"dozes" poems
when life is quite through with
and leaves say alas,
much is to do
for the swallow,that closes
a flight in the blue;
when love’s had his tears out,
perhaps shall pass
a million years
(while a bee dozes
on the poppies, the dears;
when all’s done and said,and
under the grass
lies her head
by oaks and roses
deliberated.)
48.3k
She eats, she sleeps; my cat does nothing more;
her naps can last until the day is done;
her habits make her really quite a bore;
in storms she sleeps; she sleeps in beams of sun.
She wakes to stretch, her mouth a gaping yawn;
she stands, and turns, and lays back down asleep;
at night, she sleeps from dusk into the dawn;
she dozes well, adept at counting sheep.
Her fur, it gleams, no doubt from beauty rest;
perhaps she knows more than she seems to know;
I wake; upon my head sits a rat’s nest;
my beauty slumber never seems to show.
And though my cat is lazy all the time,
I can’t see her as anyone’s but mine.
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
The sprouting buttercup
dangles into the purpled,
doting sky. It's waxy spangles
nuzzle the moist,
crisply dewed, fluff
whilst billowing across merry air.
The yellow buttercup
dozes in spiced, lean dapples,
setting its soul ablaze in sumptuous echoes at the sheer
drape of dawn.
The teacup buttercup
outspreads it's wings
amongst tall spiked grasses
and wild flowers.
Shifting shafts and shards
of grass and glass
and forever awaiting the larks cry
which means its time to die.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 7:24 AM UTC
Once I was a sad clown
I smiled sometimes
but you couldn’t see it
behind the painted frown
I could pluck small
colorful *****
from my pocket
and spin them in the air
Blue, red, yellow, green
*Lies
Mistrust
Envy
Deceit*
They would twirl faster
Faster…
until they merged
into an ugly brownish red stain
Then stop!
To fall, into a
puddle at my feet
Another time I was a ballerina
A little girls delight
Another time, a tin soldier
A little boys dream
But I can only be those things
While I sit, with my eyes closed
and my conscious dozes
and I can no longer hear
the screams
When my eyes are open
I am once again
just a Puppet
all arms and legs
and bobbing head
that dip and sway
and dance
to anothers tune
Even that
I could live with
if my demise
had not come so soon
In one moment of lucidity
borne of dreams
I could not escape
I ignored the Puppeteers growl
as I twisted and twirled
with my own moves
but then I slipped
Alas
my fatal mistake
You see,
I was not strong enough
To move my own arms and legs
with my worthless
puppet brain
To even think I could move
without anothers command
should have shown
how much my dreams
had made me
Insane
I tripped up so badly
there was no hope
of untangling
my Puppet strings
I was bound so tight
unable to move
I lamented what
my actions had cost me
and I knew the pain
it would bring
There was no other choice
but to cut me loose
and my master
did not even shed
a single tear
I’m still a puppet
just an unmoving one
sitting in the corner
no longer with strings
And no use to another
Puppeteer
Nov 30, 2010
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 5:30 AM UTC
My grandpa is in a rocking chair
in the living room
He slowly moves back and forth
His eyelids are closed
He listens to the talk around him
but he doesn't take part
Instead he dozes off
his head drooping to his chest
His swaying ceases
His breathing slows
The house he sits in has been his own
for the past fifty years
He raised seven children under its roof
He added an addition for each new child
first another bedroom
then the family room
out in back the garage
Until the house became a home
made of love and sweat
Around Pop
the conversation drifts
to a grandson who just got a job
working behind a desk
for an insurance company
making sixty-five thousand per year
Pop never made that much money
A coal miner's son
who earned his degree
taking classes whenever he could
A salesman by day
and a teacher by night
He had a hard life
but you won't hear that from him
His grandson may think
that he must have been dumb
to work so long and hard
for so little reward
But what he doesn't understand
is that my Pop
sitting in his rocker
in front of the brick fireplace
that he built one stone at a time
achieved more in his lifetime
through hard work
and sweat
than my cousin ever will
by wearing a suit to work
sitting behind a desk
and typing on a computer
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 2:12 PM UTC
St. Teresa swoons to herself.
The angel’s impish face laughs
At her pain.
Bernini’s operatic sculpture bound
Behind bars.
Perfectionism, restorationism,
OCD.
Outside, a gypsy woman begs
For centimes.
Inside, scaffolding dims Teresa’s glow.
Art sacrificed to the future,
Content to die in darkness.
A monk dozes in his rosary.
Recitation of dreams.
No legend in the sacristy:
Teresa’s book remains
Unread, dull behind glass.
Ecstasy of love: her path toward God.
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 8:20 PM UTC
Faces lost in blank expression
Wait in stasis for their stop,
Shuttled from one potential
To the next like letters
In a mailman’s bag.
The sounds and smells of strangers,
The uncomfortable touches,
The squeezing in spaces,
The jerking rhythm of the ride,
The pram queens who sag
Against the railing
While their kids twist and turn
And scream at the lack of fun
In the faces of blank expression,
While couples tongues quietly wag.
Youthful monsters sit at the back
Playing tunes for the irritation
Of the old school music hacks,
While grandma dozes against the glass,
Shopping drawn up like a wall
To protect her from her past.
Father and daughter
Playing a game,
Sitting next to two lovers
Who are doing the same.
The tickling natter of friends,
The glare of phones,
The lying dog’s stare.
Life on the buses,
A slice of people
For the cost of a fare.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
Living in your dreams,
Come true-
I only say,
I love you!
You fancied your palace,
Of yellow roses-
I plucked them,
For your medley dozes,
And you sank in my,
Boat of love…
Abyss, abyss,
And abyss,
Where darkness,
Nowhere exists,
My faith kindled,
Your heart-
Your breath,
Dwindled me ****
Living in your dreams,
Come true-
I only say,
I love you!
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 1:25 AM UTC
There was chatter reflecting off the water just like the moon. The Milky Way was swimming with us, wrapped in algae and moss. We had no swimsuits, only spontaneity and laughter. We were far away from trivialities where there was no light pollution, you could see so far outward into everything. We were not looking up, we were looking out at what we are part of. Light, so much light. When our thoughts were finally chilled like iced lemonade, we ran through bushes and flailed in the mud to the car. We drove. Once sitting on our bed, a delicious thought bubbled into reality.
We discussed it, unanimously deciding on this nights adventure...we'd enjoy the first rays of the morning while seating comfortable at Sacajawea Peak.
Eager legs kicked and finally slept…too soon later, a buzz of a telephone awoke us, then another. I bounced out of the covers and to the kitchen to prepare a hurried breakfast of peanut butter and fruit roll ups for us, nutrition was priority. Then the clock blinked 3 AM.
Whines squeaked from tired mouths, but excitement prevailed. We packed into our seats and struggled to keep our eyes open, but the drive was bumpy and our sore butts kept us from forgetting the purpose of our trip. We were there to make our lives radical, and you can’t sleep in moments like these. 4 AM screamed at me, we had to hurry. I plowed my way up that mountain as the sun painted the tips of the mountains red. We crossed streams, tripped on rocks, marveled at climate change and the disappearance of the snow we had skied on just a week before. As the incline increased to nearly vertical, we met up with the mountain goats. Their tiny hooves danced on the faces of cliffs and I stood on the trail not more than a meter away. They smiled at us, said good morning, and we went on our way, huffing it up the face. As the sun’s light began to engulf the sky, we watched as the snow capped ridgeline shined pink and gold. A mountain shades us but as we reach the peak, the sun splashes our face, I felt godly. The sun has risen, and so have we. This is why we are alive; this is why we are happy. The valley below us still dozes, and we sit on top a mountain wide-awake. There is no item I could ask for that could ever give me this happiness. I do not climb mountains so that the world can see me, but so I can see the world…and it is so beautiful.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
gently bid the night goodbye
it nourishes no more
the unblinking stare of the stars
no match for my candlelight
wakefulness is more coveted
as everyone else dozes
pieces of calm snatched away
from a world that eschews it
in silky silver voice i sing
lullabies to the waves
the sand gets between my toes
soft and grainy roses
the wakefulness that comes now
has white metallic motifs
shimmering away
mother of pearl
lights the road
across the ocean
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
21.11.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 4:24 AM UTC
After tending sheep,
He reads the worn Hymnal and
Dozes by the fire
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 10:26 PM UTC
He sits in the corner of my class, not my first one or my last one. It's one of those boring middle-of-the-day classes everyone dozes off to.
He sits in the corner, wiggling his eyebrows at the girl in the table next to him. He's always partners with her. They're good friends. I think.
He always has on a sky blue hoodie, littered with cliche inspirational quotes he scribbled on. My favorites are "Where the shadows crawl, light is always close by" and "Nothing is perfect. I am nobody. Therefore, I am perfect." He always takes the hoodie off afterwards and stuffs it in his locker. I know because I've seen him do it. Every day.
When I first heard his voice, frankly, I thought he was a she. He gave off a cool vibe, a dramatic obnoxious drag queen diva. And I wasn't wrong.
First time I ****** it all in and approached him, he blew into my ear, laughed, and walked off. Second time, he approached me, said he liked scaring me. I don't quite understand it.
But the way he babbles, the way his smile just gets me smiling with him, I understand that part of him. The way he looks like he's always having fun, even during his science presentation, I like it. He's always smiling. I don't know if he really does, but I like to think so.
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 5:37 PM UTC
Songs of the songbirds sung high,
Gracing the ears of passers by.
Sweet lullabies from the nightingale,
Make songs from the songbirds, seem pale.
The nightingale sings its tune for all to hear.
People stop to listen, and for the singer, they peer.
Hoping for a glance of the singing bird,
They search and search for the singer of the song they heard.
Hiding now from its admiring audience,
The nightingale continues to sing and sing for not a single pence.
Tired and content the nightingale stops and dozes,
Waiting for tomorrow, hidden, among the roses.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
After years of marriage,
We are now gnarled ,symbolic old trees,
It's fruits ripened and matured,
In fine tune with each other.
While I nap he watches his sports channel,
Then he dozes and I watch my favourite programmes.
We share the same bowl of soup,
I don't mind if he slurps,
He does not mind if I spill some.
We have fun in the kitchen,
He helps me to cut the veggies and do the dishes,
If I admonish him for not doing them properly,
He gives me a toothless smile.
People would think we are fighting,
But its natural for us to speak loudly,
We are hard at hearing.
He loves cake,
He is my best cake mixer,
They come out soft and fluffy.
He drives,
I am his guide,
Stop, go slow, turn right ,so on.
Sometimes my friends and I meet to have coffee,
He goes out to meet his cronies in the park.
He enjoys to tease me or put me down,
I just shrug him off,
"Away with you old man"
I tend to nag a bit,
He does not mind.
At end of the day after a toothless kiss,
He holds my hands tightly,
Looks at me lovingly and says,
"We have made it so far love."
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 10:22 AM UTC
cat dozes on porch
startled by noisy lizard
rains death from above
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 9:54 PM UTC
Cups
Of hot
Chocolate
To warm me up
From the bitter cold
While the snow keeps falling
Outside my Kitchen window
And the cat dozes on the hearth
While the flames crackle and keep me warm
~Marian~
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 8:15 PM UTC
I have always noticed
That while this city is filled with females
The library is filled with men
Middle-aged; average, maybe less
Sitting at computers
Afternoons
Weekdays
Today I saw them, for the hundreth time
I finally realized
These men have nowhere else to go
Some of them, maybe
But nowhere they would rather be
They're looking for jobs
To feed their families, themselves
This library is their 9-5
No qualifications necessary
I sit in the Bates Room
Surrounded by green lamps and wood tables
Books line the walls, and the gray clouds do not let the sun shine in
The image of academia, the most scholarly of steeples
A man sits across the room
In a navy hat and gray sweater
Book open in front of him
Exactly halfway through
He dozes off
Time and time again
The security guard wakes him up
People walk in and out
Taking pictures and admiring the architecture
I wonder what he's thinking
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC
He dozes, head back
no doubt, a long day at work
he find his escape
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 10:19 PM UTC
A clock
is not a thing
that shows us the passage of time;
a clock
is a primitive device that moves
at a fixed rate while time passes all around it.
Time
was drawn and quartered
by the clock. It used to be an endless horizon in all directions,
but it was violently
partitioned into a grid system
in order to make it easier for those with power
to control
those without power. Clocks are
perverse. Clocks are capitalism. Clocks
**** nature
without nature’s consent. We rightly complain
about the partitioning and deforestation of wild lands,
of the Amazon,
and yet we are not outraged
at the partitioning and deforestation of time. There is
a reason
why one feels out of sync
with the natural Earth. There is a reason why one
cannot sleep
through the night. There is
a reason why the years feel like they are
slipping away
from us. Time is not
sand in an hourglass. Nor is it an etching demarcating
the position
of a shadow cast by a cone. Nor is it
the rate at which an electrified quartz crystal oscillates.
Rather,
time moves at the speed
of experience. There is simply nothing more
to it:
A morning fog lifts.
A bird lands on a dying tree on the far side of a river.
A frog leaps from a rock and disappears with a quiet splash.
A child dozes off while reading.
The world becomes dark.
A white-hot meteor streaks across a frozen winter sky.
Jan 3, 2021
Jan 3, 2021 at 2:31 PM UTC
What about tomorrow?
Tomorrow just ended today,
And will perish again tomorrow ,
Like the morning glory,
That drains alcohol to become sober,
And when,
everything that was
Sublimes in afternoon
The morning glory vapes itself into the evening,
Thinking of high planes, as falling stars
Wishing, but is turned into wisps,
As night falls,
The morning glory, withdrawn of all substance
Gets drunk with the multitude of mishaps,
And gradually dozes off in shadows
As all the wishes turn to wisps and drift away,
Another tomorrow ends all the same,
And tomorrow again,
The morning glory
will turn on the lights of yesterday to see,
As it imbibes, everything that was,
once again .
Sep 3, 2024
Sep 3, 2024 at 9:58 AM UTC
Crystalline tears
that never really fall
They hide, shimmering silver, just behind her lids.
He sees his reflection,
multiplied in iridescent triangles
But she denies the sorrow, not quite hidden, not really gone.
She breathes him in,
denies all fears and tears,
She just keeps whispering fractured reassurances.
When he’s away from her,
he sees the poem she left behind
Now he’s scared, he’s terrfied, he’s afraid for her crumbling mind.
And she lies alone
inside a home that’s much to cold
She wishes for his prescence, just a single glimpse.
He waits for her,
wonders if she’ll ever call,
A black and empty screen haunts his fitful dreams as he dozes off.
She wishes she could call
but unwilling Fates refuse to remove the wall
And she lies alone and tries so hard not to cry
Alone, he sits
with tear-and-blood-stained melodies in his ears
He floats on the rythmns and wonders if she can stay strong.
A flashing blade
keeps invading her mind,
but she shakes it away, screams at it to go away, she can’t give in.
He’s counting down
every single second that remains
Until he can finally hold her again, finally wipe away her tears.
She’s fighting so hard,
using every weapon and shield she can
To stop the demons from tarnishing her heart and soul beyond recognition.
They both lie alone,
they both wonder about the other,
as she hides her tears and he hides his fears.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 7:27 AM UTC
Boy meets girl
Blank walls
Empty space
Boy says
“I feel comfortable around you”
Girls heart flies
Space is filled with trust and friendship
Girl likes boy
Girl is quite
She is afraid of saying anything
That could off set what is
So carefully balanced
Space is enough
Boy drinks a bit
Smokes a bit more
Dozes off in oblivion where
Nothing can hurt him
Space is safe from intruders
And those who are unwelcome
Girl pretends nothing is wrong
Nothing is being felt
For fear of cheapening
All the beautiful things
That fill the space
Boy gets on a train
Girl watches it pull away
And screams all the things
She wishes she had said after it
But it is too late for possibilities
But the space is safe
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
Without a second thought
She casts a shadow—
To reign down upon his lot,
Still waters; cold and shallow.
Struggling in her web he’s caught,
Left hanging in the gallows.
His heart—all but left to rot,
Her perception of him, fallow.
He tilled the fields of thought
With acre upon acre of roses.
Untying even the toughest knots
So loves door never closes.
He didn’t care if it were for naught,
An intrigue that never dozes,
But broke when he missed his shot,
A lonely bard in a field of roses.
She did not see him in such grace
To look past his imperfection,
Nor climbed the wall to see his place
Of fervent—lasting affection.
In a world of chatter he sat—
In eerie prolonged silence,
To love but not be loved back,
She drowned him in diffidence.
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 1:05 PM UTC
There are times when we dont ask for the best
We just want a bit of happiness
When a dozen of flowers and a bunch of cards aint enough
But those three words is more than enough
When dining in high class retaurants isn't romantic
But eating street foods with you is so sweet
When you do every thing I ask isn't lovely
But smiling at me melts my heart
I do not ask for your whole life to be mine
All I want is a piece of me to be a part of your life
And a doze of you in mine.
That is how I'll have my happiness in small dozes. <3
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 7:32 AM UTC