"bedtimes" poems
Killing my lungs with a bit of smoke
Drowning my sorrow with several shots
Thinking our story was only a joke
A smile on my lips and shadow in my thoughts,
My eyes are raining like they always do
Every now and then because they just have to,
This terrible love almost turned into hate
You've been gone for so long and I'm tired to wait.
But I will.
I'll wait forever if I need to,
Coughing my pain out like I've climbed a hill
Whispering your name because I need you.
Sometimes I happen to wonder if you think of me,
Must be nice to know there's always be someone
who will follow you no matter where you'll be
And who will always love you until becoming insane.
I need you to know I'm doing just fine,
Keep smiling to people, I even laugh sometimes
I promised you something that's always on my mind,
The hardest part of days is only bedtimes...
When I lie down, near that girl who just isn't you
When she kisses me but I taste your mouth
When she says she wants us to have something true
But there's no place for her in my little heart.
And when she talks about us in that hope in her eyes
I keep asking myself, why can't you love me like her ?
Because I've became somebody I despise ?
I only think about you when I'm with her.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
She sits there on a chair
brown eyes
brown hair
where opposites attract
and attacks me with familiarity.
I modestly avert my eyes
her ****** tells me more lies
and I have no reply to this.
But should I kiss and comfort her
the chair that sets a demarcation line would be
but just a simple waste of time
and I in time could come to see
her ****** is not for me
but for her sense of
femininity.
I couldn't care less
my bedroom's in an awful mess
I'm going to strip off to the buff
jump out the window
I've had enough or not enough
stuff this life
I hope out there I find an equilibrium.
Like a wayward sheep I follow her
but does she care?
she doesn't give a hoot
gives me the boot and says I'm just a stalker
but she knows she's trapped me in this baby walker
and if I the baby catch her eye as she wanders slowly by
what does she do?
but ignore me and I abhor that.
She's like a wild cat sometimes between the sheets at bedtimes
but those times are few and far between.
I've seen the writing on the wall
she's calling time
that says it all
I should have jumped
stopped the pumping of my heart
I know I'll never be a part
of her.
She doesn't care
she doesn't give a hoot
I think I'll shoot
myself.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC
Don't wait, I'm not coming home.
Someday you'll forget me
and I'll forget you.
Don't search for me,
I'm lost.
This emotion is absurdly bitter,
biting into my paper veins; gnashing.
You won't know where I've bled.
Someday, you'll forget my voice
and I'll forget yours.
This moment is a void
flooding with intangible vacuum.
My lungs are ripped open,
did you know how it feels to die?
Don't forget we counted stars
of the starless sky.
I'm drowning but it doesn't matter,
it's not like I can breathe
anymore anyway.
Don't forget you used to tell
bedtimes stories to ghosts
when you thought I fell asleep;
with your hand in mine
the way sun fits into skies
that are not his home.
The miles I've walked away
mean nothing because
I'll turn around and run to you again.
Don't forget I gifted you
the other half of my dream
because you said
you could never dream.
Someday I'll forget
the touch of your fingertips
against mine
and you'll forget mine.
I'm a kaleidoscope spinning
without direction,
shattering and falling
into shards
like a screaming avalanche.
I'm glacial bones,
someday you'll forget
the coldness of my eyes
and I'll forget yours.
The azure of the sky merging
into orange of sun
is only because
they've learned
to be together
and conjure another color.
You and I are oil paints
splattered on black canvas,
a dark vastness
they can't measure.
Someday I'll forget
the number of your scars
and you'll forget mine.
You're stubborn and beautiful,
you'd say you want to take a dive
into the clouds and fly into cliffs.
We're inverted images,
never fitting into each other.
But you're in the mirror
and I'm stumbling into the void.
But you're eyes are still cerulean blue,
mine are still emerald green.
I'll never forget
the soprano of my voice
melting in the tenor of yours.
I'll never forget touch
of your fingertips
through glass doors
or concrete walls.
You'd forget that I still remember
when you told me I'm so deep.
I'm so deep, I drowned you
and you're still gasping for breath,
even after all these years,
I'd know you'll never forget
the precise lengths of my scars.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 2:20 PM UTC
Small town sounds
Unlocked doors
Not that many cars.
Main Street grocery store
Nickel candy bars.
Church Street,
“Sunday shoes”,
Parents stood outside and smoked,
Kids caught with cigarettes
Would have allowances revoked.
Corn Growers
Push mowers
Friday football games.
Everybody, Everywhere,
Knew everybody’s name.
Summer shouts
Paper routes
Cub Scouts once a week
Boys and girls in sixth grade
Dancing cheek to cheek.
No shirts
Blue jeans
Walking through the beans
Witches, ghosts and scary things
Every Halloween
Greased pigs
Little League
Swimming lessons in the lake
Talking back to teachers
Was a BIG mistake!
Teachers had hard paddles that
They were not afraid to use
Parents told them,
“Go ahead.”
And they did not refuse.
Bicycles everywhere
Pocket knives
Truth or Dare
Water balloons,
Kids Cartoons
Fishing in the creek
Not it
Gravel pit
Games of Hide and Seek
Bible School
Golden Rule
Jesus Loved Me This I Know
Several generations
Watching children grow.
Laying on a blanket
Watching shooting stars
Teachers went two towns away
When they went to bars.
Home grown tomatoes
Juicy burgers nice and thick
Eating home-made ice cream
Until all of us were sick.
Nine o’clock bedtimes
The nights were very still
I still hear the small town sounds
I guess I always will.
PwL 5/5/15
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 1:49 AM UTC
Here comes the light of the sun
And all darkness burn
Light and darkness switch in turn
It's how the day is run
All these are shown in our lawn
So is success and failure
The latter wanting to lure
But the former being the cure
It all depends in the choice of yours
Victory and losing have much difference
Both sides have an inference
Which only you can influence
It's the part you choose that gives you affluence
Joy and sorrow are two sides of a nut
The search of joy is very hot
While that of sorrow is left to rot
But to find genuine joy comes with big luck
Words and opposite aren't only for rhymes
They aren't only for stories read at bedtimes
They show us strength when in our prime
And reminds us of those days we call inn our time
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
My paper
ached to feel stories of you
on its pages
yearned to taste the adventures
you had with my heart with every
curve of a letter
and craved to vicariously
enjoy the pressures of pleasures
on it's blank slate
every time
you trace bedtimes
stories up and
down my spine
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 4:54 AM UTC
we are the people our parents warned us about
in all the bedtimes stories & fairytales
we are the ones who judge a book by it's cover
& not its content
we are the ones that distort the reflection in the mirror
we are the ones who stopped checking for the monsters underneath our beds when we realized they were inside of us all along
we are the one called
society
a.c.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 5:46 PM UTC
The air was different back then, somehow lighter, less heavy metals floating around and nuclear sunsets I suppose. I was born in the 60's but the 70's are my era, long hair, flares, large collars and music that still haunts today. What you need is children to amalgamate past, future, present. With their mp4's, downloads, (records and CD's old hats no one's wearing anymore ) tv box set binges, live pause, catch up, iPads, iPhones, igiveup. Technology speaks to them in so many different tongues and guises, the world has shrunk down to "someone is typing" messages from the other side of the world, nay the universe, friendships based on snapchat, facebook, twitter that don't even have the decency to start with a capital letter, Skype, facetime, with people you don't even have to 'know' coming round wanting tea and outstaying their welcome, instead hanging back in the ether waiting for the right moment the right meme to slot into the conversation. I sit and let it all wash over me, a tide ebbing and flowing long into the night, stretching time zones and bedtimes to the limit, in fact talking beyond bed, those waves never sleeping always whispering, I share music and photographs that are things from my life, they will never understand beyond the boring stories I tell them, a fount of useless information that flows, analogue from the corner of the room, the old man, the old days, you never had it so good, I am in awe, everything new, all to discover, everything to play for, world full of possibilities, not the same old 9-5 humdrum waiting for the weekend so we can pretend to be free again, it's all happening now. I enjoy these moments as an observer, no need to join in just sit and smile, with an occasional LOL or amusing emoji. My daughter bought Hotel California on vinyl the other day, I'm still in there, somewhere.
Jun 22, 2019
Jun 22, 2019 at 6:06 AM UTC
Undetermined destinies, and motivated double legacies, line the keg-obsessed university.
You’re sure to see some truancy where independence failed the student miserably, but lessons learned outside of class bring just as much intelligence.
New smiles and new eyes, lighting up the dorm room night. Restless minds cry and whine as bedtimes arise. But wait some time and the sun will rise like ocean tides as earths demise comes quicker with our fetal minds
still optimism rests in our bullet proof chests
our hearts detest that inspirations worth much more than all the checks, and accepting to digress means you’re accepting to be less. So ignore regret and reward ascent, and the world will live with good intent.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
it’s friday night and for once
i’m not slinging *****
no tickertape headaches
or low resolution bedtimes
purple cocktail and
a pink sky above
the bricks of a city that’s
turned blue in faded light
and it’s easier now
to be grateful
for what i have
for what i don’t
i don’t have
to relive the past
last year will never
come again
and things may
get darker than
ever someday but
for today i have
this moment
to hold onto
the seconds in which
the fog on my
glasses cleared
and the music in
my ears was coming
from above me
and i didn’t need
to run to my
destination just
walk with time to spare
minutes in which
normal can exist
after a lifetime of
trying to be different
those who know me
will say i’ve changed
and i have
you have to change
when you start feeling
like yourself
it’s not a
glimmering revolution
on a horizon of clarity
it’s when you can
set your own smile
free on your face
let yourself miss
what you’ve lost
but not so much
that you lose today
vulnerability is a
hard gift to give myself
but i don’t want to
live in a box anymore
life is not
a race or sprint
it’s just a walk
on a late spring evening
when flowers in planters
nod in reminder that
potbound plants can
find a way to thrive
growth is a
process
and i’m not
there yet
but for now
there’s air
in my lungs
a plan in my
future and
regrets behind me
and for now
that’s enough
Jun 5, 2021
Jun 5, 2021 at 11:32 PM UTC
I.
Quid Nomen Est?
Thus spake skeleton eyes to we upon the forest path,
the long woe of you and me and we upon that gravel path
with those tired trees baring their naked selves to us
in dead questions all the crooked way.
Lo the **** shall crow thrice indeed on the morrow morn
but for now we who have not yet forgotten
must needs cleave to the bidding at hand,
must make do with cobwebs in our eyes
and the ashes of the Archbishop in our mouths.
II.
"Torches, torches! Have we none, for long
grows the hallowed eve and our task not yet done?"
Indeed no light have we, and our destination lying
still somewhat far off among the ancient oaks.
Haven't forgotten have you, those skittering stories
from bedtimes long ago, warnings to travelers by night
through ragged copse and brooding glen?
Yes, those whispers old of those gone further into
twilight never to be seen again by mortal eyes.
Quid Nomen Est?
III.
Up sprung the pale lights all about us,
yes the torches of those unaging.
"My name, my name, you shall not have it
for given by others to me it was!"
Silence greeted us with open arms and a
light snowfall as we, trembling and withered
continued toward our loathsome errand.
They did not try and delay us nor lead us into sorrow,
merely followed with us unto an open hollow.
IV
There the stones, the faery ring standing older
than the memory of a time when the world
was young and beast and man lived as one.
Not a dead leaf stirring, nor cold wind blowing
as we and our silent companions tread upon the sacred earth.
At last our destination reached, though the journey not yet done.
One thing left to us before the peace of sleep.
No longer cold, no longer withered and old
but become again the man who loved you once.
We lie down together there between the sky and the earth,
with none to bear witness save the standing stones,
the silent torches and always the naked questioning trees.
V
To the din of Thunder and Battle I awoke,
still within the ring of iron grey stones.
There above the wailing trees the Huntsmen and
Hounds rode reckless, beckoning me as expected
to join the Wild Hunt forever away from Love.
I held up my hand and at once they stormed toward we,
a curse riding forth, fierce and fell till the end of time.
Lo before they caught my upturned hand for me to join forevermore,
I searched one last time for your face among the faery mound,
and found no memory of you in the bones scattered upon the ground.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 10:28 PM UTC
no more nights on the dark side
with you reflecting in my eyes
no more times i'll lie awake
with your heart beating in time
with the blood rushing through my mind
no more curled toes, scared kisses
no more touching noses
you'll find another,
someone better,
no more bedtimes for just you and i.
grieving for what
was born to die
voided promises
and skin you didn't know how else to touch
no more entanglement of
your skin and mine, no more
whispers, only goodbyes
no more safe places for me to hide, no
no more home in your arms
back to holding my heart on a spiked leash
so as not to fall back, back, back
again
no more cream colored sheets
no more hands in your grasp
no more words can make the difference
no more tears will change your mind
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
A pleasant surprise greeted the start of my morning today.
In the most pleasant way, I find myself sitting on a bench by the quay, alone, soaking up the winter sun.
As people pass by single and in groups, walking and talking, some on a Saturday morning run, my face is warmed by the winter sun.
With three children and six grandchildren and another one on the way my life is a wonderful, chaotic, mess at times.
A house full of children, bringing laughter, hugs, books, school pick ups, parks and bedtimes.
Today I enjoy my alone time, the peace and tranquillity, invaluable for a short while.
It is late winter, but the warmth hits your face, and your lips twitch and stretch, flexing involuntarily into a smile.
You take in a breath and feel your body warm from the outside to within.
The sensation akin to a gentle touch on your skin.
The reaction coaxed out of you by something so simple, the feeling of the sun’s warm rays.
It is a wonderful, unexpected start to the day.
Feb 23, 2025
Feb 23, 2025 at 9:35 AM UTC
Such a simple thing
All should do it
Yet
All do not
As much as they should
In elementary school
The thought of sleeping
Past 9
Seemed sacrilegious
Now,
Sleeping before
Seems
Impossible
11:00 bedtimes
Sometimes just because
I can’t afford to put my electronic down
Yet
It’s essential
A period for us to rest
So why keep changing it?
Why keep pushing it
away?
When
The only
One being harmed
Is
Ourselves?
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 11:59 PM UTC
I knew you to be forever young,
mother permanently thirty-nine
calloused skin, brittle haired woman.
You'd certainly scold me for
my lack of bedtimes.
Mountains in Havre
captured youth-
and tea parties in the backyard
there's so much to learn
from your songs unsung-
lung cancer has a contrived way
of expressing its attachment,
it cannot live without you.
I know you to be younger than I,
forever.
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 9:29 PM UTC
Break me bind me, better yet do not mind me,
For I may always let you down.
Stake me find me, better yet blind me,
from my own selfish sight.
Take me redefine me, better yet forget,
Me.
Taking a break, from this, to be with you,
guarding our sanity and banality,
needing us, is needing you.
For I am not there when you need me most.
Words like shards of glass littered across
the room to the door where you stand,
waiting, patiently, at a distance
for Me.
Heaviness,
of heart,
of burdened
shoulders I have,
it is one thing to carry
an others load,
more though, it
is how I show
I care for
You.
This engine though pushes,
me to go to where the words
are, sometimes most times,
bedtimes, we are apart,
with only words between us.
Unspoken.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 10:52 PM UTC
You entered my life at a weird point.
You.
with golden eyes, dimpled smiles, and scars across your existence.
You.
who gave me love and attention and hope.
You.
who became my yellow, my lobster, and my human.
You slipped so many things into my mind at one point.
You.
with calculating gazes, stern lips, and viscid hands.
You.
who gave me bedtimes, rules, and regulations.
Then there is me in a frozen state of confusion.
Me.
with a necklace of purple, blue, and yellow.
Me.
with dilated pupils and flushed cheeks and apprehensive chuckles.
Me.
with skepticism, adoration, and dedication.
Us.
Broken.
Turbulent.
Lethal.
Jan 10, 2021
Jan 10, 2021 at 9:25 PM UTC