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nja Jan 8
Filing errands makes you drowsy and nautious.
The tube dampens your senses.
The highrises make you feel down.
Your values are re-prioritised.
You become the binmen’s *****,
but all is not charred.
You have the chance to remember before,
and you grasp redemption as sand now sifts through your fingertips.
The stars awaken the you beneath the superficial.
The water nourishes your ignored thirstiness for passion.
Written while spending time in Mexico. I had just finished my first term of university and despite all the fun I had had, I was depressed. Away from evweything, Mexico gave me the chance to work on myself and recover.
Viridian Dec 2018
She's a little tired, a little cold
She feels a little empty in her soul
The room spins in his roundabout ways
He keeps her on edge most of the day
She's a little tired, a little sick of the ride
He thinks it's due to him not being able to hide
But that's not the case, let her make herself clear
She didn't want you there, she wanted you here
Her lips felt heavy with words unsaid
She felt like crying as she left him on read
It's when he is happy that she feels sad
And that in itself was what made her feel bad
It wasn't not being told or not being in the band
It was simply her desire to hold his hand
Josh G Sep 2018
These eyes are weighted
Offering peace to this fight
Sleep sweeps me away
annh Aug 23
Tendrils of drowsy pleasure entice and hypnotise,
As daybreak storms; a rapturous collision,
Of distorted cadences and scintillating harmonies,
Between discarded blue-sky sheets.

‘I love to feel the temperature drop and the wind increase just before a thunderstorm. Then I climb in bed with the thunder.’
- Amanda Mosher, Better To Be Able To Love Than To Be Loveable
Amoy Mar 25
Coffee stained lips
Kiss of tiredness
laziness seeping through my veins
I cant get out of bed, no!
not today
somewhere between the fourth and fifth

load of laundry,

sometime after breakfast~lunch,
now served in the USA at home,
as an all day meal, per the edict of Mcdonalds,
start fixing dinner, take a break, walk to the mailbox,
retrieve the post and quick retreat back inside,
ah that Texas sun, bilingual chili hot,
toss the unopened on the prior weeks pile,
cause everyone loves company

the home-cold-brewed ice coffee needs a filling
for the fridge has decided not to help
by automatically refilling the pitcher

even if it could
I, busy folding,
needing two hands
and all my teeth
for folding my master’s rocket ship

sheets

my master observes with one of his alternating demeanors,
this one, super silent watching, announcing that  I need a nap:

“don't you always say, baby,
take a nap when you can, baby,
for when you need one, baby,
you probably won’t be able, my baby”


with selected-hand-led fingers,
he lays me down to sleep,
bids me to slow slide to dreamland, dinner will keep,
curling inside my frame, hands a-cupping my *******,  
telling me a drowsy tale, inherited from his mother’s womb
and his granddaddy’s tongue, mindful of his family’s history

there, is where, they find us,
dinner fixings burnt,
me and my five year old baby boy,
still sleeping fast, around 5pm, bodies enwrapped,
tied by blood and entwined in old nursery rhymes,
Texas tall tales of Pecos Bill,
me and my very own

nap-ster master

<•>

p.s.  and they call me by my other name to wake me, momma
Fullfreddo May 2015
our love making is an  
amphetamine

coming together,
crack ******* this stunning pleasure

wilding dreams,
mescaline pretense too real

daily life,
the modulation high of a flotation device,
some call it cannabis-like

gentle drowsy,
a glass of tea and
she...
Poetoftheway Sep 2017
the phone turns yellowy orange,
low power mode,
have fallen below
the 10% threshold,
we both drowsy,
yet competitively locked-into
separate screen servitude

she notices,
I don't,
she says,
"you need a charge"

god, she's so correct,
our mutualizing power is
fastly slow draining

this we both
know~notice,
and neither
says nada~nothing

we,
both poets in our way,
acutely aware
of the power of metaphor,
and she knows
that I know,
I noticed
what just went unspoken*

>an untitled poem<
D Letwixt Oct 2018
the river Eyn, between outstretched hands
flows to lands farther than
ear has heard or eyes have searched
and they say the land twists and shifts
at her end
'til one is sailing up again

She flows like drowsy eyes in midafternoon daze
languidly stretching back and forth before the haze
the foggy mists that sit atop her skin smooth surface
shade from daylight
her sailors sleeping to sail the moonlight

I stood atop my little ship
to see the faces of passers-by
who watch the ships from shoreside

On each face I looked so long
but always obscured was the evening sun
what tree or branch, or mist or shade
I cannot see what faces made

Dreary drowsy eyes begin to close
she will close them, Eyn
so I might sail the moonlight
midnight's rays of clear and blue
and bathe pensive in cerulean hue.
Ahnaf Apr 4
When the night begins to fall,
You look at me – for a brief moment – with drowsy eyes,
A moment so short as to not be present.
If you left your heart in my embrace,
I could have held you even when you were away in your dreams;
The short, pale gaze would have lasted, confessed love.

But sleep had embraced you much before I could,
You were in sleep already, when you looked at me
– your eyes just about to leave at last.
I'm not hurt, but a little upset that I couldn't
catch you for a little longer.
CA Guilfoyle Jun 2015
When we were far
and very young, in a place with no roads to follow
only a winding path, a branch to grasp
a place to fill the hollow

Blue the summer, with drowsy daisies came
petals, petals, we drew circles round the sun
gold spun, our halo heads of pollen
gold the bees of sleepy flowers
amid clover grass heaven

Days we lived deep in hills
we were endless green, in unmapped countries
stretching past the farms afield, in other worlds
too far to see, we lived beyond the gray of days
and we were free, in the shining silver
of our hallowed hills of ever.
Nico Julleza Jul 2017
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
A little bit of summer
a little bit of breeze
in the days of warmer
love has so much-
to bring, come let us sing

A little bit of freesia
a little bit of lilac
never can resist a scent
-of Ms. Narine
Ogles, a morning scene

A little bit of sunshine
a little bit of eventide
caress upon the shores
-of such imagery,
passions of immortality

A little bit of cosmos
a little bit of crocus
in a glebe-like galaxy
stars white as daphne
from a garden of syzygy

A little bit of cerulean
a little bit of vermilion
shimmers the lucid lake
with trout's and doves
Golly! autumn is awake

A little bit of plowing
a little bit of sow
the hard workers of
-those pumpkins
reaps a stewful of zin

A little bit of snow
a little bit of flail
fly away as butterflies
hibernate as snails
Forging! a winters gale

A little bit of details
a little bit of trail
from dew drops of-
a frozen rose, icicles on
a drowsy bear’s nose

A little bit of sleeping
a little bit of wait
till the sun comes up  
gray clouds strew away
spring is here to stay

A little bit of sprout
a little bit of grow
And can it be, on thee
an Epiphany shows
the Lords glorious prose
#sing #flowers #seasons #nature #God #colors

Thank-you soo much for all the great poet who red, liked, and commented on this poem.

Don't you just sigh when Seasons Sing...?

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
Alex Jones Jan 28
I'm feeling drowsy
Not really tired
Just feeling lousy
Not quite wired

Don't want to die
Can't really live
Don't wanna lie
Can't quite forgive

Time moves too fast
Heartbeats too slow
Time leaves us last
Heartbeats must go

I can't do this
Neither can you
What to do
What to do
H    
                  E
      L
                           P
             M
E
The day  has now gone here is the night
It's twelve o'clock all lights gone out
Not a single soul no one insight
We look out the window no one about.

Eyes are weary we are fighting sleep
Time to clime up that wooden hill
Waiting for us is the bed and sheets
Tired and drowsy sleep we will.

The evenings are colder
The frost here again
But we are much older
And our health's not the same

So as we head to that slumber land
And we dream our cares away
We pull up the blankets with our hands
And say goodnight to the day.
These cold nights a nice warm bed is welcoming.
MOHAMED Mar 2018
Before his teen age
turns the pages he dies
a life through years
of neglect for the frail
bony frame drowsy feet
dark sunken eyes
wandering the street
craving white pure
pleasures and dreams
sores moon crater arms
tributaries of ****
star marks parched skin
dry bloodied screams
of glorious pills injecting
intoxicated stuffs
forbidden fruits
trappings of worldly heaven
addictive octane ecstasy
tiger terminator of
a young man flourishing
now depleted sad
youth corrupted by a love
pursued but lost
eyes vacant trailed tears
pleading please forgive
me mom and dad
A life lost through drug addiction.
Jessica Dec 2018
After the plunging neckline
And the next red lipped smile
And then after that,
The Halloween costume
cat woman spandex
Highlighting her curves
(Like the shadows whispering to the
body of a Porsche)
He was a plain and ordinary
blue collar man
But with each swipe of his hand
He transformed into-
Steve McQueen
Riding the turns of the Hollywood Hills
At his disposal
The drowsy dreams of yesteryear
The illusions of marriage
to his **** star, movie star, super model wife
All thanks to this hazy laptop screen light
He can conquer his
nothingness
He can conquer her
KM Hanslik Aug 2018
The details of your DNA are settling into
my brain like dust mites chasing
each other around and around in
search of a field of gravity;
sometimes I'm stuck and sometimes I like to run away
but occasionally I force myself to stay in the same place for more than a few minutes
occasionally I am the right place and the right time, and occasionally
that is enough.  

It takes me a while but wouldn't you know, I have stopped
being a doormat for everyone whose baggage weighs
more than mine;
wouldn't you know, I don't think they carry
it right anyway, and their feet wouldn't feel
so heavy without the steel and armor;
I'm trying to play follow-the leader here,
taking tips from an invisible authority
I don't know any such role model to exist, but
sometimes I pretend I do just to
have a place to put my hands or my feet when it's
cold and they're tracking snow in;
my pulse is slower before midnight
once the dark falls I can't sleep
I can't sleep but I do know how to place blame
fitted heavily and perfectly to sculpted shoulders;
I can't sleep but I know exactly how much
plaster it takes to patch up a wall at roughly this height,
I know exactly the number of messages left on my machine
unanswered, ignored
molded word for word into
little stick-its in my brain.
I don't know sleep but I am very good friends with
her companions,
drowsy achy steady pull
of exhaustion dragging behind my eyelids
matched hand to hand with its
lovely counterpart,
red eye restless itchy frustration
burning hot under my skin.

But don't you know, I am only
this person once every
12 hours or so,
just wait it out, I'll
come around.
Pathetic soul Mar 2017
You are a poet,
You were.
And my favorite line -which perplexing- from your 'Pathetic' poetry -which you hated but loved simultaneously- is "She is the city lights, drowning in the ocean of darkness".
I was thirsty for an explanation, and you were too full to explain;you refused.
"Time is magic that rules everything; including answer,"
But baby, time hadn't gave me anything, i'm still clueless, and the left side of my bed is empty.
I have no one to ask, so i collect every pieces of your work.
In which involving your sketchy past;unnerving; and my vulnerable soul;dim and weak.
But to me, you were never a darkness, a night.
You were a dusk, living between the day and night.
A dusk, that is beautiful but never last-long.
So when the sun is drowsy,
"Goodbye," i said.
And the sun is gone, so is your shadow.
This poetry is an impulse. So please forgive some mistakes.
Astrid Jul 20
If you really knew me,
Maybe you'd see,
Through my drowsy blue eyes
Into a raging sea.

Like crows, your sight flies
to the sparkling sheen coating my irises,
The glimmer of a thousand tiny pearls.

But they are a legacy,
Far too romantic for the tidal wave that
Dumped them in my world.
Nico Julleza Sep 2017
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Drowsy, as the eyes of mine sleeps
a joyride of fantasies, a jumping of sheep
so, the pages turning mama would red
while my feet are falling and
my arms up my head, hands unsaid

with a gentle rock and a soft abye
I'm off to dream land as I fly
silk of red swooped to the entrance gate
a little slip, a little slide till it fade
and gently I landed at the pearly lake

A boat by Venice caught me alone
with the breeze scented, so cold as snow
and Grims hoisting a whooper
a sure one they'll never throw
passing here and there and off they go

storms of Neptune came up the sea
big waves flung, I swung towards east
clovers led me to an isle and said
"How Lucky you'll always be"
no more thunders but just all reverie

A twirl to the woods, exciting it be
with beams of the moon
and the stars sitting on the tree
lights flashing, a calm of ebb
the spiders glistening, an artistic web

dream land is promising
like vines that whip and crawl
bearing fruit to bless us as we call
with roses of red, daisies blooms at dew
mama's lullaby at once, I knew
#Dream #Land #Mama #Lullaby #Adventure #Nature

Sleepy Poets.. Here's A Masterpiece for You. Enjoy Dream Land

The Boy Hasn't Awaken. And the Journey Continues Soon..

The Boy's Name Was "Drew James Everdream"

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
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