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neth jones Jun 15
   in dreams    i am flossed at sea
only to be
   muttered and lost
           once upon awakening
un-present and tense
its these winter mornings
where any thought
of greeting
the dawning day
with warm thoughts
hopeful exuberance
and a positive outlook
will quickly be silenced
along with
the birdsong of
that overly optimistic alarm
that melody
so carefully selected
to ease consciousness
into a brightened state
of motivation
of joy
despised within seconds
immediately cut short
and resented for
its mindless persistence

the first excuse
a need for another
ten minutes
of warmth and comfort
to prepare
for the day
for life in general
the second
a negotiated concession
that there was
no real reason
to get up
early anyway
uncertain whether
in victory
   or defeat
the alarm will be
cancelled completely
along with the rest
of the day
Dave Robertson Feb 2021
Get that window open!
Go on, do it!

Feel the fat rotation of the planet
throwing a little spring our way
to poke our amygdala
and rattle our dormancy

and sure, we know at the back of minds
a bare faced bait and switch is in play
which means our twitching fingers
will seek to put the big coats in the loft
only with dismay to find the grey frost
return to bite our ***** mid-March

but we can dream and show some ankle
can’t we?

We hold out for this spring
harder than a man who’s lost nine digits
to frostbite
so we can point to where it hurts,
be heard,
aware that we’re linked,
a swarm of warmer hands
that need to hold, to cling, to brace
against this lingering, malingering pain

We’re ready to emerge,
but only together
and while inclement, duplicitous weather
still rages
we’re better, sadly,
Diljeev Jan 2021
And then I open my eyes
yet another misty morning,
half a year has passed by
but my heart is still yearning,
with the passing of each night
there's always a fairytale dream,
never will it make me vulnerable
even the bravest yearn,
silently we all make a wish
to the moonbeam
for nothing's ever enough.
It's hard to put into words
a dream that doesn't change,
just that it's always a different place
yet a part of it tends to stay,
from your tiny black eyelash
to the enormous warmth
of your being,
in the thick of it all is me
standing there looking at you
what else can I say,
And then I open my eyes
yet another misty morning,
half a year has passed by
but my heart is still yearning.

- diljeev
Anita Dec 2020
And then you woke up, you felt the soft drip of sweat on your furrowed brow. Trailing down your face in thin streams. Your clothes were soaked, and your bed lay damp. Your breathing was heavy as your forlorn gaze drifted off into the night sky.

And then you woke up, you felt the fright from a previous dream cling to your mind, dulling your senses. Cloaking your ears from all previous sounds that might’ve existed. Your hands lay there trembling, uncontrollable in every way, messy hair in all directions.

And as you lay there breathing, you woke up. The erratic thumping of your heart, beating loud into the night. A soft wail from your mouth, encircling the terrible symphony of despair. Grating thoughts, that never seem to go away. It won’t stop, it won't go away . . .

And then you woke up
You woke up
Blackenedfigs Dec 2020
It is fascinating to listen to the world wake up in the morning. It’s as though everything is still and frozen in time that even the birds are hesitant to start their morning songs. But then suddenly, as the first stretch of daylight crawls across the lines and rows of rooftop houses, you can hear the whole Earth start up in stages. First the signaling of the distant trains, their own morning song in a way I suppose. Then the rest of the neighborhood follows suit in a chorus. Car engines rattle on to melt the ice off their windshields and they too, groan and moan not yet ready for the daily grind. I picture people sipping their coffee while their kids quickly and hastily brush their teeth to make it to school on time. The buses stagger in lines to greet them at their doorsteps. One by one the birds unruffle their feathers in the treetops and begin to rise in song. The streets that just lay undisturbed moments ago, pristine with a thin layer of 4AM dew, are now bustling with car exhaust and scurrying street cats who are simply trying to get out of the way. And you in the midst of your tossing and turning murmur something in your sleep and I wish I could lie here forever.
A lesson in prose poetry.
Orakhal Oct 2020
as you wake to a dream
that's been sleeping
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