"groggy" poems
I'm jealous of the moon
because she knows all of your 5 am secrets
and your sheets who get to touch
every part of you as you fall asleep,
While I keep a close eye on this empty pillow
waiting for your weight to keep it warm, but the sun
he is most important of all.
When your half asleep, groggy and painfully unaware of how beautiful you look,
He kisses your lips with light
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 5:16 PM UTC
Terrorism, ****
Car bomb, **********
She feels vulnerable,
No love to keep her warm
9/11, kidnap,
Human trafficking...
She’s been forgotten,
Left alone in the dark
Serial killers, H1N1,
Child molesters, ***
She shudders with the cold,
And Port Au Prince is flattened
Hijack, ******
Drive-by shootings...
She feels groggy,
Influenza sets in
Weapons of mass destruction,
Cuban nuclear tests...
There starts a tingle in her nose,
Her eyes pinch shut
Genocide, organs on the black market,
Xenophobia, suicide bombers...
With a bellow from her bowels,
From flaming ice the cumulus anvil that infects the world
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 5:04 AM UTC
~for Maya, the Persian Canadian farmer in the dell~
your poetic riddling questions without hesitation re
my claim conceptual
refuting with factoids actuarial experiential derived,
that cows need milkshake making daily by sunrise
nonsense
so you wake me up groggy on a Miami Saturday 6:00am
with a reciprocal poetic to a dashed off to contra my
code of conduct poem-mine;
and all that stumbles through my almost reset rested,
main stem cortex is an a ancient hebrew homily:
on Sabbath Saturday, even the cows sleep late
ok;
just tween us rare passes the day that a glancing phrase doesn’t register a stabbing whine “of me, of mine do sing” and your point counterpoint incision demands inspiration instant re-mission
around 10am when the amiable barn aminals sipping cuppa #3,
and the chicken children want a weekend brunch xtra feeding
are done, in the yard, put out to
pack n' peck n’ play
so that’s an intro to this work
that jumps the line of a
hundreds of other’s poems promised and overdue:
insight inside your crafted wake up slam slap was
pretty **** near the makers mark bourbon of this distillers
bourbon barrels bulbous poem’s bibliothèque that
has an impatient waiting list
of poems waiting anointing
each a personage~poem of that day it was birthed inscribed
this particular one for you,
~
my complexity non-Napoleonic
just humanoid each, here are my leaders from and
into a veining so lovely colored
each poem a waving wheat stalk
before these old tired eyes close to closing hear once more
“of me, of mine do sing”
so I follow all of you by dimming yellow light,
for this is the soil of nutriment rich from where my
words grow taller and the yellow infusion feeds my wheats,
the amber, the red hard and soft, the whites, the durums,
and mon préféré, prairie spring white,
which is my secret nickname for a duality woman,
poet and farmer,
posing riddles
that deserve answers*
maybe
—-
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2503650/little-ole-me-a-riddle-of-sorts/
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC
I wake up every morning with this feeling of dread
Can't escape this groggy feeling left in my head
So I continue to just lay here in my bed
I don't even get up to eat I just sleep here instead
I lay and decompose as my skin starts to shed
Wasting away all the blood that I have bled
My arms dangling off the side drenched in red
My existence is pointless I might as well be dead
I don't care about anything I'm unmotivated this feeling embed
Sew my eyes and my mouth shut with needle and thread
Tie me down and pump my stomach with meds
Take a gun to my skull and fill me with lead
My sin is sloth you haven't misheard and you havent misread
I'm not okay don't believe those lies you've been fed
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 1:10 AM UTC
My mind is foggy
Though I'm not groggy
A mist emerges
My peace it purges
I see contradictions
And feel convictions
That inflict conflict
And indict convicts
So I accumulate cumulus clouds accordingly
To fog my marshy mind more horribly
My brain becomes a banshee
And screams from my mist
She shrieks an awful list
Of everything wrong
And everyone gone
Her voice blasts through my cerebral stratus clouds
And her voice echoes within the silent static crowd
The clouds I gathered to block her wailing
Are completely empty and always failing
They look so absolutely grand and solid in the sky
They're just water vapor that form droplets in my eyes
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 2:59 AM UTC
I envy the sun because when you're half asleep groggy and painfully unaware of how peaceful and beautiful you look, she kisses your lips with light.
But the moon, oh she's the luckiest of them all, shes the one who knows all your 3 am thoughts and secrets, I'm jealous because she knows your sheets that get to touch every part of you as you slowly fall asleep, she gets to feel your every breath falling like crashing thunder, she gets to admire your raw beauty in your most delicate and fragile state.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 12:34 AM UTC
Scandinavian movies
Bring a lot of fog in my life.
My life is so foggy
My dreams are groggy..
Elvira Madigan looks at him
While he is shaving…
Scandinavian movies
I like to watch them.
They stop this crazy Flamenco
That my heart dances
They bring the coldness of
Fjords in it.
Doctor Glas reads the verdict:
“This is a chronic disease
Underneath her soul is sinful grease
Darkness blackness, the lack of light
She is so tired to fight
So tired to fight.
She loves
There is no cure
yet
She is a liar
Her love is not pure
Her life is dirt, distilled sin
She is so tired to fight
She won’t ever win.”
Elvira Madigan kisses her lover
I am imagining I am kissing you
Elvira Madigan leans forward, kisses him
He still has a blade in his hand,
He unclamps the vessel with his desires,
He unclamps his hand
The blade falls off
This is so dangerous
Like …..Love.
Scandinavian movies
I like to watch them.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
what i said:
"you sound rough this morning."
what i meant:
"your voice is lavender and honey and tea time and supernovas colliding with gentle breezes and if i could wake up to it, just once, cocooned in a tangle of your arms and couch cushions and that blanket you keep in the back of your car, i swear by the stars in my eyes no one on this godforsaken planet would be out of earshot of my singing
i hope that tonight when i dream of you--it is no longer a matter of uncertainty, but anticipation--you speak like you've just overslept your alarm and frantically motored yourself to where i am, like is the case today.
i wish you had chosen me but if i could only listen to you speak to me, about anything--rivers or math homework or football or belonging or music or even your girlfriend--i promise i would listen with the beating urgency of a swimmer in a frozen stream, i would savor each word from your lips, like they were the spring and i was the underground daisy waiting for your kiss.
and in precisely three days i will have an essay to compose about a beautiful topic that would consume me thoroughly were it not for the memory of your groggy morning voice, so full of raspy complacency i can't breathe but instead of fulfilling my obligations i will be hashing out halfway comprehensible poetry about you and crying about how i cannot recreate the sound of your voice with any combination of hollowly clicking keys.
you are so beautiful that i could spend the remainder of my life with a five-subject notebook, scrawling 'your eyes. your smile. your hands. your voice' over and over endlessly and die feeling as though i had lived a thousand years of quiet adventure.
you are so much and too much for me and i have no idea why you see as much in me as you do but i will not question it, for fear that if i were to come too close to you, to run my fingers along the marvel of your face you would shrivel and unfurl into nonexistence, like the leaf in the fire."
and also:
"why can't your voice always sound like this?"
and finally:
******* you're attractive"
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 12:24 AM UTC
Suddenly, I understand it all.
Yet the world is a mystery and I am lost in it.
Ages are a time and emotion.
13 is mid afternoon. Lagging and energetic.
15 is the morning sun. Rising groggy and regretful.
17? 17 is the night.
17 is the span between 11-1.
When you aren't wild yet but things are certainly different.
17 is the city lights and no seatbelt.
17 is the teenage cliché,
shadowed by the unknown of what is to come.
17 is crying in the hallways and stargazing on the lawn.
17 is having a bottle of ***** under the bed,
but being too scared to drink it.
17 is Ribs and loneliness,
As you watch the night slip away and the knowledge hits you that you now have to wait for morning.
17 is the unknown.
17 is taking risks.
Not because you are brave,
but because you don't have anything left to give.
17 is to be lost,
but to be okay with that.
17 is slowly coming down from the high of growing up,
Reflecting on all you have lived,
As you patiently wait for your life to begin.
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 6:44 PM UTC
if i love you i have made you tea
early early morning whispers & promises
over cups of 3am coffeeandchaiearlgreyenglishbreakfast
electric blanket, quilt, and three pillows {warm goodbyes}
groggy morning ‘i love you’ s
and ‘go back to bed’ s make my heat a little less
cold in this frozen Feburary
a little less sick
and a little more warm
I love you my aurel- my golden child.
the most beautiful boy I’ve ever known.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 4:33 PM UTC
Fierce is god impenitrable
glad glad glad there is a
Fire up the street called Heaven
There is
A woman wearing only one shoe who is taking
an exhaustive drag of her smoke in the
early morning where birds are
still heard in
!!!!!!cities
A hymnal a
heralded nest of savory berries A quartzstone is trapped in time a myth is made more ridiculous when proven real
Continents wither where the flies glue their
regal canvases on downtrodden earth (missing Pangea)
Or smiles everlasting smiles meanwhile
(Blonde tongues wearing fashioned wigs)
in constant state of beguilement
The Neanderthalic stones will be unforgiving to the REVEREND who has collapsed through his song the song of lead pipedream fantasies of sexless dogma YEAH monkhood yeah Ghat burning holes in twilit schools of thought or no thought at all
I can
hear the collective Faerie outcry that silence has presented itself HEAvier to their wicked careless bodies ok I am innocent of love I love your innocent love I am careless(of their wicked careless bodies)
ResemblingA swans actual duty to die
a swan lies a swan lay
like an even more beautiful swan
on even more beautiful swanny grass
To die by swanlightSUN and MOON white like the swan where we soon listen closely to the swansong a celestialLOVELY
rhythm of gilded forest (((((orchestrals
The swan leaves us in happiness of bright groggy light
O (of which in chaos of day I am again innocent)
The Reverend's desperate gaspings into a micro -phone for a macro - cosmic prayer idol o idol where is your capability for worship idol o where is my chinstrap o idol where is ****** youth or the romanticized eternal SUMMERS I sing
O bible O cloudland O where is your telephone operator is they deceased by their own fragrant holines? The church
Watches the Reverend neverend his television routine of clamoring death odes
Watches his senility come like an implorical shadow outline watches a demon lick its dreamless lips beyond the periphery of godless dreams
Watches
Reverend lose his sight in anInstant
HeWAILSheWAILSandWAILS can you hear it Thomas De Quincey can you hear the sandbeaches ringing more clearly than the ChurchBells or the ****** Pagoda for torture /
his soul is to sleep in the (mossy)mountain the fire of the (forever)street called HEAVEN the mountain column supporting the sky(swan)gate of heavenHeaven!welcome
to:
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC
It's easy to be the
Life of the party.
You just drink more
Than everyone else.
You just tell funnier
Jokes and make more
Cups in beer pong but
Always finish your side-beer.
You be the one always
Yelling for more shots
And know all the rules
To kings cup.
You always lose
Never-have-I-ever,
And you're the go-to
Man for flip cup.
People talk about you
When you aren't there
"He drinks too much
But **** he's awesome."
When they want low-key,
You aren't invited.
But you have your
Other parties anyway.
Slam back beers
Red faced groggy eyed
Throw up just to
Start over again.
Drive home still drunk
To wake up still alone
And do it all
Over again.
Yeah, its easy to be
The life of the party
When you're the
Only one there.
Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 12:59 PM UTC
*The Ripe Color Of My Skin Has Perished,
Along With The Wide Smile I Once Bore,
Music In My Soul Which I Once Cherished,
Has Fallen Flat And Crumbled To The Floor
The Sweet, Joyful Sun Has Dissipated,
The Flowers Within My Heart Have Withered,
My Mind Has Never Been Vindicated,
My Green Eyes Clouded With Blue Of Blizzard
The Autumn Leaves Are Ragged And Soggy,
As If They Wanted To Mimic My Lips,
The Moaning Voice Of The Breeze Is Groggy,
As It Caresses The Earth's Swinging Hips*
*O, I Remember The Smile I Wore,
Although, I Recall It Being A Chore*
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 7:40 PM UTC
There I go falling again
Spiraling into the abyss.
Is this happening?
Or am I imagining things?
I can see you shout
You fail to filter through
My groggy melancholy
That I can't undo.
Even if you were to whisper
right into my ear,
I'm lost somewhere else
I can not hear.
What is the point
Of anything at all?
Are you tired of being around?
I don't hear you call.
So you've left and
I guess this is goodbye.
Too tired to stay
Too broken to cry.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
There I stood
In a long hallway
Stretching thinly
To a lit point
Lined with doors
Opening as they closed
Its prisms transposing
Euphoria as it shone
Lifting my chest
It dragged me breathless
Down its stretches
As I was reflected
In my own projections
Of sentients
Until innocence
Was all there is
And that is
Where thoughtless
Narrative lives
Where languidly it gives
Wordlessness meaning
And that is
Where fraughtless
Intentions can win
Acting replacing thinking
Incentive in Zen
Awaking and thinking again
Was is and gonna be
Everything I believe
Even while deceived
In sets of themes
Numeric categories
And the tragic stories
Of grander things
Things of grandeurous dreams
That I wring out in the sink
While winking
The well wishes away
In splashes
Of graying
Paint
My hate
Is displayed
In the mourning
Of Mondays
And with relatable monotony
And some mundane
Everything goes back to the same
Or at least
That's the philosophy
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
There was a snail (named Dale)
with a very long tail
who ventured off into the world.
He said to himself
(Dale the snail)
I'd love to meet a bootiful goil.
So in a flash from space,
with mucus running down her face,
came an alien creature called Joan,
She saw a silver line
(it was a snail trail)
and followed it to see where it goes.
And far in ...the distance
she saw in an instance
at the end of the snail trail sparkling in the sun-
A slimy and sweet
creature she'd love to meet
with a shell on his back for a home.
She said:"I do declare,
you look dashing and fair"
as bubbles oozed from her eyes.
Dale just blushed,
as his face lit up,
and said: "aw you're just saying that you sassy young blob of an alien gawjus sweet thing with no hair :)"
She looked at this tiny dream of a slobber,
he was in awe at her globber.
But their hearts sank at their difference in size.
She was glandular large
like a bright yellow barge
and he was as small as a splarge.
A stick insect saw -
the tragedy of it all
and came up with a very cunning plan.
He knew a wizard once
who ate snails for lunch,
they could trick him to changing her small...
As he told them the tale,
their faces went pale
but their love was too strong for the fear.
So they slithered and shlozzered
to Joan's flying saucer
to find the castle of Wizzy the ****
The wizard was waiting
with his eyes full of hating
and a knife and a fork in each hand.
There was garlic and salt
that he took from his vault
and he drooled on his beard as he sang:
"Alien Shpeegle
with shnails in shmeegle,
a delightful shurprishe for a man!
Groggy my groach
with shome shlime on my toasht"
and he pranced and danced with his band.
The spacecraft landed,
unexpectant of ambush,
the couple wanderd on in.
Wizzy swung from a rafter
and trapped Dale in a corner,
and said: "My you'll go well with my Shtew!"
Joan got mad
and rolled on to her lad
and ****** the wizard into her goo.
She suddenly felt all tingly
as she turned into a twinky,
there was nothing more she could do.
The Wizard escaped
and poor Dale met his fate,
and was smeared on the twinky sliced in two.
Wizzy gobbled them up
with some glee in his cup,
and then succumbed to food poisoning goo.
So it seemed that it ended
on that dark cold September,
for the lovers who's loving was doomed...
But on a planet far away
at the early break of day
two souls bubbled in primordial stew.
An amoeba named Dale
and an amoeba named Joan
were floating in bubbles of gas,
So deep the attraction
-the magnetized action,
they could now be together at last.
Dec 11, 2010
Dec 11, 2010 at 1:38 AM UTC
8am.
the sun is still waking up.
groggy and rubbing the night out of her wide eyes.
stretching her wings to wrap around the great earth.
or atleast america...
i switch on the espresso machine.
she hums loudly as if to say,
"just five more minutes, mom!"
i know, i feel the same,
my dear espresso machine.
oh goodness.
shiny mercedes whipping around the bend.
into MY parking lot? i wait to see...
yes. my parking lot. my shop.
haughty lady all in a rush,
can't stop and enjoy the morning for one second,
the pretty morning.
"um, yeah. i need a blah blah blah blah blah. and make it snappy. i have somewhere to be."
are you sure you dont want me to add a splash of manners in there for you?
no? okay. have a nice day.
it's too early to deal with this ****
the sun's still waking up.
i haven't had my coffee yet.
Jul 23, 2011
Jul 23, 2011 at 6:07 AM UTC
I awoke to screaming
Only it wasn't my own
This time, it appeared
Someone had invaded my home
I got up quickly
I reached for my bat
But knew that if anything would help
It probably wouldn't have been that
But still, quietly I crept down the stairwell
In the kitchen stood a man
Or what appeared to be
He gazed at me and raised his hand
One finger to his lips, "Shhh"
So I raised my eyebrows and opened my mouth
To speak but he shushed me louder
This time and lowered himself into a crouch
And that's when I saw what he had done
Below his massive, crouched down frame
Was a shattered bottle of milk
He stared at it solemnly, knowing he was to blame
Then he looked back up at me
"Please don't tell my mother."
A single tear rolled down his big face
"She loves me like no other."
The tears were streaming now
I didn't know what to say
Here was a hulking man, in my kitchen
I suddenly felt I could no longer stay
If I go back up stairs will he leave? Or **** me in my sleep?
I backed up a little and said
*"If you just go now,
I'll just be getting back to bed."*
He smiled, his tears glinting off moonlight
"Thank you! But please! Turn around."
And for some reason I did
When I turned back, he was nowhere to be found
The milk was cleaned too, glass and all
I scratched my head in disbelief
I was still groggy from sleep
Anyone ever heard of a break, weep and clean?
I'd think not
I'd like to think not
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 1:43 PM UTC
Waking up in the morning
still tired and groggy
rushing to leave the house
throwing on whatever clothes are closest to me.
endless cycle, day in, day out
rushing through my life to do someone else's bidding
then it clicks.
something in my head, and in my heart.
I want more of you, more of us
more time to explore the true nature of life
unbound, free to choose my own speed
today, here, with you, I choose slow
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 5:41 PM UTC
Today, I avoid yet another poem because
the hours have vanished and waking felt
more like dreaming, like a leaf, a burst of color,
floating slowly to the ground
and it wasn’t until I sensed the cold,
dark earth beneath me that I arose from
my slumber and entered into one more
of these lonely, forgotten days.
Today was as oblivious as a sea turtle
when I awoke,
groggy and sore, standing in the chilly
eastern breeze. I turned away from the
window as the sun sank
into the thin, shaky trees.
And today, I approached inspiration but found
myself falling, again, into an endless pit
of dreams without endings, and hopes without
grounding. I stumbled through a swamp
of doubt and lack of faith. All around me
inspiration appeared like a phantasm;
only visible from out of the
edge of my vision.
All until I fell face-down in the mud
and gave up
again.
Aug 26, 2010
Aug 26, 2010 at 12:03 AM UTC
Below my sleeping taste buds
a low gurgle is heard
(through my veins or skin?)
and the groggy bits of tongue
entice my need to feed
--Something sweet, salty
spicy and satisfying...
So wander, i did to the kitchen
so medium with cupboards filled
with boxes and bottles
cans and stretched stomachs
(too, so medium).
I reach for bread, a toaster
then milk and a mug.
I toast and zap,
then spread and rip
then pour, and oh! what more?
Aromas lifting my nose higher
than my need to feed.
A ding for warm milk,
and a splash from a spoon
Some spice? Squirt some Sriracha.
Salty? Add seasoning of garlic and pepper
The PB&J; classic: now advanced!
Warmed milk turned Cocoa
more splashing, then stirring, i made
L U N C H
Funny, as i bite into the
sweet, salty, spicy and savory sandwich
I look onto the spilled milk and Cocoa powder
and am reminded of the cosmos.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 2:15 PM UTC
There aren't many good things to say about mornings
A dire lack of coffee
And a groggy feeling that stays with you
Sometimes throughout the day
Telling you how lovely it would just be
To find a bed and immerse yourself once again
In a dream where things would be better -
There aren't many good things to say about mornings
The sun bustling through your windows
Hitting your face annoyingly with a
"Wake up! There are things to do."
And you check your phone and the ring it makes
Buzzes through your ears and you just want it to stop, stop, sto-
There aren't many good things to say about mornings
When you wake up to birds which poems say to appreciate
But really, you're not in a Disney movie
They chirp too much and it hurts your brain, unlike what the poems say
And it doesn't help when you wake up to urban noise pollution
And you can only wish you didn't have to wake up to this at all
To responsibilities, checklists, and a living hell -
There aren't many good things to say about mornings
But there are indeed a great few
What I found out recently, what loving could do
To this sleep-deprived heart of mine
It seems that coffee, darkness, a lack of birds, and silence
Are no longer needed to get me off this bed willingly
Because I've found the reason to
There aren't many good things to say about mornings
But when you realize you're waking up to a reality that holds this great few
You begin to see the beauty in tiredness, light, birds, and sounds
That you've never seen before until now
Because just like how there will always be bad things in life
There are good things too
Love.
Hope.
Cookies.
Cats.
Smiles.
Your favourite songs, books, and poems.
Your favourite shows.
Your favourite poetry site.
Your favourite coffee.
Your favourite food.
Your favourite voice.
Your favourite people.
Your favourite jokes.
Your favourite smile.
That certain somebody you're thinking of right now -
I know.
And it takes waking up to see that.
So although there aren't many good things to say about mornings,
I suppose...there are enough to get us through next one, don't you think?
Aug 17, 2020
Aug 17, 2020 at 1:00 AM UTC
It's raining outside
we're off work
we're lying in your soft bed
warm from both the covers,
and the heat of each other's skin
We wake up groggy
I place my hand on your chest hair
feeling the thumping of your heart beneath
as we lay there,
I use my fingers
To sweep away that long, beautiful hair
The hair your parents hate
While you sleep peacefully
As I watch you, I wonder
If you'll ever know how many times
I stared at your Facebook photos
How many pages I wasted in my journal
How much time I spent in a dream land
daydreaming just the two of us,
and our families
intertwining
Mar 14, 2023
Mar 14, 2023 at 4:49 PM UTC
All those years worn,
you never did make it outta The Valley,
all those feature film premieres, never did land a starring roll,
or get any recognition, let alone an Oscar from The Academy,
all those foggy eyed groggy times, you were probably high,
all those checks you cashed, for your non refundable time,
waking up one day, wondering where it all went,
driving a car with a lease more expensive your apartment’s,
still stuck in that same apartment, off Ventura Blvd.,
still a B-List actor ******* that A-List ****
still getting haircuts from stylist, still racking up milage,
got more clothes in your closet than dollars in the bank,
& in the end after it’s all said & done & all the time is spent,
& you’re finally spent, what’ll you have left to show for it all?
All those years worn,
spent suspended in mid air, baking in The Valley,
all those times you attended, those feature film premieres,
still no recognition, let alone an Oscar from The Academy..
∆ LaLux ∆
from The Hollywood Hearts Trilogy Vol. 3:
Dark Lights | Bright Shadows
9/9/19
I'm letting it all go, telling it like it is in Hollywood. This book is the one. Get it, or if you can't afford the $3, let me know and I'll buy it for you.
Sep 2, 2019
Sep 2, 2019 at 10:33 PM UTC