"nighty" poems
come here
baby girl
get into bed
with daddy
take off
your nighty
lay on top of me
i need to feel you
skin to skin
against me
lay your head
upon my chest
feel the up and down
of your breath
hear your heartbeat
your sighs in my ear
Jul 20, 2021
Jul 20, 2021 at 9:27 PM UTC
The city plays cat and mouse
and pefects the fear.
Jaggered lights dazzle
the victim
and nautical terms are resurrected as shanking.
Hospitals in an ode to Johannesburg's ingenuity
repair the injurious knife wounds
caused not by weekend lighter fuel
but a postcode lottery
undone only by the postman.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 3:31 PM UTC
Night beckons to strange people.
Actually, if you can accept this premise,
then the mind makes everyone strange.
And still yet, there is something specific about darkness,
I cannot put my finger on it,
that sends odd sparks of real life
on a mission to city street corners.
I hide in my car after leaving the café
with the hope of seeing, "The Pigtailed Man."
This isn't his name.
However, I need say no more to any stranger
for him to envision my character.
We objectify him and his image becomes clear
even when spotted in narrowed alleyway darkness.
He has a beautiful wife
with locks past her shoulder
of auburn and lillies,
and two wonderfully bright children
who sit on his knee when listening
to nighty-night, bedtime stories.
Their ringing laughter illuminates
the darkest corners of their happy home.
They'll never know why he needs
to go bye-bye at dangerous evening hours,
hunting sour scowls from passers-by.
He's unkempt: legs unshaven, chin covered
by midnight shadow, beer belly hanging over his
plaid picnic-basket red schoolgirl skirt,
and his face sags as if a topical novocaine
was applied generously to his chubby, rosy cheeks.
Upon seeing his aimless strut
and dead-to-self eyes, I wonder: Where does he dress?
Does he put his outfit on from plastic grocery bag
around the block from the lamp-lit looks of
the neighbors' friendly daytime greetings?
More importantly, if I were friend
and was to catch him in the act,
would I say anything?
Darkness calls out the most intriguing creatures.
We're afraid to call them "human beings,"
because being human most certainly
does not look like this.
Or, does it not look like this?
Shadows claw walls around all
because not one body projects light.
There are some who know, and some who appease.
The pigtails hang to his knees as he stares
at the mannequins of pretty women
in the window of the closed department store.
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 4:05 AM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, just a magical night in October that I ache for:}
when the telephone rang and his pleas sang
when the station blurred and the tables turned and the light burst
when he ran for the chase never minding the haze of desperate achieve
when he begged for the day for my beloved stay in the seconds before leave
when he refused to leave in the fight of disbelief in the fear of a disappear
when the stairs he walks to embrace the lots that we missed along the nighty watch
when he saves the gush in a surrender to his touch and an affection to my feels
------ravenfeels
Apr 20, 2021
Apr 20, 2021 at 3:14 PM UTC
You’d do well to keep in mind
The lines falling short inside
And all the people standing outside
Looking in
Feeling the sin
Sink down their arms
Into their shoes
And out of brain range
This is it
The reckoning
Of sorts anyway
The lost keys found
The square peg round
The light at the end of the tunnel
On an extra long chord
Finally being pulled
Nighty night
Let all that ails you tuck you down tight
Bring back the child of let’s say 10
That version of you
And start explaining
As you have much to do
He might look up and say
“Who are you?”
And that’s a valid ******* question you know
*Valid ******* question*
Cause he won’t know
And neither will you
The disconnect is growing moss
Off the side of Highway 2
And memories are like old VHS tapes
That nobody watches anymore
Don’t have time for that
Too much going on
With all the nothing to move and stack
Rearrange
Sifting for change
Like it’s in your pocket
And you’re at the soda machine
After walking back into town mid-June
Cause your car breaks down
In the middle of the Middle(est) West
And you are thirsty
But the machine is all out
And the clock is broken
Along with your need for concern
It just doesn’t matter now
And you are more than well aware
You are ****** scope
From 300 yards up and away aware
There’s no move (even the slightest) getting past you
You guard that tower
Like an insecure guy guards his bestest (crush) girl –friend
You know the one that takes him shopping
And tells him secrets
That should be dropped in a volcano
– but regardless
He will never see the color of her *******
Unless she has him do her laundry
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
I'm running
Why am I running?
Why does it hurt?
Why are my feet cold?
I look at my feet
I'm barefoot
Why am I barefoot?
Okay
Give me a sec
I'll remember
Oh!
I'm running
Running to you
I'm barefoot
Barefoot because I'm scared
Scared you'll get away
Leave and get lost
Why did you leave?
Wait no
You didn't leave
I slow down
You didn't run away
I stop
You're still here
I wake up
Oh thank god
It was just a dream
You're still asleep
Next to me where I left you
I'm not running
I am barefoot
But not running
I thank god one last time
Take a glance at your sleeping face
Kiss your nose
Nighty night, Bruno
My cute watch dog
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 8:47 PM UTC
*
Your melancholic memories come every second
You are invisibly floating all around me
My breathe plays your melody
My heartbeat plays your love-poem
My soul listens to my own LOVE longing
The breeze swirling your scent around me
I walk amidst your fresh jardine
When my eyes are traversed by YOUR eyes
Then the weather drenches me with your colors
And YOU pour all colors of LOVE on me
My numerous sleepless nights
I stand and see you in the stars
I count every sparkle you've left behind
In those million heart beats within
In that nighty silence I wait to hear
Your silence footsteps walking around me
I look up and see the reflection of
YOU nudging & hugging me from behind
In the mirror of that bright BIG moon
Each passing breathe conveys your arrival
The one, who is revered & adored all the time
My heart-beats showers cascades of blossoms
All along the places YOU- my BELOVED exists
And I render the whole world in my BELOVED's colors
*
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 1:36 AM UTC
Well we jumped on the wing
for a good Irish fling
kicked off the week
with a boiler
The banter was high
as we took to the sky
nothing in sight
was a spoiler
And the red eye at night
was a captain’s delight
we spread on the seat
of the liner
Arrived just in time
for a whale of a time
at the Temple Bar
and Diner
Well the Dublin scene
in the Old College Green
was wired and alive
on the corner
Where me and me' mates
paired in at the gates
there were welcoming arms
to us foreigners
And we sang through the night
and grinned in delight
with banjos, pipes
and lasses
Drinking whiskey and beer
in a boatload of cheer
the rooster got lost
in the masses
The **** in the walk
was out on the stalk
a wee little flute
on display
His shoulders were pinned
with a great big grin
they were such
peculiar ways!
Well we found em next day
(in a sauntering way)
*got tossed in
all the commotion*
What happened to you?
said he hadn’t a clue
or any
baldy notion!
Hit the road to Howth
little east, little south
the seaside town
was groovin
Found the Cobblestone Pub
for a jar and a scrub
the seabird sounds
were soothin
Then we jumped a train
in the lashing rain
the Belfast craic
was mighty
Hit the Thirsty Goat
with a parching throat
some Tullamore Dew
for a nighty
In the Crumlin jail
the spirits set sail
the IRA
was gaffin
There was Bobby Sands
in celestial lands
alive and proud
and laughin
The Griffin dance
was the final chance
the evening closed
in nigh
And we made our way
through the Chelsea lanes
to say our
final good bye
~ ~ ~ ~
Singing
Ay, oh…let it all go
safe haven in the wasteland!
Singing
Slainte’…take me away
to the old Irish sounds
of the band!
Sep 23, 2021
Sep 23, 2021 at 11:41 AM UTC
I want to close my eyes
and wake up sixty years
in the future
I will be ninty-five,
aging,
decaying,
but I will be
happy
I will be able to look out at
my children,
my wife,
hell, probably even
my dog
and smile with the memories
they’ll given me over the
years
but as I close my eyes,
for the final time,
drifting into the sleep
I should never awake from,
I will emerge from my rest
a fifteen year-old boy
having only a hazy recollection
of the happiness
that awaits me
one day
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 6:38 PM UTC
I really really
must not scratch
this itchy itchy itch
but what to do
when all your hands
just want to do is scratch
Diagnosed this morning
by Doctor Wicky Wong
I don't like the look of those
he said
Neither do I
I wished him wrong
Back I went this evening
as more spots they had appeared
He looked a little closer
muttered words I could barely hear
off work 3 days not 1 he said
Contagious these may spread
So here I am at home alone
with nowt to do but write
a load of twaddle on the page
as shingles rages rife
when what I'd really love to do
is sleep say nighty night
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 8:21 AM UTC
i like
the way you smell
stepping from the bath
slightly scented
towels wrapped
around your
hair and body
drying you off
combing your hair
slipping on your nighty
kissing your tummy
making you giggle
calling me silly
i love you sweetie
as only a daddy can
Aug 7, 2021
Aug 7, 2021 at 12:20 AM UTC
He was just completing the drying up after tea when he heard a murmuring from the hallway. The sound of the voice made him listen over the chatter of the early evening radio. One of the girls read a story, a bedtime story. He listened. It was about two bears, part of the usual get ready for bed routine; pyjamas, supper, teeth, bed, story, prayers, nighty-night.
He went to the bottom step on the stairs. They were on the third page now. Mum sat on the stairs, knees up, hands under chin, elbows in lap. She smiled down at Dad while their fifteen year old daughter read, her voice became more animated as the story progressed.
They both listened to the end and made play by pretending to have fallen asleep. He was now sitting beside his wife as the story ended. It was now their other daughters turn to read one of her favourites. About a Tiger.
It had been a long time. A long time since those books were opened, a long time since they we're read aloud and that reading aloud unlocked memories, a warm sense of routine, familiarity and the safeness it brought at the end of a long day when everyone was ready to rest.
This was also a new time now. Their girls reading their old bedtime stories. It felt to him like an echo of that past, yet another stage had been reached; they were growing up too fast.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 4:07 AM UTC
The moon holds such a serene glow
For all it's wonders, we may never know
It's light dances gently across the plains
And some nights it disappears, behind rains
Though it never truly runs away
It stays behind cover for a day
To recollect and reflect
What it's supposed to detect
Amongst the many mysteries of Night
Was it meant to help search for the lost?
Was anyone meant to help at such a cost?
Was it simply to gaze upon by star-crossed lovers
Or help protect children while they hide under covers
She knew she had a job to do
To control the tides, and keep them true
But there was more to life than the simply job
To keep her going, make her heart throb
But alas, these are the many mysteries of Night
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 7:25 AM UTC
I do not want an old man God sat in a throne,
Judging from afar with sceptre and gold
riding on a cloud, sombre and haloed,
stern faced, woolly warm beard stroking,
Michelangelo-esque nighty clad, run of the mill deity.
I do not want a Sunday morning liturgy reference God,
inhabiting musty buildings, documented within dusty books, out dated, out rated, out of duty once a week
(twice if you include the mid-week bible study),
appeasing a sick relative, reluctant, habit God.
I do not want a jolly nodding head back shelf of the car job, kitsch icon, only when it suits me, pocket amenity,
fashion accessory, hobby gimmick God; a God modelled
from routine and agenda and TV evangelism, a convenience style digestible man made allusion.
I don’t want a controlling egomaniac parent God, bent on
setting us unattainable goals and tasks then throwing
a tantrum when the model train set breaks; or a God
who is distant, self-righteous, passive and out of touch,
an elusive, reclusive, exclusive God,
I want an ‘I Am who I Am’ God, whose boundaries are so
immense that to trace them would destroy you. A God
who is completely indefinable, that every brushstroke
put to canvas, every conceivable melody whistled, that
every imaginable word uttered, would barely compare.
I want a God who to stand before would burn my eyes out, make my heart explode; that I would be totally devastated. Yet, a God who is approachable and approaches, a God who is in the here and now, surrounding, dumbfounding, astounding, a God with promise and hope you can taste.
A God who breaks all the boundaries and exceeds every
human expectation and limitation, a God who hears and feels every longing, every desire and creates opportunity,
empowering the heart that cries out, stilling the soul when it aches, a God of promise and hope and deliverance.
I want a God unlike any parent, friend, lover, sovereign, reckless in compassion and filthy with goodness, available and ever there. So dangerously loving, so excessively wise and firm, yet tender, knowing, emotive, compassionate, A God who takes my grief. A God asking to be found and worth being sought.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 8:28 AM UTC
Sleep night terror
****** me whole
Knife cuts deep
Eyes cold cold
Pillow grip tight
Crazed fit scream
Doused in the fire
Burn dream dream
Broken fears me
Note to the mind
Wrapped up in the sheet
Nighty night night
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 3:08 AM UTC
Lock the doors,
leave on the light.
Kiss the children,
'Nighty night'
Lie in the sheets,
Don't fall asleep.
Cometh the Devil,
thou soul to reap.
Your sable heart
has long been dead
for the Devil dwells
inside your head.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 11:48 PM UTC
here in Australia
we're hitting the hay
as we must get rested
for a new day
the midnight oil
we shall not be burning
we'll be flat out
on our backs snoozing
we'll file into our beds
as tired troopers do
and partake of some slumber
for an hour or two
in the morning
we'll arise in a refreshed mode
ready to take on
another work day load
so its nighty night
from the Southern Cross land
we're hopping aboard our mattresses
to travel to dreamland
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 8:22 AM UTC
The cancer has spread too far,
the mass is too massive to be excised.
The chemo bag is secretly filled with carcinogens.
The pills they charge us a fortune for
are only placebos.
The last doctor died in 1963,
and the man in the white scrubs,
who rubs your hand, and says it will all be alright
is a card carrying servant
of the very cancer he professes to fight.
Nighty-Night little ones,
its time to turn out the light.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 2:53 PM UTC
Dorothy Gale, all freckled and pale
Was asleep in her gingham print nighty
When a ****** great twister enveloped the vista
And blew like the good lord almighty
It ripped up the grass and it took out the glass
As it lifted the house from position
And a blow to the head from the post of her bed
Put young Dorothy out of commission
She awoke with a fright as she fell from a height
Landing squarely on somebody's gran
She emerged from indoors to a round of applause
And her journey had surely began
The people of Aus (because that's where she was)
Gave her hazy but helpful directions
She should hastily wander the road over yonder
To reach Tony before the elections
So she took to the road from her former abode
In her quest to get back to her folk
She aquired some mates, all in similar straits
Or the **** of a practical joke
A man made of straw was quite hard to ignore
With a lion quite lacking in guts
And a fella whose skin was constructed from tin
Held together with rivets and nuts
Such adventures they had, though I think you'll be glad
That I've cut to the crux of the rhyme
Where a meeting was set, their request would be met
To meet Tony in ten minutes time
They arrived and were greeted, quite comfortably seated
It was then Mr Abbott appeared
He regretted to say, to their growing dismay
That their wishes had not all been cleared
"As I haven't a heart" he was heard to impart
"then the tin man is leaving with jack"
"And I'm gutless as well" he was careful to tell
"So the lion can hurry on back"
"And I've also no brain, so it's no once again"
"But young lady, your problems are sorted"
"You'll be locked up off shore for a month, maybe four
"And by christmas, we'll have you deported"
By Ben the Poet
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 8:05 PM UTC
Times are hard.
Times you, times me.
But time heals all wounds.
And all that is hidden will be revealed,
In time.
So give it time...
Do you have the time?
Time out, time in.
Time to go.
Bed time.
Nighty nite.
All of my love.
To you.
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 11:30 PM UTC
Time for bed, shut the door
Nighty night, no more.
But what if.....
What was that brain? But what if what?
Do you have something you'd like to say?
But what if things don't work out your way?
What do you mean? Everything's fine.
I have nothing I need to mind.
But what if you're not accepted?
What do you mean?
After all I am loved I am.....
But what if you're not?
Wait but....
What if you fail at everything else?
Where will you turn where will you go?
Well I.....
What if this is the last time you'll be successful?
And what if it all goes down hill from here?
Please stop I.....
You? What about everyone else?
You really must stop thinking about yourself and think about others.
But....
After all where would you be in life without other's judgement?
*Watching you, waiting for you to ***** up*
Just waiting to take your place....
No they.....
watching watching watching
..........................................
What's wrong reality to hard for you?
Are you going to cry now? Poor baby.
Well sleep tight and have fun with life
Don't let the monsters bite, goodnight.
.....................shut up.....................
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
leftover clementine peels
and apple cores
in the kitchen sink garbage disposal:
haven
for the rise
of the lord of the fruit flies.
this, my greatest adversary.
i lay vinegar and wine traps, and,
at various junctures,
lead spray sorties where they congregate
with all-purpose cleaner in hand ---
even swat at them
with my other free hand
like King Kong did helicopters,
whilst holding a screaming kicking Ann Darrow
in her small little nighty,
and i
watch,
haughtily
as they fall
before mine
victorious feet.
and i beat my chest.
then i suddenly feel horribly conflicted
in the clutches of such a merciless slaughter.
they never
stood
a chance.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC
the Lord is sore
I can tell because he no longer lingers at the table after dinner,
and falsely claims the wine is tasteless
('tepid as the red sea in december' as he puts it)
no more rummy either (he never answered me
about the four-card problem)
instead he retires to his room,
half yawning half talking he utters,
"oh, I think I should like to haaaay dowmmmn"
or
"I'm afraid its all downstream for me... nighty nigh you sons of
Beeehhhhhnjamins"
I say he is smitten with boughs and therefore withered
its probably just old age, he doesn't realize it but he's getting on
"Holy Mount Vesuvius!" comes a scream from his room "not since the
Land of Egypt."
"what is it, what is wrong my Lord?" I implore
"my crown," he stammers, "my crown of flowers is fading"
"I'll look into it in the morning O' Great Lord of Right Judgment"
I say offhandedly, hoping for no rebuke
"what's that you say?"
"I say in the morning, for morning, by morning; we shall not be vexed by it now"
hoping some old carnage will soothe him
"be not mockers" he quips
"I love you Lord" I say turning off the lamp near his bed
"I love you too my Kadesh"
"to thee o' Lord, I shut the door"
he waves me off.
a city, once great, falls
and vanishes,
a ruin-mound now stands
occupied by consumption
one time when we were alone
he asked me to sit in front of him
he asked me to stare in his eyes
what could this old man want now, I thought
"just look at me"
so I stared into his eyes
and so deeply did I fall
into peace
until tears rended a river.
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 8:36 PM UTC