"shoos" poems
My Insomnia is a ****
He keeps me up at night and keeps the end of my bed warm.
When the sun sets and the moon comes up, I should be dreaming of soft things or wacky situations that could never happen.
But instead, I'm trapped here, with my Insomnia at the foot of my bed, keeping me on my phone.
My Insomnia is a patient man.
I've tried, believe me, to ignore him. I've laid for hours in my bed, wrapped up in blankets.
I've counted thousands of sheep, let them hop to and fro from my bed to the door.
But he shoos them away when they get to close.
My Insomnia is a jealous man.
He doesn't like Sleep and her warm and gentle touches. He favors his cold and sharp hands.
He doesn't let her take me until he's had me to the sunrise, where I should be waking now instead of sleeping.
He keeps me until my eyes are stinging and I'm all but begging to be released. He let's go only because he'll return at the end of the day when the sun sets and the moon rises.
My Insomnia keeps me in a prison.
I can't see the night progress through the blanket I've hung up on my window, as a makeshift curtain to keep the sun out of my eyes as I sleep the day away.
The night pities me and the day yearns for me. My friends wait for me and my sisters lose patience as I miss out on plans. My grandma worries for me, and pulls me from the gentle embrace of sleep.
My Insomnia is a cruel man.
He keeps me chained to my phone and my computer, to the horrors of my mind as I only seek relief through sleep.
The chains used to cut when I was eleven and so exhausted and so confused when he had first graced the end of my bed.
But now, when I'm edging into eighteen, I'm only tired and defeated. I can only let him run his course, and wait for school to arrive so I can imprison him with sugar-coated pills bought over the counter.
My Insomnia is an *******
For even as I drift off in the warm arms of Sleep, I can see him drifting above my bed.
He whispers promises to return at the end of the day, to which he always does, to torment and keeps me awake until my eyes burn.
To keep me awake until I regret everything and burn in memories that resurface when the sun has gone away, and Sleep can't protect me.
My Insomnia has an iron grip on me, that not even Sleep can break as I rest in her golden arms and breathe in her strawberry hair.
My Insomnia is a spoiled man.
And he always gets what he wants.
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 4:58 PM UTC
I
Side street in a yellow town,
Nothing happens but a heavy breathing man.
Careful steps to Linda Linda’s home,
This day, thinks he, is a barn owl’s song-
*Something else moves the wind chime,
Something else shoos the leaves.
Linda Linda* if you will.
Did you lock your keys in the car again?
I walked.
Just be quiet.
I willed.
But dust covers furniture as love eclipses better love
When wetted too much down where divers don’t dare,
Dropped. Left in mud.
Linda Linda did and dared.
II
Whale 1 one looked at Whale 2 and sighed, swimming off.
III
Owl,
You *******
Where love is once now love is mud,
Look what these doctors have dared and done.
Whales,
You kindly kindred floated friends,
You saw her last
Sinking moment
*And you’ll see my last eye cried dry,
Something else moves the yellow tide.*
And ******* You,
Smile crying, drowning and fat now,
It was probably
Just as beautiful as you wanted.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 6:36 PM UTC
There's a fae
Who lives in a fern.
Her wings so little,
Her feet so kittle.
She was a tease,
But certainly not the least.
She flits through the grass,
With a skimpy dress of brass.
She hides in the shrub,
And offers a defiant shrug.
Her whistles beckons to the birds,
Even the goblins dare leave their beds.
Her step on petals are of light springs,
Even with hair tied in ribbon strings.
Mischievous little thing she was
Other wary faes ought to pause.
So carefree she treads,
Even mama could not knot her in a thread.
Most often, mama warns and shoos
Always, she'd never heed but coos.
One moon-ful night,
When she forgot her plight,
Into the sky, unwarily she soars,
And ends up torn in the bellies of owls.
With all her strenght did she beat
But the night birds had had their bits!
A mournful dirge for a fae no bigger than a wasp,
But who ends up dying with a gasp!
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 6:34 PM UTC
My name is Janey and I am four
I like coloring books and playing hopscotch
and today i learned a word called "war"
Mommy says that's where you're going
"He's a super hero, Janey
he'll come back stronger than before"
and she hugged me a little too tight
I laugh "Let go of me!" She laughs.
But she's looking at the floor.
My name is Janey and I am six
I like dancing and drawing pictures
Mommy misses you a whole lot, I see it
Every morning when she wakes up sad,
until she brews her dark brown drink
and then i have my mommy back
"When will he be home, do you think?"
She shoos me away and says "Just a little
while more,Janey dear" so i offer my pinky,
I want her to promise me
Our fingers lock
But she looks unsure.
My name is Janey and I am eight
i like playing in the lake and reading books
i don't know much, but I know one thing,
that you're not here
And you're not coming back
Things have changed a whole lot
I still talk to mommy while
she drinks her happy drink, it's not brown though
It's clear
And i don't ask about you anymore.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 9:50 PM UTC
i spend the afternoon, gently
weaving a conversation
about myself into
the hands of my mother
who shoos me away, leaving,
going, turning away after
i ask her,
"how would you react
if i were gay?"
and i am gay
and well, there could have been
worse outcomes, an aftermath
that could have broken me
further
but the silence
was deafening
and i could not cover my ears
but my mouth was zipped
shut, no words; and my mom
threw away the key
we let the night
pass by like a ghost
and the next day, the sun
was rebirthed; my mom
slips me the key
to my mouth
and i unzip it
but it continues
to be silent
with my voice kept unheard
Jun 29, 2020
Jun 29, 2020 at 9:31 PM UTC
They all look at me and believe I'm innocent
Yes, I don't do drugs or drink
Yes, I don't smoke cigarettes
I'm tired of feeling like a teachers pet
I'm tired of feeling like a goody too-shoos
I'm tired of feeling like a plain Jane
I'm not perfect
I'm not innocent
I'm not a ******
I crave him constantly
I want him more than anything
I crave being touched
I want to be kissed
I'm not the christian girl I used to be
I don't believe in "God"
I want to be perceived differently
I want to be seen for who I am
I want to be seen as an adult
I'm no child
I'm a women and a strong one at that
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
the backyard lawn freshly cut
provides vivid perfected image of summer
half in shadow of the rubber tree
half in unyielding sunlight
i feel at peace drinking this scene in
i feel the strength of possible futures
i feel the beautified past
summer my old friend
summer my home
barefoot reluctance in the shallow pool
splash her sunning
she gives mock angers and throws a grape at me
this grape of wrath falls to sandy ground
to lay sweating in the sun
forgotten fruits of our laughter's and joys
seeds for tomorrows we will always dream of
and dreams planted in stealth of night
growing to smiles we share today
summer our silent companion
summer our dear home
her voice as she talks is echoed by birdsong
she blends into the days beauty
she is the days beauty
i kiss her while she talks on the phone
she shoos me away
then grabs me and pulls me back in again
and bites my lip tenderly
summer my friend
summer my home
laughter and joys can be seen
in the fluttering's of birds
in the plane climbing into clouds high above
in the insect crawling with intents to the
spent remains of my breakfast
summer is full of life
summer is my home
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
The day was long and greedily waited,
in near unspoken secret - like a thing
delightfully and enchantingly wicked.
We are reunited - simpatico - my love, lover and I.
We ravish each other and lavish each other
with flattery, endearments and entire pleasure.
We live sweet centuries in those tight hours.
Happiness changes the tenor of things.
Rains of feeling combine in torrents,
like the tinkling notes of a harp make symphony.
Our minutest nerves are instruments of joy.
Mornings start with exquisite excitement and
the dense reel and stagger of intoxication -
because we’re drunk with the fullness of life.
Leaves on trees called chestnut, linden and hazel, stir
gently in the breeze - those faint shoos and rustles, times
nature’s fractal design - blare, in effect, like terrific trumpets.
At night, as we walk together under cooling summer skies,
the stars in the far-flung firmaments, seem to huddle together
and whisper, like sisters, of life and the mysteries of earthy love.
We are the dust of those constellations - are we but spies?
.
.
Songs for this:
Thank You My Angel by Over the Rhine
Perfect Day by Povo
Goodbye Sunday by Everything But the Girl
Aug 31, 2025
Aug 31, 2025 at 12:52 PM UTC
They say she sleeps ad infinitum
Eternal recurrence burns my furnace
Warm my bedded head
In her sleep she swoons and croons
Cockatoo flown past what I'd grasp for
Can't catch that flack slack back snapped crack
My pursed lips perched like a mourning dove
Shoos yew canoes past blue pools and coos
"No new news"
In this hallway I walk through it
Acknowledge and be with me here
Not there at the end
She begs for company
An affirmation of the sufficient subsets,
Experienced in essence through forms
She can't sleep
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
the wind
is willing me to the ground
and the sun
scrutinizing
squinting down in criticism
while i squint up in fright
and shame
but of what
plants curl
up
every which way to the sun
while my growth
is stunted
nothing is mine
i am not worthy
to see the sky
it is not mine to see
the wind
does not want me to stand
the sun
does not want me to stay
go
it tells me
you are not wanted
you are not worthy
these things
are not yours
go find something that is yours
it tells me
it shouts
and whispers
and pushes
and wills
me to move
away from the wind
away from the sun
anywhere but here
go
move
it shoos me
with
upturned noses
closed eyes
and beautiful
dainty hands
you cannot stay
we do not want you
not here
move
but i cannot move
so i hide
in the dark
in a room
from the sun
from the wind
from the light
but
so much beauty
i want to see it
i am drawn to it
but banned from it
i am not allowed
to see
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 6:33 PM UTC
Gears and gears alone can bring the motion that is everyday
Time shoos us forward as we fumble and trip into our subordinate routines
We blunder through space like old records
And discover ourselves in a smaller world every dawn
Disassembled by disapproval we submit to work
And our neighbors build their humble steads alongside us
Are days here for us or for others?
A question for the asking before we shuffle to work
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 2:54 PM UTC
I was asleep outside the church door
when at a quarter to four
I get a boot in the chest
And a loud voice boomed out
"I think it's best
if you leave"
I quite sleepy, replied,
"Is it the bible that lied
Can I not sleep in the heart of my maker?
If not,
Then tell me who is it, that is my creator"?
A silence ensues then he shoos me away
I limp off to the methodist church
where more people lay
on the cold of the stone
chilled to the bone.
I don't blame God for my lot
for I'm in his plan
just a plot on his graph
and you've just got to laugh
when you see it like that.
We are the crossbeam
in the dream of a better day
and you'd better get used to it
you're going to see so much more of it
It's **** and you know it
do something about it or do nothing
and hope that tomorrow will bring
something more than a cold church stone floor
and a boot in the chest
I leave it to you
I'm sure you know best.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 3:41 AM UTC
The boaters who pass by the canal
are friendly and cordial
like good Southerners
I love sitting out on the pier practicing my Japanese
suiei,
oyogu,
mizu,
and they paddle lazily by
hardly making noise
wave
smile
good evening, Miss
The wind from the ocean
shoos away the the mosquitoes
I almost feel bad
people from these parts are so sweet
I'd don't quite fit in
but they don't mind it
No one lives here
All the homes are rented
there's a silent understanding
that we are all vacationers.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 12:50 PM UTC
I have nothing but love for a blue sky
and how its glory opens up my mind.
How it shoos away grey thoughts
of color neutral, sleeping forests.
Oh blue sky.
If I had wings
I'd make you mine.
You'd be my canvas
and my feathers,
your delicate brushes.
Oh bright blue sky
If only I had time
to sit under you
and admire your clouds.
You wear them so well.
Instead in a monotone,
desaturated schedule
I march onward.
Only able to admire
for passing moments
inbetween places and times.
Blanketed by your sunlight.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
A smile is the sun
emerging from grey cloud,
the aroma of baked bun,
that wafts through street 'n crowd,
as splendid as tawny fox,
lounging lazy, loud 'n proud,
as sky of equinox
after rain of stormy cloud,
as the cool wind on the rocks
of cliff 'fore climber's truckle,
as the scent of perfum'd phlox,
of sweet Jasmine 'n Honeysuckle,
so why let a black mood
chouse you out of the day
when a small smile brightens all
and shoos the cobwebs away,
a person is as person does,
it's not the thoughts that make us,
it's what we choose to make us buzz
that can build or break us.
May 24, 2021
May 24, 2021 at 5:02 AM UTC
Have you tasted the
azure kisses of my
beloved
and rested your head
on His bonny blue *****
Sweetness of
His divine presence
shoos away
the dark carrion
embrace of death
a distant memory now
cawing, swooping
shadows of a dream
we once walked alone
and confounded
O how my heart jubilant leaps
for every living being
who hastens to His waiting arms
and wastes not a moment on
anything less than
God’s immortal Love
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 12:54 AM UTC
Littered with gravel —
a path diminished.
A draft depriving
my nature as such.
Barked giants shadowing,
luring out doubt.
No difference distinct since
I never look up.
But lo, a lark,
staring back at me.
Any bid to steal glances
were met by peeps.
We amused and laughed,
flattered in bursts.
If this is truly a trick, then
God deserves my curse.
Her hair sweeps the gravel.
Her voice shoos the shadows.
Her light dries my eyes
along with the puddle
in which she resides.
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 5:49 PM UTC
After school
I walk with Helen
to her place
and she shows me
Bettered Betty
(her doll)
she'd said
that morning
that her Betty
was unwell
and had a cold
and her mother
had kept it in
the warm kitchen
sitting by the stove
see she's still there
Helen says
her mother is busy
with a copper load
of washing
the steam rising up
be careful
her mother says
don't want you
getting scalded
so she passes
Betty to her daughter
and shoos her away
and we go in
the sitting room
and sit down
with her holding the doll
see she's better
Helen says
holding her
out to me
feel her head
it's warmer now
she says
I touch the doll's head
yes it is
I say
putting fingers
to the doll's forehead
the doll's good eye
stares sat me coldly
ok now come
to my flat
and I can show you
the gun
my old man
bought me
from this cheap shop
before tea?
Helen asks
sure we have time
I say
best ask Mum first
she says
and goes off
and I look around
her sitting room
there's a small TV set
on a cabinet
a brown sofa
two armchairs
and a table
and four chairs
by the window
which lets in light
onto the cruet set
and HP sauce bottle
Helen's kid brother
is on the sofa sleeping
wrapped in
a blue blanket
I can go now
Helens says
returning with her doll
tucked under arm
ok
I say
looking at Helen's
thick lens glasses
and her large eyes
peering at me
like some owl
Mum says
we can go
but must go now
before tea
so we walk
out and off
and she pats
Betty's back
which makes her
(pretending)
cough.
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 2:25 AM UTC
Bolan sings Dylan,
Dayan's on the Golan
the radio's howling
"Caroline"
Back in a time back to front
where the future we hunt
shoos us away.
McGuire's in the evening
bleeding,
the Magic Dragon's on the run
Summer in the City is like
Summer in the Sun
only colder.
what now?
Telegram Sam with electronic spam?
Still busy reading the instructions
destruction's a hard thing
to master.
but I'll get to the burn out
worn out
and turn up in top hat
and tails.
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 4:58 AM UTC
What happened to the nights of preying upon the chances of what could I have said, what songs could I have told you to play on the stereo, what books could I have told you to read — the nights I tried so hard to save and keep and ripped away from the moribund seconds that lives in the far end of the intersection between two tangent lines?
Nights that had been like a Christmas present wrapped in your voice that floats from across the other side, a smile breaks wide upon hearing it—almost meets my receding hairline.
I think maybe the cherubs have carried me to your feet, to fill an empty ribcage with butterflies and moths and all the decaying caverns in my flesh because in my prayers, they altogether weeped.
And in these nights that were strewn from the strings of fate – crafted only for me – I think I hear my angels singing and crying and dancing
Oh, this must be it. This must be it. Maybe.
This have got me feeling. So maybe.
Here with me, you are the hero that shoos away the phantoms that were born out of my skull. There with you, I am the ballad that makes you dream as you sleep with your lights and stereo on with the music I insist you play.
Here with me, a memory of the static, of the silence that embraced two people. Nothing but a buzz that you could make a song out of, a strange delight that warps and ties a knot to my chest. Now that I think about it, even if you don't talk, it pays every word I ever heard.
I wish you sweet dreams now from the other side of the world.
I wish you sweet dreams for the nights that brought you down. I wish you a calm heart when the thunder roars and a field of lavender for when you feel worn out because you have been the magic that puts me to sleep, at ease, when all the nights have turned out like rough seas.
Aug 11, 2019
Aug 11, 2019 at 8:53 AM UTC