She cuddles her cat and locks her door
She makes their tea and she cuddles him more

She dims the light her prayers are said
She thanks her god for her winter coat
that doubles as a duvet for her bed.

copyrite: Heidi 2008
And what the fuck is a duvet anyway?
Sarah Carbonneau

Come up to me

As I lay face up on the bed

Seeing nothing.

It’s probably just momentary,

The morning light is blinding but I’m

Not going anywhere for a while.

These covers captivate, they capture.

Wake me, break me, I’d rather scream than lay

In silence on minute longer.

I can’t feel anything under all these layers,

These places,

These faces.

I’m lying here, Just lying here-

I’m always lying here,

What am I doing, wasting my life under these sheets, duvets, and quilts?

And what the fuck is a duvet anyway?

I’m just under the surface of something.

I can’t place it.

It’d be nice to know what I”m drowning in, but that’s

Just my luck.

Can’t I just get up, instead of

bleeding for one more line?

No I can’t. Ask me why,

Then it will be both of us in silence.

I suppose it’s

the obvious reason.

There’s no motivation out there

In the big world full of bombs and fucking Abercrombie.

What possibly keeps all of these people



Give me one good thing out there,

And a minute to tear it down.

Everything is getting teared down.

So my bed is

The more favorable option.

The fleece smells like fabric softener and

There’s a far greater chance of

Something positive coming from my dreams

Than from the next election,

From Darfur.

To die, to sleep. To sleep- perchance to dream.

As if I would be so lucky.

I see only blackness.

Nov 23, 2010

I recently read that in order to flourish,
    one must build a proper foundation.
So, I painted my bathroom...
    and I'm still not peaceful.

I buy things, and arrange them in a certain way.
I work for six days, and sleep on the seventh,
  and since I can't bring these things into heaven,
  I should just burn it all down and face the elements.
Know what I'm sayin'?

I don't see much of a point to any of this.
  Buying shit and keeping it.
  Dusting it, adjusting it.
  Fixing it, fussing it.
          Fuck it.

I'd be far more productive if I were free of these luxuries
  that we all hold so dearly.
I'd see more clearly with nothing interfering.
          Severe healing.
Myself, reappearing.

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