"sleepily" poems
'Twas midnight in the schoolroom
And every desk was shut
When suddenly from the alphabet
Was heard a loud "Tut-Tut!"
Said A to B, "I don't like C;
His manners are a lack.
For all I ever see of C
Is a semi-circular back!"
"I disagree," said D to B,
"I've never found C so.
From where I stand he seems to be
An uncompleted O."
C was vexed, "I'm much perplexed,
You criticise my shape.
I'm made like that, to help spell Cat
And Cow and Cool and Cape."
"He's right" said E; said F, "Whoopee!"
Said G, "'Ip, 'Ip, 'ooray!"
"You're dropping me," roared H to G.
"Don't do it please I pray."
"Out of my way," LL said to K.
"I'll make poor I look ILL."
To stop this stunt J stood in front,
And presto! ILL was JILL.
"U know," said V, "that W
Is twice the age of me.
For as a Roman V is five
I'm half as young as he."
X and Y yawned sleepily,
"Look at the time!" they said.
"Let's all get off to beddy byes."
They did, then "Z-z-z."
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After school hours, sleepily
Looking down from the window sill
A deep rest in spring wind chill
If I close my eyes
To this brilliant world
Reflected scenery dances still
If I blow a low whistle
Towards the blue sky
Walking becomes a little more spry
Turning my music a little bit down
To listen to the lively corner of town
When I look up with slight rejoice
I hear a distant singing voice
Ah~ Ah~ Ah~
Today begins like any other day
Bathed in the sun slowly drifting away
The most pleasing place to reside
Is here right by your side
Dull clouds early afternoon
A sudden shower in the middle of June
Blue sky peeked out when I arose
Colors arc out accross concrete meadows
The bell chimes when I reach
Out through the window and to the beach
Warm breeze blows through the empty hall
When I looked up I heard you call
Ah~ Ah~ Ah~
Let’s rest into the sunshine
Taking breaths in a comfortable rhyme
We may not speak for very long
Though with just that I feel so strong
My quiet heart echoing true
When I’m here with you
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 12:24 PM UTC
The arctic cold has brushed my cheek once again
The skies are stained white
and the ringing in my ears
is louder than ever
I wonder what the clouds are doing, I never see them anymore
The night doesnt come but the sun doesn't shine
I have a silver notebook
I write, spearmint
Because my eyes are watering but I feel nothing
The world is dry while the air is full
And the heavens take their morning pills
Wash their face
Head off sleepily to begrudgingly watch the icy seas
The wind bites my cheeks
But moves in such silence I wonder if the feeling is not just my routine punishment
At least I'm used to my spirits
At least I have a jacket on
At least the heavens didnt take a sick day all together.
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 9:45 AM UTC
Oh sleepless night
What a trick on me you play!
For the reason I cannot sleep
Is because I anticipate the day
We build our day up
To have it elapse at night
But how too often a time I experience
A continuance through the night
Oh how unfair to me you see
For nighttime is a break much overlooked
Because I walk through the day quite sleepily
Which is difficult in a day so overbooked
Sleeping figures
Rejuvenating minds
Your mind is cultivating in peace
While my face is forming lines
Oh how I wish I didn’t get so worked up
I expected this to happen
Which ironically is the reason
My tiredness has been dampened
I lay in bed, ready
Ready to try this out
A pleasant sleep is all I wanted
Without completely passing out
How I get so jealous when
You lay there and drift to rest
While I’m dealing with two polar issues--
Either abruptly collapse into sleep or else from it slowly digress
Oh sleepless night, you tease me so
You fool with me and upset me so
For when thinking of tomorrow I surely know
I’m not going to be as lively as my potential.
It’s like I’m a hobo on Fifth Ave
Looking at the rich not realizing what they have
I get excited over spare change
While you collect your pay checks again and again
So let’s face it, tomorrow I’ll be miserable
And I’ll look forward to when the clock strikes night
But then the hours I have will become considerable
So I’ll lay there restlessly and drift away just before the light.
So I’ll get a taste of what sleeps like
But I’ll never get to experience it right.
Oh you cruel, mean sleepless night!
Where dwells your brother so known as the “Goodnight”?
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
of this wilting wall the colour drub
souring sunbeams,of a foetal fragrance
to rickety unclosed blinds inslants
peregrinate,a cigar-stub
disintegrates,above,underdrawers club
the faintly sweating air with pinkness,
one pale dog behind a slopcaked shrub
painstakingly utters a slippery mess,
a star sleepily,feebly,scratches the sore
of morning. But i am interested more
intricately in the delicate scorn
with which in a putrid window every day
almost leans a lady whose still-born
smile involves the comedy of decay,
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Amsterdam,
Oh Amsterdam.
The lingering bells of a multitude of bicycles.
Clinging to the misty air.
Carefree.
Careless.
Canal flows past.
Upon which dances sunlight.
A bundle of sparkles.
It's early morning in-situation.
The ladies of night, are still sat propped up sleepily.
Looking like they're wide awake.
The coffee shops seem to never quit,they never seem to sleep.
Wake up and smell the coffee.
Delft grinders shaped as windmills turn and grind.
Oh to awaken in fair Amsterdam.
(C) LIVVI
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 11:29 AM UTC
Waking up with sweat
stained sheets wrapped
around me and you are
nowhere to be seen as
you believe being mean
is keeping the lads keen.
Your leather jacket is
still here hanging on the
hook by the front door
and he wonders why
she didn’t want more.
He loved her laugh last
night as they drunkenly
tried to walk right home
after finishing a few gin
and tonics between them
that made his head spin
and her think that she
would forever win at sin.
Her long blonde hair
had flown out behind her
and it reminded him of
fresh sunflowers because
that was the colour of her
beauty and he prayed the
rest of the night would not
be another careless blur.
The radiance within her
shone so bright that he
didn’t even turn on the
kitchen light as he let
them both inside as the
liquor made their shyness
want to shrivel up and hide.
But in the next morning,
there was no hungover girl
mumbling sleepily and
yawning because instead
there was only her leather
jacket and the faint smell
of sweet perfume left on
his pillow as he tried to
visualize that beautifully
bright sunny yellow that
made his throat dry and
gave him a sickening urge
to cry because he didn’t
want this feeling to die.
He wondered if she would
call because it really hadn’t
taken him long to fall for her
long limbs and the way she
had dark humour that stung
him like a cheap rumour and
so he slept on the sofa that
day with the aching bones
of a man who lives alone
but with a leather jacket
wrapped around his arm
because he wanted to see
her again and see if she
maybe felt the same but
he knew deep down it
was a Friday night love
and the weekend would
soon fade away because
she was never destined to
stay yet he hung her jacket
in the closet for years to
come and tried again to
find the perfect one but
he’d let her slip between
his fingers yet the smell
of her sweet perfume still
lingered for Friday nights
to come and he missed the
colour of the sun that shone
in her hair and the bright
eyes that that craved fear.
She’d been his Friday night
coffee and cream that would
never return no matter how
much he stroked the seams
of her faded leather jacket.
Sunflower girl was now
gone with the wind and
soon he could no longer
recall her voice and the
paleness of her soft skin.
It was like she had never
met him in the first place
but oh god how he loved
her beautiful hair and knew
she had once been there in
his arms even if it had only
been for one Friday night.
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 4:37 PM UTC
Oh yes I fully understand
The sounds of this world are good and bad
Good and bad
Good and bad
Nothing like the sound of a good rhyme
A chime
A dime
The sound of a kiss
THE LOUDER THE BETTER I ALWAYS SAY
The sound of a forest
Sleepily
The branches scrape and scratch
Ratta tat tatting on the window
I love to hear the ones I love
Say I love you too
But bad sounds are just as bad
A breaking bottle of good *****
A child crying in a store
A branch
Ratta tat tatting on my window at night
A car crash
A crying girl
Or your parents fighting
CRACK BANG SLASH KURRANG BOOM RING A DING DING
So I guess to put it all into a rhyming couplet
If a sound is bad I hates it
If it’s good I loves it
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 1:21 AM UTC
the problem with dorm rooms
is that there are hundreds of
people
se p ar at ed
by paper-thin
walls
never interacting
only existing simultaneously
(which, is a cosmic interaction if you think about it.)
sometimes I lay in my bed
face against a cold paper wall
and I
think: what are these other people doing?
in this awkward layout of beds and desks
in the earlylate hours of the nightday
are some
sleeping frantically working
drunk in their beds laying frustratingly awake
awkwardly masturbating awkwardly ignoring the awkward ************
having cramped sex sleeping in the lounge to avoid said *** being had
crying and homesick consoling a homesick friend
too high to sleep too exhausted to be awake
or are some just as awake as I, wondering sleepily, what I am doing on the other side of the wall?
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 5:00 PM UTC
(Rock Lake, Canada)
In this country there is neither measure nor balance
To redress the dominance of rocks and woods,
The passage, say, of these man-shaming clouds.
No gesture of yours or mine could catch their attention,
No word make them carry water or fire the kindling
Like local trolls in the spell of a superior being.
Well, one wearies of the Public Gardens: one wants a vacation
Where trees and clouds and animals pay no notice;
Away from the labeled elms, the tame tea-roses.
It took three days driving north to find a cloud
The polite skies over Boston couldn't possibly accommodate.
Here on the last frontier of the big, brash spirit
The horizons are too far off to be chummy as uncles;
The colors assert themselves with a sort of vengeance.
Each day concludes in a huge splurge of vermilions
And night arrives in one gigantic step.
It is comfortable, for a change, to mean so little.
These rocks offer no purchase to herbage or people:
They are conceiving a dynasty of perfect cold.
In a month we'll wonder what plates and forks are for.
I lean to you, numb as a fossil. Tell me I'm here.
The Pilgrims and Indians might never have happened.
Planets pulse in the lake like bright amoebas;
The pines blot our voices up in their lightest sighs.
Around our tent the old simplicities sough
Sleepily as Lethe, trying to get in.
We'll wake blank-brained as water in the dawn.
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It's almost 10:30 pm and I am thinking about the woman on the radio
who sang about how she's made of "dirt and stardust"
and, sleepily, I wrote those lyrics on the back of my sketchbook
And about how I wish I had an
accent,
every word drenched with butter
or spices
the flavor of my country
but instead I just have
grease.
As I'm writing this the flashlight's
spot of light
is half-spilling onto my wall,
"Helena Beat" is stuck in my
head, and has to stay there because
I wrote it down.
I know tomorrow I will wake up
with a cramped hand
and remember that I wrote.
look back on it, and think that it is
stupider
than I
thought.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
I hear an opera
Somebody is home upstairs
Let's drown them out with a shower.
Turn the jazz up high
as I
We
Will dance: slowly, sleepily
Naked in the mirror
Until the water gets hot enough
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 10:24 PM UTC
Slumber is sliding slowly away as wakefulness creeps in
Few hours remain before morning breaks, and I feel his arms around me pulling me back to rest
I feel the warmth of his body and the smell of his skin long before my eyes open to meet the day
I can hear his heart beating its soft steady lullaby against my face on his chest
This amazing man, so loving, so gentle, so kind, yet fiercely protective and loyal; a mixture of perfection
This is what I want, I think to myself, as I start trailing my fingers across his chest
He lets out a low growl in his sleep, his body responding to my touch even in its unconscious state
Does he feel my presence with the same strength that I feel his
Does it permeate his resting mind and infiltrate his dreams
His nakedness next to me is so primal and natural, everything about this feels so right
I study his face, the long eyelashes resting on his cheeks, the cut of his jawline, his lips not long removed from my own
I listen to his soft snoring and smile at its familiar cadence, a sound I couldn't imagine being without now
I wonder if he knows; does he know what he is to me
He is air, he is water, he is food, he is sunlight; nourishing my every need
I worry that I am not enough to fulfill all those needs in him, but I will live my life trying
This is what I want, this moment, this peace, laying on his chest, his arms keeping me safe, our bodies lazily intertwined
This is how I want every day of the rest of my life to begin
He starts to stir and his eyes sleepily open taking me in, he pulls me even deeper into his embrace
I melt into him; happy, peaceful, and content in this moment that I never want to end
Yes this is what I want; this man, right now and always
Good morning my love
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 9:58 AM UTC
*High as a kite on a star
I'm not far
From humanity,
Entirely.
Remember me
From what I was
Inside of me.
Of what
Insanity
Carried on
A part of me.
Sleepily memorize temporarily,
Rarity,
Even be
To thee
Thine.*
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
Oh, angel darling,
Protect me from the night sky,
The stars glare on the beauty of the
First full moon.
The sun envies
The softness of the glow,
When bolides crash down
To find the eastern glow.
Where are you now,
Dreaming in the dark?
When you left me it turned off
All the light.
But I don't mind--
I love the feeling this night,
As the moon slips sleepily,
I am left alone.
Alone.
Why can't I get use to that?
Maybe because the stars have their kind,
And the sun has a family--
Why am I like the moon?
The night is colder,
But I don't mind,
Tonight I love the night sky.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
in a cave
off the coast of ecstasy
the greed of one man to another
is the perpetrator of death
from god’s ribcage
grow the gardens of eden
his blood flows through oceans
his fingertips write the
garden of verses
surrounding sleepy children
from god’s bones
marrow fertilized
skin becomes soil
clouds, his imaginary friends
fastened from the foibles of our minds
from forth: his creation
from flower woman is born
sleepily blooming, reaching out her
arms to the sun
as life comes to death
and life
again.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 2:37 AM UTC
"Sit down boy, you're tired and you must sleep"
The voice said to me as I walked the city street
Fuzzy steps taken to a bench I saw over yonder
Sleepily wandering, the streetlights I ponder
Passive disorientation, I'm lost it would seem
Consciousness becomes a trickle, as opposed to a stream
Dragging myself over shards of glass, paralysed and sleeping
A shadow 'neath the moonlight seems to be steadily creeping
Isolated in this park in the darkness on a sigma plateau
Dextromethorphan hallucinations are a spectacular show
I'm indifferent to the stranger, drowsy as he appears
Isolated in the nighttime winds, apathetic to his tears
Uncoordinated my head falling he takes a seat softly
Dissociative disorder makes me seem awfully frosty
Speaking of lands where the populace truly is free
Speaking unintelligible words, indirectly to me
The intrinsic disconnect of this generation scorned
As the sun rises in the sky, glittered clouds adorned
My head lulls lackadaisically, I'm feeling unwell
But my stomach is eased when I think of sweet Maybelle
[Hers is a Nabokovian tale of passion in proto-dystopian wastelands
The first time we kissed, I held her soft head tenderly in my hands
The serenade of rain pitter-patter on the ground, like her feet when she's near
and hearing her name is as cathartic as those old jazz records I hold so dear
But, oh my pretty Belle, your age is a concern to me (and the eyes of the law)
So to forget your sweet face, I pop pills neglectfully, passing out on the floor]
Lifting head slowly from the rough ground dampened
Four years passed and I'm wondering what happened
Fuzzy headed blues, clear my mind with OJ and ******
Walking fast to her house, cannot wait to see her
A rap-tap on the door with thoughts of romantic enumerations
What she said and what I saw defied every one of my expectations
My innocent Belle, with her cheeks rosy red,
looks me in the eyes, and wishes I was dead
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 7:08 AM UTC
"What are you thinking about?"
Eyes drooping sleepily,
Hands slowly traveling up and down.
"I just need to hold you."
Bliss.
Jun 30, 2010
Jun 30, 2010 at 5:32 AM UTC
Gulls in an aery morrice
Gleam and vanish and gleam . . .
The full sea, sleepily basking,
Dreams under skies of dream.
Gulls in an aery morrice
Circle and swoop and close . . .
Fuller and ever fuller
The rose of the morning blows.
Gulls, in an aery morrice
Frolicking, float and fade . . .
O, the way of a bird in the sunshine,
The way of a man with a maid!
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Once I sat,
unaware & unassuming,
on an unaware & unassuming Tuesday
in the far corner of a coffee shop
full of commotion.
I sleepily sauntered
behind the dusty public bookshelves
where if one were to peruse
they may find philosophical gems
- such as Proust or Voltaire.
I sat enveloped in the
warm vanilla air,
clutching at a cup of caffeine
& hoping to gain some
mild morning enlightenment
or gentle mental stimulation.
I tucked myself between
the covers of a bent & well-read book,
content to remain unaware & unassuming
& uninterrupted
as I wandered through its printed prose.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 1:33 AM UTC
Are we nearly there Dad?
Is it very far?
Oh he is going to drive me mad
We had just got in the car
Are we nearly there Dad?
Have we far to go?
Oh God this is bad
We had only gone a mile or so
Are we nearly there Dad?
Is it far away?
Why don’t you take out your i-pad
There must be games you can play
Are we nearly there Dad?
I really have to ***
I know this is sad
I think he’s doing this deliberately
Are we nearly there Dad?
Is it much further?
I’m losing what patience I had
I will be done for ******
Are we nearly there Dad?
This is taking a long time
Please, please stop asking lad
Before I commit an awful crime
Are we nearly there Dad?
This is not much fun
You are getting on my nerves a tad
Please give it over Son
Are we nearly there Dad?
I am feeling very sick
Just one more problem to add
I am at the end of my wick
Are we nearly there Dad?
I am really bored
I hope this is just a fad
He might stop if he’s ignored
Are we nearly there Dad?
He asked rather sleepily
If he sleeps I will be glad
I thought, rather guiltily
Are we nearly there Dadeeee?
He started to whine
Why must he keep on and on at me
I really feel like crying
Are we nearly there Dad?
I said yes, five minutes more
It was a white lie, what a cad
But at last, I heard him snore.
Are we nearly there Dad?
I said "yes son, eventually"
“I just want to go home Dad!!”
he began screaming incessantly
Are we nearly there Dad?
Louder and louder he screams
It’s been years since those trips we had
But I still hear him in my dreams!
Are we nearly there Grandad?
my grandchildren ask me now
these days I don't find it too bad
I've gotten used to it somehow!
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC
SAD VALENTINES FOR BREAKFAST
Oh my how red **** struts(thinks he's a sultan)
striding in and out among his harem-scarum hens
talking to themselves
like some lost senile sentimental souls.
Foolish fowl!
They lay eggs for gentlemen
and kids on long hot summer holidays
they hide their eggs like broken hearts
like old love letter secrets
safe in unseen places.
But see Auntie Nellie willy-nilly as a fox
stalk the chickens and expose them
cruel as the NEWS OF THE WORLD.
See her raid the haystacks
(backseat of the old car)
rain rusting machinery
her apron pregnant and precious with
the warm and brown gift of eggs.
Red **** crows loud against the morning marigolds
while children's voices babble sleepily into wide awakefulness
love letter secrets staining their lips
sad valentines for breakfast.
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 3:37 PM UTC
I want you.
I want to snuggle between your arms and your chest, wrap my legs up with yours and feel you breathe.
I want to nuzzle into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder and feel your warmth against my skin.
I want you to kiss me and rub my hair softly like you do sometimes.
I want to mumble sleepily into you and somehow you understand.
I want to laugh and goof off together and curl up under blankets and feel safe and warm in your arms.
I want to lie a little bit away and watch your expressions and play with your hair.
I want to stroke the soft skin on your cheek and neck and kiss you.
I want to say I love you a thousand times and once more for luck.
I want to slip my hands under your shirt and press them against your back to pull myself towards you and nuzzle into you and breathe you in.
I want to press close and confuse your heart beat and the motion of your lungs.
Mostly as long as I'm close to you, I feel safe.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
when I was sixteen
Grace and I smoked
some cigarettes on her drive way
on a summer afternoon
my first breath
a rush of nicotine
made me dizzy to childhood
we drove and listened
to Christian music
briefly sweating
while we swore and smoked
Allison and I loved
winter cigarettes
bland coffee and cold grass
beneath our bodies
warm sun lay sleepily across our backs
school left behind mid-way
with contented smiles
Aaron did not have a car
i drove the two of us
through foreign neighborhoods
after school with mix cd’s
short-lived and
always spraying sweet perfume
deep cologne
before sitting well-behaved
at the dinner table
enthusiastic about our studies
Next to the river
rushing water
sometimes littered and malodorous
on the highway bridge
in the center between two worlds
rushing past
Jacob and I
had nothing to do
everything to say
the one I lost
grew up without me
hunched on the curb
outside his parents house
with me next to him
older and less destroyed than he
we both inhaled exhaled
without knowing what it meant
i smoke still
those who have gone
stay with me
with each inhale
and swirl of smoke released
against the night canvas
must i let them go
for my poor lungs’ sake?
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 2:59 PM UTC
The first bell is silver,
And breathing darkness I think only of the long scythe of time.
The second bell is crimson,
And I think of a holiday night, with rockets
Furrowing the sky with red, and a soft shatter of stars.
The third bell is saffron and slow,
And I behold a long sunset over the sea
With wall on wall of castled cloud and glittering balustrades.
The fourth bell is color of bronze,
I walk by a frozen lake in the dun light of dusk:
Muffled crackings run in the ice,
Trees creak, birds fly.
The fifth bell is cold clear azure,
Delicately tinged with green:
One golden star hangs melting in it,
And towards this, sleepily, I go.
The sixth bell is as if a pebble
Had been dropped into a deep sea far above me . . .
Rings of sound ebb slowly into the silence.
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