"nightshift" poems
It’s strangely busy around the deathbeds,
as well it’s my last nightshift of the year.
I try to make no noise, can you hear me?
Push my hand, if you can, move a limb.
Your breath is so slow, please keep going,
monitors flash in time with the ventilator.
I’ll control the pupils, I know it’s blinding.
No one goes with their sparkling old eyes,
we are usually fading before we are dying.
Dec 17, 2021
Dec 17, 2021 at 2:22 AM UTC
There's a beautiful gun in my hand.
Flawless.
The nightshift sun gleams off the barrel like a swan on a lake
At home against the humid sweaty dark pressing against everything yet awesomely singular
The clock stopped a long time ago and gunshots took over in place of the ticks and tocks…
(I'm chewing on something soft)
… and I never noticed.
It seemed natural.
Every bullet chambered was just another hour passing
And though it feels like forever I know its been half a day
Blood laces the treads of my shoes
Hugging the rubber and drawing patterns that I'm less aware of than I am of...
(What is this? It's good.)
... myself
Everyone I know is sitting in a pile.
No more alive than the gun itself.
Still they talk. Memories are shared and advice is given. I don't care to know if its real.
*Everyone talks. It makes sense.
Even the dead*.
The ceiling fan noisily labors diligently if not futilely against the unspeakable heat. It's the only sound I can be sure of. The motion helps.
Nothing else is moving except...
(Chewchewchewithinkicanithinkican)
...My jaw. Steadily gnashing through…
(Everyone talks)
My tongue. I don't care about the blood at my feet or the fact that its coming from my mouth.
What worries me is that now everyone is staring at me and I dont have any gun at all
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 1:20 PM UTC
These city lights look for all the world to me
like some spellbound amnesty
but in reality
they are the building blocks that bring the nights
so I can see
what is to come and what will be.
Like ships at sea that head to port
we're caught
and cast upon the waves like bread to be dispersed
saved ,reborn and nursed by those well versed
in maritime and chandler's stores and sending those back through revolving doors to drown again,
and how the night pours down on me
slipping quickly through the city light where the building blocks become another knock,a twist of fate,and being cruel would stand and wait,while I, the traveller stand and hesitate
to go on
to stay?
an end to an end or a beginning that would send me some hope,no pope here to bless me or you,just another city night to fight and fit tightly through until the morning comes and runs my fears away.
I stay and am obliged to those contributors,interlocutors who saw me,spoke, and watched me as I broke upon the morning shore,
score one to me and city nil
until tonight
when we will fight again.
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC
This poetry is one of the collections of poetry I am writing, called “Kalina” about a small girl and her world, her feelings her thoughts. ‘Butterfly’ was submitted to ‘One Stop Poetry’ for the competition “Through a Child’s Eyes” and was selected as one of the finalist. Click here to read to read the article…
I have edited this one below after submission; hence here you have the latest version
Butterfly
________
Look, there she is
There on the window pane
A new friend from the dreams last night
She promised to teach me
How to fly, where ever, whenever
In sunshine or rain
How bright and beautiful, she is
Pinker than my ma’s cheek
Her little wings have so many colors
Like the rainbow
I painted last summer, for my Pa’s Birthday
Before he left for the war,
You know, to make money for us to eat
Tell me butterfly,
How does one eat money?
How does one go to the war?
I don’t want Pa to go to the war;
I don’t want any money to eat; At all
You know, whenever I hug him,
I don’t feel hungry,
God Swear, not at all
Oh! Butterfly!!
Why are you flying away
Going so far?
See, out side, the day is still full of light;
Sure you can wait a little more?
Promise, Ma will be back soon,
From her nightshift,
And, sure she will let you in
Don’t you see, I can not;
I am in the bed,
Too sick to let you in
Butterfly, my dear Butterfly,
You really have to teach me how to fly
Before you came in my dreams
I promised Pa - a hug tonight,
I know where he “wars” now;
Ma showed me the other night,
When she cried,
“There, Kalina, there he is, in the sky
That beautiful bright Evening Star”
You know Butterfly;
I love him so much,
Much more than I love Ma,
Really!
You must teach me to fly,
As I have to go today,
Yesterday, Pa told me
Its time now
Here you see
My Ma does not even smile much
Now
___________
ॐ नमः शिवाय
Om Namah Shivaya
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 11:30 AM UTC
Have not written much at all.
As work is always on the call.
I am prey to the poorly.
Always the sick.
Some self inflicted.
The ailing all want to steal my time.
And mine I'll give so willingly.
There is a passing passion to tenderly care.
My precious moments I shall share with the sick and the needy.
Tonight sadly, as well as stealing my pen my lovely patients shall steal my sleep.
After the shift of the shadows from daytime to night.
I shall fulfill my role as the lady of the light.
When daylight of Sunday breaches my eyes my much tired body will greet sleeps' surprise.
(c)LIVVI
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 7:15 AM UTC
5 am you woke me up, to meditate.
I thought someone had died, someone had, me.
It was the ultimate time, you said.
Looking down, I had to disagree.
Can you feel the energy, she said.
I can’t feel myself, go away.
This is a window of opportunity she said.
There was a window.
Let us breathe she said.
This had never happened before, nutcase came to mind.
What is your mantra she said.
What is my name I said.
No, you have to reach out, draw in the energy.
I am going to reach out, it won’t be pretty.
Let me take you on a journey, join me.
I’ll phone you a taxi, blast, it’s your house, I’ll phone me a taxi.
If we connect the *** will be out of this world.
Okay, through the delirium I heard the S word
Mmmm feel it, Mmmm, feel it, Mmmm, can you feel it.
I can definitely feel something.
It’s getting stronger, we are one.
We definitely are.
We must connect.
We definitely must.
Before my husband comes off the nightshift.
Thought I heard the H word there.
Let us be one.
Let us wind back to the husband.
He is but a component in time.
What time does this component come home at.
Six, but it’s okay, he’s gay.
Thought I heard the G word there.
He likes to join in, which can be a pain.
When you say join in, what do you mean.
In the mantra, he likes to join in in the mantra.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 5:38 AM UTC
Re: Ancient Greece: How do you read a sundial, especially if you work on a nightshift at Acme Stonecutters, Inc.? Something for Socrates to ponder.(He was always late for work)
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 9:53 PM UTC
it's an old tale around town
that if you pierce the ground
with a needle just right
all the spirits will escape
no one really believes it
but the lore's dramatic flare gives a sense of community
at the bus stop stand
twelve children with clay faces
day and night they stare straight ahead
and mumble the same word
over and over
Time passes by,
back bent and wretched
the dead grace of fallen kings
and eventually
the clay breaks,
the heads roll
a visiting CEO
stands to make a speech
but finds an emptiness
clawing at her throat
the clay breaks,
the silent tears
of the heart of a brooding teen
end their tenancy
and return to the ocean
a nightshift manager
swipes their card, closes the barbed gates,
fumbles rolling a cigarette
and draws in a sigh,
but the breath refuses to escape
the clay breaks,
a bluebird sings
but cannot recall the melody
petals clog the gutter
but the branches have long withered
people meet up and gather
to try to quell the empty pressure
they stand to chant the childrens' lost word
but everyone remembers it differently
time passes
routine remains
but there are waves in the waterways
and sometimes people on the surface streets
find themselves lost in the tide
time passes,
the dirt city convulses
under its silent weight
we gather a needle
and pierce the ground,
but nothing happens
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 6:14 PM UTC
You are my friend
You are a part of me
You understand me in ways other people can't
You are a part of my joy
You are so funny
You are caring
And so lovable
You are my Portugues King
You will always occupy a special place in my heart
You have this deep voice that I can't seem to get over
And I somehow don't understand you over the phone
But when you say 'yes' it drives me crazy
Just the sound of you keeps me sane
We may have our arguments and we disagree on a lot of things
But we do have one thing in common
We crazy *************
You my *****
I know I can always count on you
You are my nightshift fetish
And I've replaced my addiction to smoking with my addiction to you
Coz you are my daily fix
I will love you till death
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 7:29 AM UTC
5 am you woke me up, to meditate.
I thought someone had died, someone had, me.
It was the ultimate time, you said.
Looking down, I had to disagree.
Can you feel the energy, she said.
I can’t feel myself, go away.
This is a window of opportunity she said.
There was a window.
Let us breathe she said.
This had never happened before, nutcase came to mind.
What is your mantra she said.
What is my name I said.
No, you have to reach out, draw in the energy.
I am going to reach out, it won’t be pretty.
Let me take you on a journey, join me.
I’ll phone you a taxi, blast, it’s your house, I’ll phone me a taxi.
If we connect the *** will be out of this world.
Okay, through the delirium I heard the S word
Mmmm feel it, Mmmm, feel it, Mmmm, can you feel it.
I can definitely feel something.
It’s getting stronger, we are one.
We definitely are.
We must connect.
We definitely must.
Before my husband comes off the nightshift.
Thought I heard the H word there.
Let us be one.
Let us wind back to the husband.
He is but a component in time.
What time does this component come home at.
Six, but it’s okay, he’s gay.
Thought I heard the G word there.
He likes to join in, which can be a pain.
When you say join in, what do you mean.
In the mantra, he likes to join in in the mantra.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 6:50 AM UTC
It's a messy Monday morning,
with the blinds still closed to avoid the light.
It's the stumbling out of bed that makes you wonder why you're not dead.
It's the contemplation of existence,
not caring what's next.
Not caring your pay cheque could make a difference,
Not caring you're wearing a brandless tee and certainly not caring about the ******** on TV.
It's rooted from where you came from & why she made it but not you,
How being breathless occupies the entire room.
pacing your palms over your head trying to figure out why you're not dead.
It's a messy Monday morning because you lied to yourself yesterday when you said: "only one drink."
Because you couldn't seem to figure out where things were headed & maybe this time, today would be the end.
It doesn't make sense so it's better to lay in bed.
It's not better but it's easy,
It's easy to believe the monsters in your head are only alive to just be friends or that your nightshift job means more money in the end.
To an end the priests have worked on,
To satisfy believers,
Fulfilling their needs.
It's a Godless world,
It makes no sense.
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 11:54 AM UTC
i have a lover
i have an unrequited love
i have a friend who i can talk to at night
it is the same person
i have known him for years now
i am sure he is still in love with his past love
i wonder if the only reason he talks to me at night is because he works the night shift
Apr 29, 2023
Apr 29, 2023 at 6:19 AM UTC
An ****** nymph
discombobulated Darwin
a bushy bird
out dating carbon
this glorious lark
caused such a spark
seducing Ludwig,
to the beat of Marvin.
Feb 4, 2022
Feb 4, 2022 at 12:20 PM UTC
If we sped one night in your motor
in ghostly sleeped streets.
Onto a highway, overtaking nightshift drivers.
Their anger would only echoe and
bounce of your back screen window.
Street lights would fade
into roads which passed their trails.
And your senses would dissolve into the music as we rode.
Your fumes polluted the air so much that night,
but I left you forgiven
because it was your last.
The last image in my iris of you flashed,
as my skin was scarcely stabbed.
Your cigar was put out by the force
before your lips could ever taste it again.
It’s last fire was gushed out
by my bottled tears which spilled on the surface.
Then I seen you impaled
your heart oozed out onto the steering wheel,
that had steered us to the end.
Your fingers were the surf that melted into the ocean.
As were your eyes,
enclosed in a forbidden sleep to ensure that
you never awoke and remembered.
But each night I wade with the birds
who sing at the cars looting by
and I inhale their fumes, crying because
they still have miles left unlike you did that night,
when we sped
and you stopped.
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
the turn of the rail
round the land.
the curve of the
soundbox against
the hand.
the engine rumbles
somewhere, undefined,
as love disappears
tonight.
the wall lines the sea
in holland. The velvet
folds close the stage
at the opera.
Tile on the roof
silently shedding
the rain as love
disappeared today.
Relentlessly cold is
the hearthstone.
The march of the
nightshift to
the factory
from home.
Barge tied to barge
sounding the horn,
a freight of black
coal, buries the heart
as love disappears tonight.
Dark are the waters
plied by the fishing
boats and trawlers.
The paths are
map-less
ruthlessly speaking
a language that's foreign.
At the edge of the
canyon without
finality, love
disappears, over and
over again.
Dec 18, 2019
Dec 18, 2019 at 9:20 PM UTC
The most prominent year of my childhood
Was the one in which we shared a bedroom.
In a classic telling of time dilation,
It's the only part I can recall,
As if we spent years sharing nightmares and visions
And secrets that we buried in the graying carpet.
The carpet is musty
And there is cat hair in our brown hair from when he
Slithers into the dollhouse when
Our backs are turned.
We shake him out and
He bolts down the stairs.
We climb up the stairs in tactile daydreams
Where we can play the piano
And speak boldly. We speak softly
To not wake your mother,
Asleep from the nightshift next room over.
We dig our fingers in the carpet in the mornings
Sat between my mother’s knees
As she pulls our hair into matching styles.
We are uneven twins,
Short and tall,
Curled and straight,
Loud and faint.
Even now, without the matching dresses
Or braids,
Which are now cut and dyed
As if we mutually agreed it was tied to something we needed to forget.
We unlearn the role of xeriscape ghost,
And we hunt the ones that haunted us
When you left after a year,
Your mother pulling you into a car seat,
And mine, indoors.
In another classic case of time dilation,
No time passed at all.
Apr 23, 2020
Apr 23, 2020 at 9:23 PM UTC
There is something there
in the downtown square,
an angel statue
with statuesque hair.
On my way to work
the nightshift,
I stop and stare
at the strange
stationary beauty,
whispering secrets
in her ear
that she’ll never share,
cause she doesn’t care.
She is as hard as metal
but the last beautiful girl
staring up at the stars,
while loud cars
blast by
destroying the peaceful night.
Like Pygmalion
I am in love
with a statue,
but unfortunately
for little old me
there is no
Aphrodite
to bring my beloved to life.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 7:48 AM UTC
Awake at 0415
Sleep still in my eyes
Bundle up crib
**** and a ****
Shave clean
Coffee on the boil
Then, on the road.
Lit ciggy
Volume still up from last night
Knock it down a notch
Until the ears can focus...
Swipe on, turnstile spins
Follow in suit
Say g'day to nightshift
As the hi-vis is donned
PPE all strapped on
Steel capped **** kickers
Helmet slap, follow the crowd
To prestart.
Sit and nod, coffee lukewarm
Handover from nights
Sign on lads and ladies
Lock on, work instruction, THA
We are all dressed the same
The same team
With the same goal
To go home...
We don't know how it all works
In our silo, doing our bit
For our 12 hour stint
For 7 days.
Just before 6
With our bodies worn and ready
For a quiet bevvy
With mates we made at work
Swipe off, turnstile spins
Say g'day to nightshift
It'll be our turn next swing
Top job, had a win.
Microwave feed
Boots at the door
TV just for the noise
Stare at the phone
They ring before bed
Let it ring out
How was your day?
Same as every other, don't bother.
Asleep before head hits pilla
Awake at 0415
Sep 6, 2022
Sep 6, 2022 at 9:11 PM UTC
Coworker on a bus after nightshift
Waltham to Boston. He said he was sick
in a serious way. Doctors baffled and
he feeling worse by the day. I told him
not to worry because he'd be better soon.
They always figure it out. He died. AIDS.
Several years later at an AIDS hospice
I heard the rattled breath at deaths door.
Barely able to hold his cane he stood then
struggled mighty to make it to his grave.
Oct 9, 2021
Oct 9, 2021 at 9:28 PM UTC