"yawn" poems
*The surf provides lullabies
as ocean echoes roll.
Too soon, the sunlight glitters
as the dawn turns gray to gold.
I wake and I rub my eyes
beside the sandy beach
My love beside me, languid lips
within an easy reach.
I whisper, sweet good mornings
as your dreams I brush away.
You stretch and yawn, responding to
requests to "come and play".
Lingered memories caress,
of last night's rising moon
with silver waves and ripples,
beyond the dark lagoon.
In shades of colors that mix and smudge
you take your time, no rush
My ******* tingle, at the thought
upon my skin, spreads flush.
In reverie, flutters reminisce,
your wanton body on mine.
Whispered moans in my ear, you ******
"I'm yours", I hear on rewind.*
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 12:37 AM UTC
546
To fill a Gap
Insert the Thing that caused it—
Block it up
With Other—and ’twill yawn the more—
You cannot solder an Abyss
With Air.
16.8k
She eats, she sleeps; my cat does nothing more;
her naps can last until the day is done;
her habits make her really quite a bore;
in storms she sleeps; she sleeps in beams of sun.
She wakes to stretch, her mouth a gaping yawn;
she stands, and turns, and lays back down asleep;
at night, she sleeps from dusk into the dawn;
she dozes well, adept at counting sheep.
Her fur, it gleams, no doubt from beauty rest;
perhaps she knows more than she seems to know;
I wake; upon my head sits a rat’s nest;
my beauty slumber never seems to show.
And though my cat is lazy all the time,
I can’t see her as anyone’s but mine.
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
#
*The cycle of the seasons
once again presents a change.
Greens and blues are now the colors,
as the scene has rearranged.
Crepe Myrtles shed their blossoms
in blizzard, pinks and reds,
And bulbs with care once planted
now emerge from flower beds.
I walk upon a sea of blue
that waves with every breeze.
Bluebonnets on the Texas plains,
a view that's sure to please.
They ripple with the grass
in tempo with the wind.
How lovely to just sway and hear
the message that they send.
It seems as though the world awakens,
stretching with a yawn.
As luscious grass emerges
from the brown muck on my lawn.*
#
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 8:16 AM UTC
while I may do you perfectly. the snow angels on gasoline st., did you
see them? All of the houses were dripping wet too, one girl with gold laces on her leopard shoes wore red plastic pants; totally soaked to the bone.
to train ourselves to brave the heat of each others' bodies as we awaken in one small bed, one small blanket. the both of us yawn. it's so fun to make waffles but neither of us like to eat preference. I love you to death but prefer to brush my teeth alone- one tooth at a time.
embrace your new t-shirt, even though not everyone enjoys a good show of a flock of crows. hand drawn indie wicker-hipster prints. coffee by the pint. you crack me up like vitrifying glass sheens of the individual bubbles in a bubble bath or the ****** glazed eyes of the monsters' eye while a shark attacks.
creaky sounds of bodies mapped by fingers, tickled tummies rippled by listening to witch house singers. you crack me up, count chocula. It's Saturday, I love to laugh while laying down. everybody's funnier when they're laying on the ground. we toast to ghosts.
luminous lengths of birthday candles
lickediddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd d 0 y0urself as best you can
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 3:55 AM UTC
My cat child
brings order where there was none.
Let's not talk about the walnut shell of my womb,
empty birthplace of dust.
Let's talk about my cat child, proud with powers, handy with struts.
Now, listen--
I have forgotten all about you.
I've heard that I was in love once, but who knows?
Show me the evidence; I'll yawn elaborately, and my cat child will agree
that such stuff is dull in the extreme.
Dead fish, on the other hand, become more riveting every minute.
You would not have understood my cat child.
At least, that's my foggy instinct about it.
You would have objected to the damage, the **** and the fleas.
The rumor is, cats were royal once,
and I need the reflected glory and the chance to sleep during the day.
Right now, my cat child is away.
She is hungry for mice, songbirds, or someone's leg.
Me, I don't eat anymore, can't recall why I ever did--
I remember nothing, value nothing, aspire to nothing.
But once,
The feel of my mouth closing gently over the curve of your soft lower lip
seemed such an urgent thing,
like warm waves for mermaids,
a place I would do anything to get to.
Yes once,
the sight of your dark hair sent warm honey over my heart,
my belly,
my ***
and everywhere, my love, from my skin to the stars.
Now, though,
I have forgotten all that.
What were we talking about? I have no idea.
Now there is only the glare of afternoon
and the magnificence of my cat child who has given me nine lives--
none of them worth a ****
all as dead in the mouth as a finch with a broken neck.
Sep 6, 2025
Sep 6, 2025 at 10:59 PM UTC
Ripe Mourning, so Crisp and Crackling with Life Waking or Life preparing to sleep.
A shift change taking place at dawn, both sleepers and wakers will share a Yawn, for worlds of dream or worlds awake, it's like Consciousness balances itself in this way.
I see a Blue Herron standing on one leg near the pond, ducklings waddling in a line behind their Mom.
I see children running and playing on the jungle gym, how appropriately named. Training ground for the perils of the Jungle ahead, the Jungle of Life.
" Welcome to the Jungle"
Everything in Life is a Test
Every Choice Molds your Future Self
Prepare Yourself, Prepare Your Children, Train them on the Jungle Gym.
"Welcome to the Jungle"
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 10:40 AM UTC
walk away from your computer lay down and make a call
i want you to travel deep into my voice i wont touch you at all
with ya own hand i want you to carress ya face slowly go down to ya breast
rub them squeeze them lick the tip of ya finger and moisten ya ****** yes
glide ya fingers across ya thighs listen to my voice as i take you on this ride
lights off door locked im not in arms reach
but if you close ya eyes my face you will see
i want you in a deep trance
as you explore with your hands
"where i wanna be"
right next to you in the dark, naked between ya sheets
kissing and carressing every inch of your body i want to taste
i go inch by inch i promise to not let a drop go to waste
"wait baby dont let go of the phone"
i know it feels real and right but in reality it is wrong
continue, take that finger you use oh so much and let it play
rub ya **** left to right up and down every which a way
now go inside hit that spot to the left , im ya director baby
switch to the right go deeper in you didnt know ya fingers felt this amazing
you are wet, soaked and yet and still you listen to my voice
begging me to direct you a little bit more
so i explain how my warms lips are ready to explore
my wet tongue adds to the juices you already have flowing
i am eating you slow genuinely feasting on your soup of lust
circular motions on ya **** i know you never felt this and thats y you were about to bust
your fingers have found there way back inside of you for a new journey
now ya body is getting hot, **** ***** amd this nut you want it
chris is going to give it to you
back to being the director i put you in school
my voice guides you to a unforgettable moment
go a lil faster baby on that thing wet ya fingers a lil more
i know you already wet so let ya fingers slide ya ****** to the front door
loose yaself this last time
im ******* ya **** and you are loosing ya mind
ya body gets a chill from ya head to ya toes
you scream chris and i already know
on the phone i read you this *** poetry
now dont instantly stop i say carress it to ease
still i can hear you breathing heavily
you stretch, yawn and say i pushed you to the max
because you never had poetic phone ***
Oct 21, 2011
Oct 21, 2011 at 10:39 PM UTC
HALF A POUND OF INSOMNIA WITH A LARGE DOLLOP OF TIREDNESS ON TOP
Sleep lies languidly
upon the chaise longue.
I sit uncomfortably in
an old wicker chair.
We stare at each other.
Say - nothing.
Neither of us
blinks.
I have counted exactly
two thousand and 2....3. . .
sheep.
They fill up the room
with a loud baaing.
There is no grass in the room.
But I am more awake
than ever.
Sleep and I
do not see eye to eye.
Sleep annoyed by now
goes to the window
where even the moon is
dreaming.
A hill
long gone.
Trees snore
their breath rustling their leaves.
"Why do I always
have this trouble with you?"
Sleep snaps
without looking at me.
I try to change
the subject.
"I didn't know you
could manifest like this?"
I venture for the sake
of the argument.
"Oh no...now you've gone
and trapped me in a poem!"
In the early hours
of the coming day
even Sleep
falls asleep.
I yawn
exaggeratedly .
Hum KLF's
"It's three am eternal!"
Each of the now 2000 and 4...5
join in
with a tuneless
baaing.
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 5:06 AM UTC
At the break of dawn,
I turn, mumble, wake and yawn;
And turn to see
You, in our blanket castle.
The dainty sunshine bathes your face;
Of your matted hair, the breeze makes a menace.
I play with shadows of you-
And them I hold captive, in our blanket castle.
Now, the garden swallows twitter on the sill
A familiar longing, in me they instill.
The pillow feathers, the tickling toes, the warm giggles-
I realize- are but memories of you- in our blanket castle.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
He lies by the road,
this little creature I love,
With eyes that can weaken a heart,
A tail that rises above.
Why you so silly puppy?
Your innocence breaks my heart.
He jumps and runs without a care in the world
and gets scared by his own ****
I cradle him in my arms
like he's my own little child
He playfully tugs on my shirt
With teeth small and mild.
I laugh when he topples over
my crazy little fawn
He loves his tummy tickles
and lets out an occasional yawn.
The 30 minutes i spend with him
Is the happiest time of my day
Its funny how this little stranger
makes my sorrows drift away.
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 3:00 PM UTC
My mom sleeps early.
She isn't a night owl.
She lives in the day.
And everything around when
the sky is bright.
the streets are loud.
She leaves the house at 9pm. sharp
And went off in her snores.
My dad stays up late.
Until twelve.
And when the last 60 seconds
ended the day.
He'd turn off the TV
"Has been a long day"
he'd say.
Yawn.
And he'd go to bed.
And me.
I'm no bubbly girl.
or pretty.
cheesy blondy.
Maybe just a good nerd.
But I know the night.
And I love it.
1a.m. is free.
My private afternoon.
with cookies and tea.
And I'd turn on the lights.
Walk with my ankles light
off the ground.
Turtle hasn't sleep.
no he's like me!
He'd wiggle his tail and
swim
towards my face.
As if to say,
"heya buddie"
he should have eaten but
he knows.
he knows.
I feed my Turtle at
one
in the morning.
And he never says no.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 3:57 AM UTC
I moved a few years ago
To the upper state of Vermont
Although the place is beautiful
At times it can be one great big yawn
That's when we put our heads together
Me and my best friend Shawn
And came up with the great idea
To start a Hippie Farm
Our noggins were a knocking
Not sure how this could be done
Do Hippies come from packs of seeds
Or like flowers, in a bunch
And can you start them off by grafting
Like they do on Apple Farms
Where you get rows and rows of Hippies
From just a single one
That's when Shawn remembered this mail order magazine
That we took out and took a look inside
It came with an assortment of Hippies
From Raw to Roasted to Highly Deep Fried
So we sat and weighed all of our options
And ordered a bushel of Hippies alive
Then we set out cultivating the fields
Till the day our Hippies arrived
The package arrived a few days later
In an old beat up VW Bus
With psychedelic smoke pouring from the windows
Pretty sure they all came buzzed
Of course Hippies don't come with instructions
Only bell bottom jeans and old Jefferson Airplane tapes
Can't tell you how many Hippies we went through
Before we learned from our mistakes
Like don't plant a Hippie face first in the dirt
They need a bit of air to breath
And they don't like to be over watered
Just dust them off when you feel the need
Now that the farm is up and running
We seem to have come into our own
We've even come up with a way of branding
Some of the Hippies that we've grown
We started selling them in flavors
Like Ben and Jerry's down the street
From our Abbie Hoffman Radical Cherry
To our Hendrix Hazy Purple Berry Treat
But it's our Groovy Rainbow Roundup Hippie
Whose sales have never let us down
In fact I'd put that Hippie up against
Anybody else's Hippie in town
I've never been much of one to brag
But we're known on the East coast, up and down
We've had people as far away as Florida
Come and buy our Hippies by the pound
So next time your up in Vermont
Stop in and take a tour and watch us grow
Don't forget to stop by our gift shop
And purchase your very own Hippie to take home
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
*Greenery, O you beautiful thing, barely visible in the wake of early dawn.
Amidst the darkness,dew drops form across your petals.
Sometimes visible like crystals at my lawn.
I look through you, the ray has hit your window,
As I try to grasp the details you reflect like a mirror,
You perish upon my gentle touch,
And here I thought you would turn into gold.
Oh my, I sure am getting old.
Searching for answers within the dew drops of the early dawn,
Knowing everyone just started to yawn,
And lift their sleepy heads,
Here I am standing,wondering where do these dew drops lead to.
Dew drops,you are like ripples of tiny bubbles,
But sometimes,I feel you are the tear drops that fall from the eyes of my own.
And sometimes,I think you are the drops of love from the vast ocean,
Endless,with no edges or corners,
Perfect in your own solitude.*
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 9:33 AM UTC
You must register with an employment agency,
he said through a muffled yawn, to defer
your studnet loan payments for the next six months.
But don't worry, he continued, clearing his
throat and sipping what I presumed was stale coffee,
you don't have to accept any jobs that you're offered.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 2:17 PM UTC
Odes to Coffee, a Haiku, a Limerick, and a Verse
Coffee, Coffee Nod
Coffee, Coffee, Coffee Yawn
One cup down, talk now
Coffee, coffee, coffee
Coffee, Coffee, coffee
Everyone shut up
Please refill my cup
Coffee, Coffee, Coffee
Coffee, Coffee yay
Coffee, Coffee hey
Let me take a drink to jumpstart my day
Off to work we go to earn some needed pay
Be a real man and drink it black
Or make it all fancy and catch some flack
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 6:21 PM UTC
It’s a place of healing,
the forest floor.
A place alive with secrets and knowing.
My learned sense of reality catches on the brambles and thorns as I pass,
and the tentative uncertainty of my untrained step
loosens with the soil on my feet
in the puddles on the path.
It’s a place of healing,
the forest floor.
A place intent on living.
Where each movement beneath the
towering company of life informs the next.
A little slower this time.
A little softer.
More quiet.
And with each surrendering breath,
another can be heard.
One more colossal and unified in its polyrhythmic sway.
The trees and vines and creatures with their watchful eyes,
and the earth underfoot,
swell and recede in a merry yawn.
On my twilight walk to fetch water
the dark patiently dilutes all colour,
but allows detail a stolen moment to define my way.
The texture of bark on the lean oak trees around the spring,
the burbling contortion of their reflection at its yielding mouth,
the lichen-rough rocks,
smoothed at the water's edge,
all persist and scintillate into grey.
The soft pricked dendrites of moss cushion my knee
as I slip and fall,
one foot in the spring!
And my scream and giggle pierce the listening night,
and there is no other human being in sight.
So I sit. Wet and still. In the moss.
For tonight, when the darkness stretches its veil impenetrably-tight
over the forest I shall be inside,
to find my place within it's creeping, writhing breath.
Its a place of healing,
the forest floor.
Where living things may grow.
Aug 15, 2011
Aug 15, 2011 at 4:39 AM UTC
Good morning body
I called you in for a meeting
because
you can’t sleep again
and I just wanted to tell you
you don’t already seem to know
and no one can read your writing
you already know what you’re wearing tomorrow and you’ll pay the gallery in the morning
and it's all fine
and you’re very much allowed to yawn sigh or take a
deep breath
I know January keeps trying to go on
and on and on and on
like you’re not already over it
a few weeks ahead of yourself
like we’re not all stuck in Deja-vu
despite the fact that it’s fun to type out
soothing repetition
like a hot tea lavender oil or the last smile on the page
like a consoling yoga chant
it’s time you heard this
where are the words you’re hiding?
when you sit down and say you can’t do this again
I will tell you I think this might be growing
it was you under the pile of clothes the whole time
holding the remote
murmuring prophetically in the corner
it was you you see
you already said
you’re everything you know
you’re everything you need
Good morning body
I called you in to talk to me
for us to meet each other
letters to yourself are the new shopping list
or at least
they’re calming to write when you can’t sleep.
Jan 6, 2024
Jan 6, 2024 at 12:17 PM UTC
There are lobster fisherman
There are those who catch many fish
with big commercial boats and big nets
Many like to fish for the sport of it
for trout
for bass
for perch
But the only catch I like
on the end of my line
are compliments
That's right
Maybe I never got enough praise
A shy, nerdy kid with the low self-esteem
Maybe it's just a narcissistic need
to be noticed
I can sit there for a while
in my sea of creativity
Sometimes I might snag
an old boot
an old tire
a glob of seaweed
or a message in a bottle that says
"YAWN!"
Kidding aside
I write because it keeps me sane
Whether or not I have an audience of one
and that audience is me
or whether I can entertain others
I cannot stop or start the flow of my pen
for any reason but the love of writing
They say one man's junk
is another man's treasure
So when I feel that tug
on the end of my fishing line
with the paperless technology
we have to express ourselves
I know someone was hooked
onto the end of my invisible pen
So I am not too proud to admit it
I toss "modesty" out of my boat
for a bigger, shameless fishing experience
Grabbing my pole to reel in
the sweetness of those kind words
and I say, "Thank you!"
Jul 31, 2010
Jul 31, 2010 at 6:13 PM UTC
EVERYDAY! i open my eyes .
EVERYDAY! a new sensation.
Energy so vibrant !
So addictive and pleasing !
Pralaysed i lay!!!
Showered with emotions.
STUCK in the past !
WORRIED about the future !
A NEW DAY!!!!!
A new chance OR
An opportunity lost ?
LIFE a blessing or a curse ?
I GET UP, rubbing my hazy eyes
I YAWN, stretching my self from head to toe
So fresh, so hopeful & full of life
A sense of POWER and INVINCIBILITY
Ready to CONQUER the world, i march
First step
Living in a house of bills
Chained by norms
Second step
the program installed in me takes over
Head down as i sigh and vanish into REALITY
start living a life from being alive.
STUCK in the past !
WORRIED about the future !
A NEW DAY!!!!!
A new chance OR
An opportunity lost ?
LIFE a blessing or a curse?
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 1:56 PM UTC
*Jab Raat Dhali Aadhi Maikhane Ko Hosh Aaya
Angrai Li Botal Ne Paimane Ko Hosh Aaya*
**When the night cast halfway, tavern came to its senses
The bottle took a yawn and the cup came to its senses**
*Utha Jo Naqaab Unka Deewane Ko Hosh Aaya
Jab Shamma Howi Roshan Parwane Ko Hosh Aaya*
**They appeared from their veil, crazy came to their senses
Then the flame became evident and the moth came to its senses**
*Phir Dard Utha Dil Mein Phir Yaad Teri Aayi
Phir Teri Mohabbat Ke Afsanay Ko Hosh Aaya*
**Then the pain grew within, your memories unfolded
And then your affectionate tale came to my senses**
*In Mast Nigahon Ne Girtay Ko Sambhala Hai
Sagar Ke Saharay Se Mastanay Ko Hosh Aaya*
**Intoxicating glances have balanced the tumbling
With the support of a cup, the drunk came to their senses**
*Woh Daikho Fana Daikho Jaam Aa Gaye Gardish Mein
Woh Mast Nazar Uthi Maikhane Ko Hosh Aaya*
**Look there O’ Fana, see the cups are quickly rotating
Emergence of intoxicating glance; tavern has now come to its senses**
— Translated by Jamil Hussain, Poet Anwar Farrukhabadi, Sung by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 6:21 AM UTC
so, with israel being re-established...
why do we, us,hit
europeans... even need to bother
establishing authority,
utilißing the new testament?
i quiete like the old testament
logic of:
oculus per oculus
(eye for an eye)...
because the saxon concept of
justice: i rather see...
the implosion of
blackstone's formulation...
the 10:1 imploding to the 1:10
ratio of...
a shawshank redemption...
there is... redemption...
since! there's no justice within
the post scriptum of
the hillsborough disaster...
watching people walk, the lunatic walk,
20 years later?
disorientated by the court
of justice?
re-dem-ption...
the whole aspect of: innocent until proven
guilty is horrid!
this... saxon vernacular of
that branch of philosophy that's
bogus...
namely... within origins
of the forbidden fruit...
i.e. and you know?!
really?!
no... but i'll **** to make
a standing pivot of a pawn
on a chess-board.
savvy?
who, among the europeans...
actually needs such artifacts
as new testament texts, credo,
orthodoxy, sign of the cross
greek exports?
the state of israel has
been re-established...
i don't want anything to do
with this judeo-grecian banality...
you can have you little affair over
n
e w
s...
don't worry... i'll make sure that i'm
watching... people tell a lie...
yeah: hum hum bubbly hum-hum...
am i, or are there any arizona
inbreds?
who, the hell, needs, the news testament,
within the confines of history,
dispossessing europe of it,
of an established jewish state?
one book among many...
hence the scent of a yawn...
when entering a library...
i'll do one gesture, and one gesture
alone... inclined to a replica...
ecce libra!
i wash my hands from
having any investment in it.
**** the greeks can have it...
they can keep it, cherish it,
but they better not spaghetti the old testament
with their... "ingenious" plot...
not when the nag hammadi library
emerged...
no... not now... not ever...
i detest this greek book of overt
symbolism...
their pristine alphabet,
their diacritical application,
with the pseudo-romans toying with: deaf...
or blind... whichever it is...
sandpaper... instead of a kangaroo pouch...
of inflated... soft... flesh?
i'll rip your heart out
and feed it to my neighbour's dog,
beside a bowl of water.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 8:32 PM UTC
Flowers do wilt and die
It seems pointless, yes
But have you seen a bud?
Open its sleepy eyes to the dawn
As if a young child was letting out a yawn
With petals for hands reaching out to open skies
And the sun smiled at it
Telling it to open its arms without worry
Sep 19, 2025
Sep 19, 2025 at 7:14 AM UTC