"sleepwalkers" poems
~
*Lipstick to void. She is a race against time. The beveled past a disruption in her lines of influence.
Travel is dangerous, and tonight it darkens the highway of blood vessels coursing through her extremities. She wants to be luminous and under the skin.
While Dorothy dreams of tornadoes in Kansas, she dreams of remote climbs in lesser Glasgow, of party drugs in Tokyo. How many lights does she see?
In her hair are sixty circuits. But she waits, religiously inclined on the hotel bed. She drove through ghosts to get here wearing nothing but Las Vegas.
So strange at this hour, in a city full of sleepwalkers for the taking, she now dreams she's a bulldozer, she now dreams she's alone in an empty field.*
~
Dec 26, 2022
Dec 26, 2022 at 4:36 PM UTC
Over excessive society,
Underdeveloped minds.
Grouped groups, linked
Produced in modes, suffocating
In their consciousness. Fear
Of the self righteous, The many
Determine the one.
Social disorder
Conjured
By a thought, felt by all.
I have seen chivalry beaten and left
For dead, “sleepwalkers” corrupting
Youths, scared to look back, a time of
Deadbeat parents and lost
Souls. I know more than I care to admit.
This world that beckons,
Euthanasia.
Jul 17, 2011
Jul 17, 2011 at 2:00 PM UTC
LET'S RAISE A TOAST
TO THE HERO OF ZEROS.
THE NOMINAL PHENOM.
THE LEGENDARY LOSER!
LAY WREATHS AT THE FEET
OF THE SLACKER KING,
AND ASK FOR NOTHING,
WHICH IS ALL HE CAN GIVE YOU.
NO SONG OR DANCE
OR MINIMAL EFFORT.
JUST AND ONLY
ABJECT FAILURE,
TO SPREAD LIKE BUTTER
OVER AN ARMY OF SLEEPWALKERS,
WHO TRUDGE THROUGH THE NIGHT
TO GET NOTHING DONE.
SAY A WORD FOR THE MAN
WITH TOO MUCH TIME ON HIS HANDS.
WHO ISN'T WORKING ON ANYTHING
SO THAT WE CAN HAVE EVERYTHING.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC
Dreamers, sleepwalkers,
in a land of shadows and chimeras,
Buddhas, who seek the Buddha,
yearners, strugglers, dying persons.
Still with the last breath
hovered around from mists,
through the woods the morning star shines,
the red blood flows out of the heart,
that there beats and will beating eternally.
Dreamers, sleepwalkers,
sparks of light from nowhere,
like lightnings flashing through the universe,
again go out in the nowhere,
which lays its blackness comforting and motherly
yet at the last sigh around us.
Life, which, forgetting itself,
sees itself in the empty mirror
and doesn’t know, that the mirror
is in every fiber of its being
- not here or there
and beyond the great gate of the here,
through which it becomes itself
on the middle of the threshold a gateless gate.
Dreamers, sleepwalkers,
- A thunderclap!
A fall from heaven to earth!
A cry from earth to heaven!
An inconceivable moment of glory!
And only peace – unpronounceable holy…
© Barbara-Paraprem, 2014
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
The whispers of a thousand ladybugs
Caught in a strand of sunbeam
Became slurred
One more White Russian
Sloshed down and stirred
In the belly of that brilliant star
Gave birth to sweet summer
The seventh month, day five
Seemed silent in comparison to the night before
Where blasts became a long drone
And drowned out that roaring train
Which would (on any other night)
Rattle the blinds of this small home
We see that it is soon to be emptied
And even more quickly, after,
To be full once more
We are at the crossroads
Of interspace and matter
But those thousand tiny wings
Kick up dust off our old albums and memory boxes
And leave them hanging there
Suspended in threads of light
Such big eyes we have
All the better to dream with
Sleepwalkers, forevermore
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC
Allowing the energy that
Pulses through the universe
To flow
Without effort
And allow its messages of love to be
Captured by your receptors like a radio
So that
You can transmit the love further
Compile and compress into language
The love that speaks
So queer without words
So that you can whisper them into the sleepwalkers ears
And hopefully rouse them gently
Like removing the blindfold
And releasing the music from mute
Open up the senses, both physical and intuitive
By turning down the restless mind
Mute the channel of thought so that
You can introduce harmonic resonances into the framework
Mixing and blending samples of love tones
Helping others get in touch with the rhythms
And beats of the divine
And by helping then get in touch
You can turn on channels within them
That they have yet to discover
Channels that are programmed within us
For that exact purpose
For us to unlock the dams that
Prevent the flow of love frequencies
To electrify us
And dissolve isolation
-Chaotic Melodic
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
Ima Warrior Angel
With an Golden Halo
Just call me Halo
I am Independent won't sign to any Label
I rap cause I say so
All these Lamos
Really Lambos
Thats why we dont Tango
I shine at every Angle
These devils in game mode
They using cheat codes
But this a free throw
Cause im a Neo
Veto
Faneto
Fusion into Vegito
Chicago turned me into Gogeta
Now i start rappin like Freiza
Im Cooler an i spit Ether
Put ya raps in the freezer
Cause you not Hot Or Cold you are not Either
Told you i was a Dreamer
You Sleepwalkers
I put in a Sleeper
Im the Son of Sabrina
Thats the one son of Katrina
My mind on fire i got a Fever
An student that turned into a Teacher
Now i am a Preacher
Take you students to FEMA
Up in my class to be a believer
Seeked God first as a Seeker
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 7:26 PM UTC
With you, I gladly
dance the sleepwalkers' waltz, yet
still, while on my way
to descend, picking
up the thread by following
Ariadne's line,
like vigilant ones,
I would rather desire to
be on the watch by your side.
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 2:52 PM UTC
What are you supposed to do when you return to a ghost town?
Do you walk among the dead, pretending to belong,
breathing from a straw as you watch the shallow water rush over your senses:
filling your ears with the same white noise you tried so hard to run away from,
bombarding your mouth and consuming the space your voice would perch before it decided to fly,
making your gaze so blurred you're never sure exactly how shallow you've become or how far you've sunk,
wrinkling your fingerprints and numbing everything but the constant rushing of a thin layer of blue silk,
you cling to the memory of the tulips you paused to smell as it's replaced with the eerie aroma of copper…
but that straw, those frantic shallow breaths, is all that keeps you from floating along the stream of sleepwalkers that litter this town.
This valley is a cage and every tunnel you see makes your heart whisper
"You're almost there."
In a city where nothing stretches for the ever-clear postcard sky
except the fumes of the local factory,
the people crawl between city blocks whose red lights
cast a net crafted for salmons at narcissistic sardines.
The suburbs are quiet on school nights, at weekend's dusk, in holiday's dawn.
Teenagers who have lost interest in the quiet are up late either coughing up ****** or SAT scores,
all searching for a heartbeat they forgot how to feel,
straws protruding from their lips like unlit cigarettes.
Their eyes are cloudy, pupils expanded, the whites bulging with pulsing red rivers, delving deep into a landscape the world forgot.
They shuffle next to you, faces purple from the lack of oxygen, but they'll never say so because
haven't you heard?
the walking dead tend to eat the living.
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 11:50 PM UTC
DIARY OF A REBEL OUTLAW.
Today our world has been taken by the worst of humanity,
Infected by an incurable insentient of lusting man,
Those of us left are on the run of nonconformity,
hunted down to worship the material plan,
The infected are reduced to sleepwalkers with nightmares of ruin,
Puppets for the faceless that can crush worlds in the palm of their hand,
This threat destroys more than the free thinking human being,
This threat decimates the hope of our children’s children’s homeland,
My god if there is hope, hope there is god,
Hope he comes to where we stand,
Hope she leads us back from the edge of obliteration,
Hope he cuts the chains that bind our ****** hands,
Hope she drives us forward to the gates of revolution.
Hope he forgives our crimes against fellow man.
I am Jimmy.
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 6:48 AM UTC
The American Dream does
not work for insomniacs but
sleepwalkers who endeavour
to escape the nightmare are
often also known bed wetters,
premature ejaculators or rapid
eye movers even in a woke state.
Aug 28, 2020
Aug 28, 2020 at 1:37 PM UTC
Let down the draw bridge
Cast your lots
Draw straws
Pick an alias
Then go off topic with the sleepwalkers you had a falling out with
See the check and balances that pale in comparison to The Mighty Hill of Beans
The people in the two square mile town must have something going for them
They can all recite and summarize their code of conduct
"We must exercises proper window seat etiquette, understand that names make it harder to slaughter, use our home field advantages when given and turn phrases where needed."
They all either have over bites or under bites
But all have clubbed feet and hold a roll of film under their arms
The film shows how their predecessors leveled the playing field
As their enemies stood stammering as their armies we're vanquished under The Mighty Hill of Beans
Mayor Moniker went on yammering, buying his own ********
As all the people who puberty hit like train give him a standing ovation on their once battered battle field under The Mighty Hill of Beans
I guess it's something in the water there
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
wandering in a drugless daze
among wafting dreams and empty speech bubbles
a soft acoustic plays against white walls
as we search for some sort of meaning in blank canvases
we're drowning in nothing.
we're drowning in uncertain futures
and teetering on tight ropes whilst looking down.
and yet we wake up the next day and brush aside
the colors we mixed too much on our palette
as well as the ones we don't dare to touch.
hello sleepwalkers,
dropping dead one by one from buildings
dreams of growing wings splattered on the asphalt.
hello sleepwalkers,
pressed for answers
and squeezed in between questions.
hello sleepwalkers,
the children of yesterday, the voices of tomorrow,
the unshakable nausea of ******* up and loneliness
of today.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 6:20 PM UTC
*I couldn't sleep
sleepwalkers talk held me upright
the night I walked away*
His ears are blind
his eyes are numb
the depth of thought erases time
and lime stone drips inside his mind
the mill-stone grinds
but slowly-
and cautiously bright daylight shines
through the curtains of this mind
that was so long definded by silt
and slowly moving elements
and tide-
the flood has come at last:
and vastly confluencing waters
share speed and wit
with this one mind that walked behind me
all this time
and finally
awakens
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
some notions take flight
from the current of time
pinky curled in the dank
soil of my own pigs pen
cells shed and die programmed
by something undeniable
some people were there
on just incident
malnourished sleepwalkers
searching for the seed
grandmothers mothers
wedding veil turns to ashes while
dust accumulates at the tips
of my fingers like
a silent promise.
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 4:54 AM UTC
they voted with their feet
took their ball home and went back to sleep
demoted from the champions league
scored an own goal from a gifted penalty
as unthinkable as that could be
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 12:47 PM UTC
Wastelands and dead houses
Big empty windows
Nothing around the corner
Nothing but dead eyes
Sleepwalkers and their fake smiles
The air is oppressing
The sounds are depressing
Fetters are growing too heavy
Skin is getting too rough
Wind is too strong to keep the light
To protect the spark which lives inside
Though I will grow immune
To all of winds and waves
All diseases of today
Despair is beast I'll **** with blade
And I'll hunt down them pain and hate
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 9:17 AM UTC
Somebody dies and
somebody cries,
we all mourn a loss
now and then.
Amnesia
steers me,
happy thoughts tend
to cheer me but we
all mourn a loss
now and then.
A thousand revolts and
now and then
the memories
jolt me awake, to find
somebody dying
somebody crying,
we all mourn a loss
now and then.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 7:12 AM UTC
The sunset is a warning
of the chaos of night.
When the horizon floods with black ink
and the sleepwalkers emerge
to dance under the stars.
Witches cackle.
Chanting spells at the moon.
And the sky hides the time,
if it even passes at all.
You can sleep
through the fever dream.
But where's the fun
in being afraid
of the dark.
May 30, 2020
May 30, 2020 at 12:40 PM UTC
Those awake
and those asleep
at battle with conflicting dreams
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 9:43 AM UTC
..and the moment went
as the thought tailed off into
a distance which I couldn't see,
but
I saw the sun shaking shadows
to waken the hedgerows
where the blackbirds flew
into the light.
Echoes linger on
long after the real voices
have gone,
as
images ripple in the
flowing of streams
so
shall I flow in these
echoes of dreams.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 6:38 AM UTC