301

Just before he sleeps abed
He sings the tunes played in his head
These minute rhymes and dainty songs
Are his to sing, to hum alone

As noises all about are blocked
The sounds heard here are safely locked
Within the passages of his mind
And so they stay: Regressed in time.

clouds 2007

Sleep Attainable

It’s midnight already again!
The lure of dreamy sleep
drives these closing eyes
yet evades my grasp…

As images of tiredness
freak light on my eyeballs:
Break pools of shadow
and render my sight, at best – sketchy!

The buzz of daytime
and noise of thoughts
serve well to shake ideas of slumber
from my over-tired mind…

Ode to a bed

What’s this about the bed of Ware?
The bed of where?
The bed of Ware
I hear it’s big:
Indeed what’s more,
I heard it once slept 44!
Incredible! That’s quite a feat
This bed is more than just a treat
It’s twice as long
and twice as deep
I’ll surely love this coming sleep.*

The Great Bed of Ware

The Great Bed of Ware

*Ironnically those who attempted to sleep in this famous bed would find themselves beaten and bruised in the morning*

And brush a thought free

Warmly in embrace you lie
brushing ears with slumbers sigh
caressing
flesh pressed close in dreams
In night breeze
where no light breaks
Your glued tight eyes flicker
dance
breast heaves
lips mouth silent ethereal chat

 

[reposted, from 2011]

Shooting stars

but it’s not their fault!
Animated droids
steeling the screen
with silver-tongued tales
rattle at minds…
To furnish the soul?

A hundred times and more a day
A thousand radio waves
are beamed
To a million open eyes
Each simply charmed by charming ways!

David says all information
is great for building a common nation.
So he’s pleased to see this fairy notion,
is backed by newsreel allegations:
That ministers’ – leading the restoration –
weigh heavy in fear
of mass publication!

So gleefully mass ignorance
is fed and bloated by conglomerates
Sealed with affection
by celebrity
and cooked – till black
then hid away!

On the streets,
on these sleepy streets
Chat is rife with the tales they tell
our TV’s, monitors, papers are full
of well written tales –
They tell them so well.

Just before the end of night

Got to sleep I so tired – got to
close my sleepy eyes try to shut
down rest now lay down get some
night right on my side

Every heavy blink I fight seconds
eat away this night fighting
morning time from bright light
sleepy eyes!

Tarpaulin

This is midnight calling
Come in sleeper number four
Hello this is midnight calling
They’re waiting at your door

Sleeper four your time is up
They’re ready with your dreams
These people get paid by the hour
And you’re wasting precious bleems

Now sleeper that is quite enough
You’ve had your time awake
Turn in now please or be prepared
To lose your dreaming space

Well thank you now you’re seeing sense
You’re dropping off at last
Your time is pretty wasted though
So do your dreaming fast

*

Wake up! Get up! That’s it time’s up
Come on your time has gone
Stop moaning and get up you bum
You heard – your dreams’ now flown

This is midnight calling
Come in sleepers five and six
Hello this is midnight calling
Now’s time for your dream fix

Dwaal

Sight of pretty morning dawning, sets birds’ light with songful yawning.
Whilst glory flames see no-one mourning, I rely on eyes adorning.

You, my pretty flunky bonny, catch the blinks of very many.
Realise you are the honey. Take them when they turn in money.

Still I pace with docile wonder; tease you freely as you ponder…
While I sleep I see you wander – know not how, though, you meander.

In the pulse of plentied diction, can’t explain your contradiction
though I feel you are no fiction, how does this then pass distinction?

Here at light; the crack of daybreak, you should find this meal a peace cake.
Free yourself from your bleak cellmate.
Stand tall, my bonny: Loose the fear brake.

I Heard Your Music

Playing,
in the sweetness of the night.
And I saw what you were saying
though I don’t think you are right.

The floor – washed blue
with lasting tunes –
was moving through
your fierce platoons.
And dancing clones
that stayed your side,
in monotone –
sang sad lullabies.

Tonight I’m Tired

You curve in arms
You’re wriggly warm
I love the way you curve
The luscious way you move

And tonight you turn to me
Tonight’s your turn to be
But it won’t happen here
Tonight I’m tired

Bluebell eyes
Black with despise
Flash a glare I catch
Harshly still you watch

I hear your fear lays hidden
And see your face sin-ridden
This now’s my curve my lover
Not now you come my lover

Tonight you turn to me
And tonight’s your turn to be
But it won’t happen here
Tonight I’m tired.

Flaming June Sir Frederic Leighton

Flaming June is a painting by Sir Frederic Leighton, produced in 1895. source: Wikipedia

Quiet Night Sleepy

Open a window –
To let in the sound of the dark of the night.
Listen –
The hissing;
The whirring the murmurs:
A humming drone deafens your sleep-centred thoughts.
That silent sigh slips to the front of your mind.
A silence not broken,
A quietness defined.
So laying awake at the dawn of the morning
A wide open window –
For sleep-needy eyes.