"nocturnal" poems
Picked up and dragged through the air of violent twilight.
Crash landing into each world of pain.
Grow up; learn up she told herself.
Red lipstick, tight dress; bad girl good. Unrested she was, she was unrest.
Unrest in her mind, unrest in distress.
That girl was nocturnal,
her life was night.
Although star & moons glared,
reluctantly lit,
her blue skies were none but bottomless pits.
Duck duck GOOSE, once a child without care;
I choose YOU, life spitefully said.
GROW UP; LEARN UP, she scolded herself.
Keep your head up, keep it down.
Too much air, too much water,
too much CONSCIOUSNESS.
Low then high then low again.
One minute was 60,
but she blinked and it was over.
So much time was so little.
Disregarded, she became the Object of obsession.
Danced too fast, danced too slow;
never by the beat of her heart.
Chaos!
Calamity!
Joy!
Insanity!
GROW UP, LEARN UP; she forgot herself.
The madness before the storm,
the storm of never-end.
She had to grow up, she had to learn up.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 9:01 AM UTC
I am warmhearted and icy cold,
with a pretty face that's getting old.
I am fragile yet tough as a man,
struggle thru life with no real plan.
I am petite and cuss like a trucker,
slightly naive, but I'm no sucker.
I am a sinner with a halo of gold,
an open book with secrets untold.
I am a hypocrite but always play fair,
a bleeding heart and I don't care.
I am a mother who acts like a child,
crazy, impatient and easily riled.
I am spontaneous and I am a bore,
forever forgiving, I still keep score.
I am unstable and wonderfully wise,
a ****** deviant in sweet disguise.
I am creative and self-destructive
naturally skilled and unproductive.
I am shy and I am outspoken
with a heart of stone, easily broken.
I am awkward and well refined,
lost, insightful and a little love-blind.
I am respected and I am addicted
shamed by burdens, self inflicted.
I am a perfectionist and I am a slob,
unbiased and shallow, an inept snob.
I am nocturnal, a creature of night,
blissfully ignorant, typically right.
I am cautious and I have no fear,
a loser and quitter, still I persevere.
I am brilliant and easily amused,
over-zealous and under-enthused.
I am impervious with wounds to heal,
an occasional liar just keepin' it real.
I am weird and lovely and mean-
I am what I am.......100 Aileen.
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 3:50 PM UTC
The nightsky is alike a mighty mansion of the stars which then
twinkle in elegance, beauty and transience until the dawn outshines them in a graceful manner.
As the night turns away from the sun and from her light, danger
in our imagination could await, from the corners of our very mind.
Yet the stars make up a soft blanket, a cover of the calmest of light,
which could bring peace to a soul which is performing a rampage.
All the constilations, all the names and forms which reveal themselves, are but a heavenly spectra for those who are nocturnal.
Or for those, whom have meet the cruel fate to be allergic to the natural, straight forward, warming and blissful sunlight.
There is no soul with no protector, in the nightsky such would be
a bright,piercing star, standing proud,manifest its location is over you
Holding many wonders, the beauty of the night comes with shooting stars, which at times shortly sweep over the heaven before fading.
Wishes are made upon, hope fills their hearts, for a better future
or a fulfilment of their desires, tangled up within the depth of mind.
Night becomes bright once the moon shines, in its fullest posture.
Becomes dark once the rainclouds drive near, calling in thunder.
But most importantly, it is a time of rest, from all this earth beholds
~ Umi
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 1:30 AM UTC
Oh, bucolic pastorale,
Dawn brings a carnival,
Golden-pink, sunrise hues,
What a wonder for our view,
Dawn draws back her veil,
Night vanishes, sunlight's grail,
Our skies aflame,
End nocturnal games,
Oh, bucolic pastorale,
Dawn brings her carnival.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 10:43 PM UTC
As the Night is drawn,
In the spectacles of my mind.
I stand alone,
In the shadows of light.
My eyes turn to the moon,
Whose gaze is pallid and ghastly.
Now they shift,
Becoming Scarlet irsises.
I am a beast of the night,
The nocturnal moon is my call.
To summon from sleep,
And all.
Nocturnal forever.
A girl of the night.
I am the one in the shadows.
I fight for that right.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
As the rising morning sun
shines its immaculate rays
on a field of sunflowers
these flowers , they awaken
from their nocturnal slumber
and ever so slowly
they spread their petals
and gaze upon the Sun
For in the Sun
they found an eternal source
of life , hope and warmth
And just like the Sun
will my soul tirelessly
shine upon hers forever
giving life , love and warmth
to this Sunflower , deeply rooted
within the crevices of my heart
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 2:34 PM UTC
Babels of blocks to the high heavens towering
Flames of futility swirling below;
Poisonous fungi in brick and stone flowering,
Lanterns that shudder and death-lights that glow.
Black monstrous bridges across oily rivers,
Cobwebs of cable to nameless things spun;
Catacomb deeps whose dank chaos delivers
Streams of live foetor that rots in the sun.
Colour and splendour, disease and decaying,
Shrieking and ringing and crawling insane,
Rabbles exotic to stranger-gods praying,
Jumbles of odour that stifle the brain.
Legions of cats from the alleys nocturnal.
Howling and lean in the glare of the moon,
Screaming the future with mouthings infernal,
Yelling the Garden of Pluto's red rune.
Tall towers and pyramids ivy'd and crumbling,
Bats that swoop low in the weed-cumber'd streets;
Bleak Arkham bridges o'er rivers whose rumbling
Joins with no voice as the thick horde retreats.
Belfries that buckle against the moon totter,
Caverns whose mouths are by mosses effac'd,
And living to answer the wind and the water,
Only the lean cats that howl in the wastes.
15.8k
I see you, monster...
In your sockets bore dead, dark eyes
They hold the blackest of stares
Nebulous swirling pits of demise
Thin lips would spout the most sibilant of hisses
Every so often would curl into a snarl
Dry and chapped, almost unworthy of kisses
Large, rough snout, jutting out like a crag
You sniff around tirelessly for easy targets
Preying on the unsuspecting minds of those under your flag
Tapering chin, sprouting strands of coarse hair
Unkempt and gritty from your last meal
Decaying teeth, crooked due to little to no care
Your face is cratered; tales of trying adolescent years
Wearing a face only a mother could love
Expressionless but it screams out your fears
Ugly jointed limbs that grew out of sync
Disproportionate, misshapen, grotesque
Little noggin with sparse hair, packed within, a brain that thinks
I hear you, monster...
As you stalk your sleepless nights
Nocturnal ambience be your playground
Lurking in the dark; places with no light
Bulky, heavy feet but deft and silent
Can barely notice when you're up and about
As if cloaked yourself stealthy, with steps ever transient
Respire you do, exhaling breaths so gnarly
Ingesting good air, converting into fervid, loathsome notions
With which you paint a portrait so ghastly
I feel you monster...
Deep within the recesses of my heart
Destroying and distorting all that was pure
Testing my will till I should fall apart
You're but the twisted manifestation of conscience
Feeding on my trials and nurturing them into vile abominations
I despise that of you but I seem to have developed dependence
I see you, monster...
You're horrid and beastly, an embodiment of absolute horror
I await the day that you would finally dissolve
For I am weary of seeing you staring back in the mirror
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
***That Night by the ocean
The waves sung me a lullaby
Of palm tree silhouettes
And tropical sunsets
Of singing waves
And gritty white sand
Of lemonade sipped on the shore
Of nocturnal ukuleles singing a melody
Of sandy flip-flops left on the sand
Of little ocean seashells
And ocean treasures beneath the waves
Of hibiscus blossoms in bloom
Of tropical fruits
Of salty breezes stirring my brown hair
Of tropical Nights
And on and on their lullaby went
And hushed me to sleep***
~Marian~
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
Hailstorms with big winds, trees writhing in breezes
Coyotes howling in moonlight, dogs when they sneezes
Alloys and carved toys, stone gargoyles with wings
These are a few of my favorite things.
Skunk smells carried gently on nocturnal breezes
Sly double entendres and tickley teases
Beautiful salmon colored sunsets that make my jaw drop
Smell of pine 'n cedar in my sauna and wood shop!
Dolphins and doggies and toddlers and mooses
Saunas and cold plunges and honking V-flying gooses
Small mutts and storytellers and Pixar cartoons
Crazy call of the Maine dark of night loons
These are some of my nurturing tunes!
Volcanoes with lava and magma all oozing
Cross country skiing just gliding and cruising
Receiving massages unwinding and unbruising
I love my collections of adhesives and strings
These are a few of my favorite things!
So when the wasps sting
When the bored people whine
Wen I'm feeling dispirited and sad
I just think of a few of my favorite things
And I don't feel…so…bad!
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
Extermination decapitation
Nocturnal obliteration
Armadillos anteater bafoon
Typhoon heatwave...
Mr Grim Reaper
DON'T YOU KNOW?
No grave can keep Her...
Men march on as to heaven
Twenty four seven
Three Six five days
Ten different ways
Passionate professional
Daring sharing nurturing
Caring...Monsters within Minions
Amazing people aren't they
There is no substitute for hard work
Just observe Ants.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 5:04 PM UTC
i am the naked eve of your imaginary garden
with a touch that bring a promise to revive its dead leaves
weaving songs like a siren
that lure you to the shores of paradise
where your lust like restless waves
shall crash and find its peace
my gentle kiss that stir ****** dreams
is the poisoning of your thoughts
as you desire for nocturnal release
the night grew darker, the moon and her
cold stare glow brighter
wishing for the sensation to last forever
embrace tighten as your love expire
my pain - your pleasure
like a barren earth to a weeping sky
that drained her nectar dry
i await as you fall deeper into slumber
my ****** - your slow death
as i stab you in your sleep
awake - my puppet
with my strings around your neck
i fly as i watch you gasp for breath
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC
Twelve o’clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Dissolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.
Half-past one,
The street lamp sputtered,
The street lamp muttered,
The street lamp said, ‘Regard that woman
Who hesitates towards you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
You see the border of her dress
Is torn and stained with sand,
And you see the corner of her eye
Twists like a crooked pin.’
The memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things;
A twisted branch upon the beach
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
Half-past two,
The street lamp said,
‘Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter.’
So the hand of a child, automatic,
Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay.
I could see nothing behind that child’s eye.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.
Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp muttered in the dark.
The lamp hummed:
‘Regard the moon,
La lune ne garde aucune rancune,
She winks a feeble eye,
She smiles into corners.
She smoothes the hair of the grass.
The moon has lost her memory.
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone
With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain.’
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets,
And female smells in shuttered rooms,
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars.’
The lamp said,
‘Four o’clock,
Here is the number on the door.
Memory!
You have the key,
The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair,
Mount.
The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life.’
The last twist of the knife.
8.2k
A feathered creature.
A nocturnal being feared by many.
With it's stare of death, the stare that it gives with it's tremendous eyes. What many fear the most is not it's stare, but it's wisdom spoken by it's silence.
The Owl
Lord Of The Night.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 4:02 AM UTC
bathed in the cool light of the moon,
my sweet puppyhead and me,
sit.
under the full soft light,
her ray’s illuminating the yard,
the woods.
footsteps crunch drying leaves,
fox, deer or foe?
waning canopy,
boughs lighter each day.
fall, majestic, peaceful
dying for another year.
plants and creatures,
taking refuge in the deep dark void
of mother earth,
of mother nature.
squirreling away tidbits for a late winter snack,
coats blooming, thickening.
such delight,
each night,
sitting outside,
my puppyhead and me.
quiet and solitary,
no humans
annoying me.
silent and still
only nocturnal creatures
meandering about.
what magic,
what sacredness.
what mystical delight.
never apart,
only the ONE.
such silly confusion,
thinking a person,
separate and small,
quaking with fear.
the big deep dark mystery
laughing and jovial,
always here,
here for us all.
open your eyes,
feel your nature,
always here,
never apart.
fearing death
fearing life,
what a silly way to live this
life!
the moment you were born,
you began dying,
what a relief,
knowing the score!
relaxing into the madness,
laughing at it all,
pure and free,
forever more,
and not……
being,
not being,
eons of reflection,
sages and rishis
revealing the truth,
it can’t be done for you,
only you can become
that which you are….
that which you always were.
my sweet love, my sweet life,
my puppyhead and me,
sitting here in Fall.
~~~
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 6:32 PM UTC
She comes to me every night...
When all is asleep with stars lit yonder.
Comes to me with subtle might
Peeking fiendishly from darkness's cover
Await such time she'd choose to show
Await the chance to finally take.
Ready to pounce like a well tensioned bow
Arrow-like talons, ever honed to stake.
Awake or asleep, she would come without fail.
Creep is her gait; this shadow clad figure.
Always a ***** in my impervious mail.
Claiming her wants with ferocious fervour.
Deemed to be strong, easier to succumb.
Don't fight...don't struggle... Don't call for aid...
Just wait and will yourself numb
She'd come regardless of prayers that's said.
She was here with me last night
In bed, I stared at a being that's faceless...
And my heart wrenched tight.
Gripping and feeding me senseless...
Soon as she came, she left but not before
Siphoning the good and replacing with dread...
Stole was what she did; left me wanting more...
Once deed is done, into the dark she fled.
I know her all too well,
Nocturnal guest that I unknowingly invite
Her intentions to incite, not quell
Send me spiralling through emotional blight.
Day will recede, making room for dark
She'll come; swift and without sound.
She'll arrive majestic; inflicting her mark
I'll wait for her, ready and unbound.
Looking forward to her return
This silent foe whom I find familiar.
With every touch I cringe and burn
Oh secret friend whom I'm beginning to savour...
She is synonymous with various names
Each would bear the likeness of semblance
Let fly her cloak of not dissimilar aims
Endearingly I call her...,
Despondence...
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
Tar-dark world. The defining color is black, the inky night of her nocturnal hunts and the deep, bottomless dark of her alien retreat.
A watcher of men, she is everything and nothing. She might be too much of something, or too little of something else. Time will sort out the particulars.
There are no simple entry points – she demands engagement, and to be taken as a whole. Her discomfort is over her own allure, her undisturbed surface. It’s more about intuition and gesture than dialogue. They remain as echoes. They’ve made her beautiful in a real way, with hips and blemishes and dimples in her skin.
The imprint of the lives she begins to grapple with as her time on Earth extends, leads her to stop seeing herself as a mere conduit for her mission, and to start developing a sense of subjectivity.
Her life force is overlapping, shaping itself into a pattern of rings that simultaneously suggests a birth canal dilating, the stages of a rocket separating, and a lunar eclipse as seen through a telescope’s lens.
She's a life-form you can’t quite understand, but it’s carrying on relentlessly, like a beehive, moving backward through the constellations at first approach.
Feb 23, 2025
Feb 23, 2025 at 2:06 PM UTC
with fangs prepared
we wait
by stepping out cavern of blue thoughts
and into
night sky
lit by glow of stick-end
night sky
carried on the back of an ant
night sky
begs remorse's end
night sky
brings out unsuspecting fools
to dither aimless
to seek nocturnal sweets
yet hunger dangles in ropy clots
undissolved
only to find acrid wind.
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC
what is more gentle,
than this pillow of the light?
a life narrowing,
in a bright feather dance
that sweeps across the sea
or covers our faces in shadows.
where do you go when you leave me?
now I am nocturnal,
a bliss bandit,
cooing at stars
one thousand miles high.
shaking like a tea kettle,
I am the black *** black,
shaking,
shivering.
Swallowing pieces of your light,
in the back-room jungle where I sew,
tears to the bottoms of my eyes,
where no one ever goes.
I know days,
hours,
one minute
where I gambled time
and stood behind you
with my fingers
on your shoulders
and my mouth on your neck.
What it takes to be apart,
split in half,
shucked from birth;
it takes every thing I
ever owned,
every note I ever sang,
each breath that I will make-
some thought I stand up on,
my knees quivering below me.
five kinds of drugs
just to see straight, to hold
my hands steady or
sleep at night.
your lavender flavor
is still in me.
you in me.
one.
two.
soaking in this forgotten city,
Earth's heroes drifting away.
I could never eat again, or
cast a spell, or touch the same.
while burning I may never
stand
on these same two feet again.
four years,
a photograph.
one voice,
softening into my skin,
that I never may forget.
that this beard is of
an old man, should I never
count again
blessings or songs.
I dive into the flame
and study this journey backwards.
so I should never forget,
everything so serious
as this
as you, in me.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 6:58 PM UTC
there's melancholy in the nighttime that's very appealing
as a nocturnal owl, i find great comfort in the dark
so peaceful and silent like everything is put on mute
it makes you feel infinite, unrestrained
one of the few good feelings in life
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 8:23 PM UTC
I’d worked late the previous night,
programing applications.
When the alarm went off at four A.M.
I hit snooze- no hesitation.
Eventually my feet found floor,
I stumbled to the shower.
A routine usually done in ten
took me a half an hour.
I was running up the platform steps
but my train just left the station.
Great, I will be late for sure,
I thought, in consternation.
At least the day was perfect,
Warm and clear, no threat of rain.
I fished and found my ticket
and took the next westbound train.
The ”E” was fairly crowded
When I boarded it at Penn
I’d missed the first and I was glad
Another quickly came.
Beneath the streets of Gotham
The subway lurched downtown.
Above all hell was breaking loose
as two large planes were down.
I climbed the stairs up to the street
And entered the inferno
The sky now black from billowing smoke
Bright day turning nocturnal.
A Seven thirty Seven’s wheel-
I heard a woman screaming
I saw a body at my feet
Were we at war or was I dreaming?
I stared up at my window-
where I worked the night before.
Where flames and smoke leapt to the sky-
where my co workers were no more.
They’re jumping, someone shouted
I saw black specks launch from on high.
Better to die upon the street
Than to suffocate or fry.
I turn and ran, I am ashamed.
No Hero’s tale to tell.
I was a safe way away
when the first tower fell.
Had I not hit the button
or dawdled in the shower.
Had I caught my usual train
I’d be dead in the tower.
This is my shame and burden
To live when others died.
Preserved by fate and circumstance
From terror from the sky.
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 11:04 PM UTC
Despite the frustration flaunting his bedspread
I despise the energy it takes to proof bread
“an hour at least”
No
I’m quite nocturnal
I stay awake with the moon, owls, and turtles
Who play cards in their shells
Subconscious betting
As we ante up because
Every son is setting, out
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 9:03 PM UTC
skies darker than midnight
eyes wider than owl
freshened grasses beneath us
splattered stars above us
let's gaze up
help them find their way to each other
link those twinkles into constellations
our fingers intertwined
as thoughts wander about
green pupils unseen
we're no longer nocturnal
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 3:01 PM UTC
The black horse of nocturnal dreams
That of which the cursed angels sing
The black horse
Of man's design
The black horse of untold times
Braided mane fiery long and flowing
Riding into the darkness all knowing
I am that which feeds the demons fear
Hidden in a blind man's tears
The black horse of lost tomorrows
The ghosts of suffering and sorrow
Thundering hooves of the written word
The sound of blood trumpets can be heard
Bringer of nocturnal dreams
That of which the dark angels sing.
The black horse with deep earth eyes
Vicious wind of the people cries
The black horse of lost tomorrows
The ghosts of suffering and sorrow
The listener of your agonized screams
The bearer of your darkest dreams
@ Copyright Tammy M Darby 3/6/2016
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 5:29 PM UTC
. . . there's a path that could not have been
can't be but shall be seen by wise eyes
all seeing all knowing belonging to you
yet not you in some form sideways 360
nonexistence up safe in a tree perched
on the brink a vast ethereal forest
nocturnal wide-eyed visionary
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 3:37 AM UTC