"groggily" poems
this morning
as i groggily rolled onto my back
and felt the weight of the blanket draped across my body
i briefly thought you were lying atop me
my face buried in your shoulder
my lips gently pressing against your neck
and then quickly gravitating downwards
repeatedly kissing the spot where your neck and shoulder meet
so as to make you shiver against me
and smile brighter than the morning sun
snuggling against me more
so that i could wrap my arms and lift my legs around you
both of us sleepy but bathed in the morning light
and so i laid there
for two minutes past my alarm
lost in the everlasting euphoria that just the thought of you can bring
wishing that maybe
just maybe
i was only dreaming that you weren't there
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
Not all my days were white and not all the nights were black. Groggily whiteness I splashed sometimes with smiling brush in an abstract marble, and nights illuminated with a fire in the wolfish eyes. When the walls became too blunt, and the air too dry, I took mindless walks. My long legs loping tirelessly along black paths, and a friend was making me a company. While talking him, my voice still trembles and my throat scratches sharp dust of compassion. My friend was the one-armed elf. He lived in a large, abandoned, dilapidated shack near the circus tent , fed by the grace of great circus Masters of Ceremonies. When they were in good will he performed for them trinkets, collecting their garbage, all for small coins. Circus visitors avoided him or pretended not to see his pointy ears and tortured eyes. We rarely talked, this friend and me. Sometimes I went to the magicians to get some of the green, sometimes purple potion for him to sleep better. Once I bought at bartender a pack of cigarettes. We had a pact, him and me. I wasn't a fairy brother, neither circus water-bearer, nor merciful sorcerer. We had a pact, he doesn't ask, I don't ask. We wandered the city in the small hours, under the adrenaline of flaming street lights, in silence. Someday a steel dragon stumbled and with his tail swept the hut, I saw him no more, neither his pointy ears nor his tortured shoulders . Only sometimes during a quiet walk, down the path lined with quivering birch i remember the long shadows under his eyes .
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 6:58 AM UTC
unflappable shards
of broken glass
tinted red with blood
in your feet.
you pick and pick and
make it worse
it hurts to walk but you say
**** it
and pull on your socks,
tie on your shoes,
and go about your business.
eventually the pain starts to subside
as you forget about it.
how did it even happen?
you try to remember,
something about being drunk
and broken bottles.
whatever.
you get home, tired,
ready to go to sleep.
you're afraid to take your shoes off,
see what kind of a torn up mess your feet are
so you leave them on and hop into bed.
your sleep is light; you keep waking up.
these terrible nightmares about teeth falling out
and other ******** it's a real pain in the ***
but
you finally get to sleep an hour before you have to go in to work.
the alarm rings and groggily you start to stand up
but your legs give way and you fall.
you crawl over to the light switch and flip it
your bed is soaked with blood.
it's smeared all over your hands and legs and face
you cut the laces with a pair of scissors
and slowly pull them off, it hurts a lot.
your socks are black and crusty, holes cut through them,
you pull those off too.
...
your feet are fine. there's nothing wrong with them.
you look at your bed. the blood is gone.
did you imagine the whole thing?
you stand up and go to the kitchen. put some eggs on to boil.
you look at the clock. you were supposed to be at work
minutes ago.
you grab a beer, open it,
slowly eat the eggs.
its been another half hour. your boss is gonna be ******
you pick up the phone and dial that number
you've dial tons of times.
your boss answers.
hey, dale, (or whatever the **** his name is)
you say
what the hell! he says
you were supposed to be here an hour early! you said you were coming in but you're *******
you dont let him finish
hey, dale, (or whatever the **** his name is)
i quit. go **** your fat hedgehog of a wife you pimply son of a *****
and you slam the receiver down.
you drink the last bit of your beer and look around.
today's gonna be a good day.
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 8:15 PM UTC
*I groggily stumble out of bed
My high pitched ear splitting alarm
Having ****** me to consciousness
Everything around me seemingly heel over head
Spiraling up and down virtual staircases of confusion.
Aftereffects of a long night cut short inadvertently, causing untoward harm
Thank Heavens I don’t suffer from urinary incontinence
It’d otherwise be a disaster of mind boggling proportion
I go about my daily routine tasks in slow haste
Mine eyes heavier than lead, straining to keep them alert
I hurriedly help myself to a serving of chips doused in tomato paste
I top up my morning meal with a chocolate mousse dessert
I proceed to kiss mummy on the cheek
Wishing and hoping for a good week.*
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 8:11 AM UTC
First the one eye
Then, groggily the other
A bit of drool on my pillow
And my eyelids begin to flutter.
The finches on the veranda begin to chirp,
The dull lull of Hawaii Five-0 hums in the living room
The morning rays pinch through the curtains,
The gardener sweeps, coughs and sweeps once more with his broom.
I get up
Cold wooden floorboards creak in the passage,
The sticky smell of boiling porridge kisses my nose
Mom and Nanny are discussing the day's work
While Dad uses tea to still his sorrows.
The washing machine cackles in the back,
And Mike barks for food at the door.
This is the place where I grew,
This is the place I adore.
And now, I get up to move around,
I get up and it feels like holiday.
I will cherish this little place of memories
And I will take it with me when I go
away.
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 2:51 PM UTC
This is what it feels like
on the days that feel like
lonely summer nights without you.
I wake groggily to the rays of light
seeping through your cupped hands
that play peek-a-boo with my broken windowsill.
The wind exhales chills down my spine
that inhale me to into the mattress
until midafternoon
when I can finally gasp for a drink.
When I’ve had my fill of toxins,
I can poison people in the hallways of my complex
with venomous small talk that produces
half glazed stare simplicity.
You know the one I’m talking about;
the kind of look that hangs on people
thinking about what to say
while you’re going on about
some nonsense you heard at
some place from
some pretty person.
They have a certain finish over their attention
that doesn’t quite compare to the varnish of your absence.
This is what it feels like
when summer rolls over the hills
like the ongoing thread of my oversized sweaters
on seventy-degree days
because I was always a little too good
at playing hide and seek growing up.
I feel like I get stuck in a loop sometimes.
I heard
somewhere from
some pretty person that
children don’t see scars on adults
because those people
never quite make it past getting their GED,
but here I am as an undergraduate student
mocking what little authority is left over my existence.
At the age of nineteen,
I understand that solitude is the most fulfilling companionship
I will ever browse for,
but I’ll never be able to buy us matching necklaces
at self checkout.
This is what it feels like
to cry in the middle of the day
when you haven’t paid the water bill in two months.
When I put my clothes on,
you aren’t there to watch me leave anymore
and I can’t turn around to grab your neck
and mount you again.
My lips started parting for a cigarette
when I was sixteen
and started parting for you
when I was eighteen
and now they are parting for a finger gun
aimed at the back of my throat after a meal.
I feel like I get stuck in a loop sometimes.
I heard
somewhere from
some pretty person that
I needed to be a size zero
to wrap my legs around you
and still be able to leave some room
for your opposition
when I’ve drank too much whiskey
on a Wednesday night,
but here I am as a size six
and I’m happily tipsy off your rejection
when I’m sober.
This is what it feels like
to exist off of your own
self-destruction.
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 2:03 AM UTC
blinking constantly, the Morning Light shines behind her
Her glorious Sleepy Smile, My heavy lids like Camera Shutters
clicking for as many Saved Loves as possible
to cherish your softness and this moment Now
to eternalize it Forever
because there won't be many more Mornings quite like this one
i can't remember for the life of me what was groggily said
or if anything was said at all
i think that's because all my focus
left my Ears for my Eyes that were being blinded by
this beautiful and simple moment of Us
the Bright Light
the Warm Covers
the Tired Bodies that didn't want to move away from this Paradise
i hoped the Light of My Eyes were reflecting into Yours
the heart-felt Message that i felt swelling inside my Chest
prepared to Self Destruct
blinking constantly, the Morning Light shines behind her
Her glorious Morning Look, My Mind's Eyes will cherish forever
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 11:05 AM UTC
just past midnight, in bed with you
together, yet I alone, listen, awake,
shuffling in a Pandora world,
Iz's ukulele invites me over the rainbow,
unaware and unbeknownst to him,
I am there, already
awaiting for his too soon,
untimely arrival.
the weekend war, culture vs. football,
resolved, peace negotiations concluded,
orzo and grilled chicken repast served,
après le bon deluge,
love the treaty signing dinners.
just past midnight,
caress thy hand with solitary thumb,
whispering you are my woman now.
you groggily answer interrogatorily,
"what?"
and I suppress the infectious,
giggling way too loud.
these are the unsummoned moments,
these are the thee-free moments,
this the summary of a man's boon,
their disparate pleasures collectively,
a unity deserving the honorific,
Untitled Moments.
Why is my vision blurred, my cheeks wet?
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 4:53 AM UTC
Wake up,
Groggily stumble to the shower,
A few minutes pass,
A thud lets me know that my time is up
My roommate grumbles and shuffles past
I eat breakfast,
Alone.
I make my pilgrimage to classes.
The day goes by.
A blur.
I sleep.
Wasted time.
Wasted youth.
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC
Inspired by Sweet Disposition by The Temper Trap
walk slowly with me
let's hold hands
in your eyes
i can see myself
as an old man
im smiling at your smile
and in your laugh
i hear inside jokes that last a while
the electricity in your lips
feels like slow summers
watching the sun set
and long winters
smiling at new snow
from inside a warm house
that you convince me to leave
so i can go out and freeze
but i see your rosy nose
and huge grin
and it's all worth it
walk slowly with me
let's hold hands
in your eyes
i can see myself
as an old man
your scent
makes everything make sense
night lights
brighten your smile
when we go out to dinner
and you walk slow past me
trailing your finger across my belly
your warmth takes me to when we have the AC
too high
and i wake up cold
until i groggily pull you close
and fall back to sleep smiling
walk slowly with me
let's hold hands
in your eyes
i can see myself
as an old man
the way you move
i see you
dancing to no music
in our living room
it's either foolishness
or hypnotic poetry
sometimes a combination
of the two
i see us
dancing in the rain
kissing under thunder
and laughing with the flashing lightening
two flushed faces
breathless and beaming
wind making your hair crazy
and freezing our bones
until we grab each other
and remember
we'll never be alone
walk slowly with me
let's hold hands
in your eyes
i can see myself
as an old man
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 2:29 PM UTC
Lost in a whirlwind of total confusion,
I don't understand, is this an illusion?
I groggily drag myself to a mirror,
and wait for my reflection to get clearer.
Explosions of sound go off in my head,
strange images appear in shades of red,
my reflection instills a feeling of dread
as I drag myself off to bed.
There's needles pricking at my skin,
as creatures squirm around within;
the confines of my mind are breached,
hysteria has been reached.
I claw at my skin to subdue the needles,
I scream as my room is filled with beetles,
inside I know this is all an illusion,
but my brain refuses that conclusion.
The air in my lungs feels like fire,
I feel I'm drowning as I perspire,
but as quick as the onset,
the effects expire,
and I'm left to ponder,
what the hell just transpired!?
Dec 22, 2011
Dec 22, 2011 at 12:16 PM UTC
It's a Tuesday morning.
Everyone's still half asleep from Monday's work.
Groggily putting the books away after everyone finishes.
Even her.
Then I awaken, realizing she's waiting for me.
My mouth starts having a seizure and suddenly I'm overthinking everything.
Is my voice too low?
Can she understand me?
Thank God it's alright as I walk up the stairs, chatting.
Not flirtatiously, but casually.
Then watching her leave, earlier than I expected to.
If only stairs were longer.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 9:55 PM UTC
Lisa was carefully pulling a strand of cotton candy off a paper-coned “barbe à papa” - winding it around her finger while absentmindedly gazing at a carousel. She seemed hypnotized by its white horses, trimmed in gold, with their brassy red and blond manes, as they hopped, like slow-motion rabbits, in circles beneath wreaths and garlands of colored lights.
My watch jiggled me awake, mid-dream. I was bemused. It took me a moment to orient myself. I groggily pushed the sheets off and performed a big stretch. It's Monday morning, I think. “Alexa, what’s today?” I ask, to be sure. “It’s Monday, April 25th,” she says.
A beautiful, if cloudy spring morning was going to bloom on the other side of my jacobian glass windows - any minute now. At least according to my weather app. “Alexa, good morning,” I say, to start my rattling, sputtering, steampunk sounding coffee maker.
College time is warped, measured more in deadlines than minutes. There’s no plan other than your class or test schedule and let me refresh you on the rules – there are no rules, I’m free to do whatever I want. I actually chuckle at that thought.
College is transformative but there’s a hoary sameness to it. Read, discuss, review and test - wash, rinse and repeat. This morning is reserved for test review. I have a final this morning - well, sort of.
Some classes have a quintet of tests instead of a big midterm and nerve-racking final. It smooths out the stress, but you still have an almost forensic exploration of ideas, and you want the answers queued-up, ready for easy access.
I quickly washed and donned my workout-wear. A glance at my watch told me I was right on time. I’d loaded my shoulder bag last night, with my book, highlighters, my phone, Air-Pods and a water bottle. I grab it as I head out. I’ll do my review on the treadmill.
Anna opens her door just as I do mine - perfect. We’re off to the gym.
Apr 25, 2022
Apr 25, 2022 at 7:13 AM UTC
Sometimes, it's hard to wake him up. It was one of those nights, where his earliest alarm rang two hours again before the sun could even rise. I wriggled out of his arms groggily just to turn off all his other remaining alarms that would disturb him. Sleep better and don't worry, my dear. That's why I'm here with you, to wake you up, I thought, as I looked at his calm countenance. He was a man whose stature towered over me, with arms so strong, that I struggled to put them around me as I laid back in bed next to him. His breathing was quick and shallow; he was in the midst of a dream. I wondered what was going on in his head. Or was it because I was right beside him? I hate assuming, but hope surges through me like how I could feel his built through his plain white tee.
All of a sudden, his voice, like cold coffee in the morning and warm milk at night, refreshed the moment of my ambiguous soliloquy. "Why are you awake? Get back to sleep. I'll wake you later." He pulled me closer to him and rested his cheek against my hair.
I could only internally laugh at his statement and at his pouted face when he whispered the words in my ticklish ear. How could he, the one who has troubles with waking up, tell me that? God, I love this man so much. He wants the best for me, but I know he deserves the best all the more. For now, let him sleep peacefully, protect him and keep him safe in my embrace. And hopefully both of us will wake up at the same time.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 4:43 AM UTC
There’s something about 6 AM.
Not the 6 AM where you groggily wake up,
stumbling your way to the coffee maker to finish a paper,
But the 6 AM where you’re still up,
because at 2 you decided to go swimming
and when you finally walked to his house at 4,
you stood in the middle of the street
and looked as far as you could
in either direction
just to see the lights change
for nobody.
When he took your hand
and led you down the slanted sidewalk
to his unmade bed,
the sky colored the window gray,
and didn’t tell you to go to sleep,
or wake up
for anything.
All there was left was
you and him and
your leftover tequila buzz.
And even the inhibitionless ***
lost its inhibitions.
It wasn’t a show for anybody.
It was pure. Raw.
The kind of *** you have with yourself.
You want to frame that moment
like it's a dream you had once
that stuck with you—
that turns your cheeks crimson,
when you catch his brown-eyed gaze.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 12:40 AM UTC
Out in the willow
a caged bird
sings
wound up slowly
by metallic
strings
drunkenly stumbling and
twirling about
hopping clumsily
on a branch.
Out in the willow
a caged bird
sings
chirping mechanically
about nonsensical things
drunkenly stumbling
and twirling about
perched precariously
on a lance.
Out in the willow
a caged bird
cries
spiraling towards
an untimely demise
drunkenly stumbling and
twirling about
groggily swelling, his breast
full of doubt
out in the willow
a caged bird
Falls.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 3:05 AM UTC
Obsidian black blankets my thoughts and the night.
What lurks in cracks?
The cracked cement.
The cracked psyche.
Bats flutter in the belfry.
Madness takes hold, or is the madness masked as sanity?
Erudite my words may be tonight, but tomorrow I may babble.
Like a brook, black as a rook.
Why do these thoughts become clear in the dark?
Darkness leads the way onto a path.
Juxtaposed by the black night, the light is dimmed
Feelingly, gropingly, groggily I'm frightfully led.
To where?
To bed?
To sleep?
To dream jet black thoughts?
Oblivion, delirium, lithium.
Crow black is the deepest part of the night.
Inky pools of forgetfulness abound the sleepers tonight.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 9:18 PM UTC
Mornings greet me frantically
With persistent beeping,
And my hand reaches groggily
For more time to be sleeping.
My finger finds the snooze
Once, twice, thrice
As if I have all day to lose.
A few more minutes will suffice.
But this unusual morn,
My lids part to silence.
I turn over forlorn
From the emptiness of your absence.
You make my night,
Then play in my dreams.
When I wake to first light,
I expect you next to me.
I prop up my body,
Scan the pillows with my eyes,
My vision so foggy,
Believing my mind’s lie.
I rest my head back in place
And smile as I figure,
One day you’ll fill that space
When a ring is on my finger.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 12:36 AM UTC
I never have to move very far
to find you wrapped up in
the white sheets of your king size bed
in the early hours of the morning
most of the time
I don't have to move at all;
I reach my hand out
and it's already laid across your chest,
moving vertically with every
deep sleeping breath you take.
if I happen to turn away from you
in the midst of dreaming at night,
I'll always awake to find you
draped over me
like a bear protecting its cub.
I'll open my eyes and yawn as
you stretch and sit up,
groggily mumbling with
your menthol voice about how
you're going to go make coffee
and that we should get up;
seconds later you lunge on me
and make me laugh until
I have no choice but to stay awake
because how could I ever possibly
go back to sleep knowing that
the man of my dreams is awake
on the other side of this fortress of
pillows and sheets and blankets?
I grab a cigarette for both of us and
you politely take the lighter from me,
just so I don't have to light my own.
we look out your window at
the sunrise on the lake,
and sit in comfortable silence as
the nictotine and caffeine sink
through our veins.
I roll over three times
in my own king size bed
to realize that
I'm not going to find you
twisted in the sheets beside me.
and what a lonely morning it is
to sit outside with
a cup of joe and a cigarette,
without having you
in the chair beside me anymore.
wouldn't it be nice to have that morning together one last time?
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 12:51 AM UTC
“poet, it’s your day,” she says.
groggily growls the growler,
“what’d ya mean?”
“the sun came up today early,
but partly cloudy interrupt-us has arrived subsequently,
worse, the Great Swami Interpet predicts rain comes
heavy this afternoon on our journey home.”
he reflects upon his craggy, scraggly image that is
reflected upon the cold brewed black coffee.
replies carefully without thinking,
“today I will commence writing under
a new guise, a new name, a different persona!”
“whom shall we be today then?”
“come back to bed revelation poet”
sunrain
Jun 14, 2019
Jun 14, 2019 at 7:38 AM UTC
there is a train that
blows it's whistle at night
while i'm in bed.
when i was little,
i cried naive tears
every time i heard it,
because i thought
it was a
cruise ship
taking other children to
disney land
and leaving me behind.
i was not too much older when i
shouted groggily
out me window
in the mornings
at the city workers
cutting Ys into our trees
because they thought it smart
to put power lines
in the way of
two innocent maples.
i told them they
were my trees.
i watched green leaves
carefully grow back in,
until those men returned, again.
it's been a long time
since my groggy, tearful mornings,
but
the Ys are still there,
and i've never been
to disney land.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 12:37 AM UTC
The most enlightening dream I ever had
Was the darkest I had ever known.
He was there, and no one else.
There was a stair case.
We waded through the pitch black sea stretched before it.
We went mindlessly, slowly, and groggily, not speaking.
We finally reached it and I searched for a light switch.
But the wall was endlessly smooth.
He was impatient.
He scooped me into his arms and marched up the stairs.
I curled up in his chest, rocking with each step, so very comfortable.
At the top, he spoke quickly and softly in my ear, "I love you."
And then the lights were on and he was gone.
In the dark, I hadn't seen his face.
And yet, mysteriously, I knew exactly who it was.
He wasn't you.
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 4:58 PM UTC
You untangle our limbs,
Climb groggily out of my bed.
Redress, tell me not to get up, to salvage a few last hours of rest. Quick kiss, then you slip out into the limbo of the wee hours of the night and the crack of dawn.
Lonely, I instinctively roll to invade the side of my bed you claim as yours,
Thinking if I wrap myself in your sent before it fades I won't feel so alone.
But somehow you never seem to leave a trace.
It's like you were never here.
So I remain lonely.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
she moved in at around 2 in the morning. I had a new roommate. I woke up groggily after hearing voices and tried to shape her with my eyes but I couldn't make out much. I went back to sleep.
next morning I woke up and saw her. cream soda colored eyes....to die for. we spoke maybe a sentence and then I left the room. I'd always contemplated what it would be like having a girlfriend in a mental hospital.
all day we went through counseling groups along w other girls but I kept searching for her hazel eyes.
we spoke to each other and pretended as if we annoyed each other (flirting) and I was having fun w this girl.
it was nighttime and we were in the room, still flirting. she was given medicine and was acting particularly goofy. we were both being obnoxious and messing w each other. I said something like 'shutup' and she came close to me, talking trash. our faces were inches apart. I made it a point to stare at her lips...cotton candy. we sat there for a minute just staring in silence until I moved closer to her. I expected her to then move the rest of the way so our lips would touch but she just stayed there staring so I went in for the kiss. her lips.... we kissed again and then moved on as if nothing had happened. I had to have her.
she kept coming over to my bed, climbing over me and getting in my face, and I kept grabbing her neck and kissing her. I had to. I'd be a fool if I didn't. she was beautiful.
at one point things were getting heavy and she warned me that once she was revved up she could not stop. that made me even hungrier. not before she gave me the most vibrant hickie of my life, she said she had to stop or she'd have me right then and there.
the night went on.
I got discharged from the hospital the next day and I replied to the note that she had written me earlier ('since I'm a bit mad at you right now I guess I'll just write it. I like you a lot.....') and I told her that I liked her too.
our last kiss was the most painful.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 1:07 AM UTC
I want to
sleep with you in the most innocent possible way.
I want to lay my head in your lap or perhaps yours in mine and I want to nod off until you tell me let's go, it's time for bed. I want to walk to your room half asleep and plop down on your king sized bed and fall asleep immediately. I want you to rearrange me so that I am underneath the white linen comforter and I eventually hog all of the blankets. I want you to finally settle down and move in close to me, closer than should be humanly possible. I want you to bury yourself in my hair and wrap your arms around my waist as you feel me breathe ocean currents. I want to wake up in the middle of the night and wake you up and tell you that I love you and you'll reply I love you too groggily. I'm going to kiss your cheek and lay close to you.
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 9:38 PM UTC