Confusion
begets dreams
begets hours of wakefulness
of missed opportunities which
begets regrets
which in turn
begets confusion.
—
I am abandoning Cinchcast for now — it was too choppy. Here is the podcast of this of this poem. http://www.box.net/shared/b3p814n6xg Kevin Hodgson´s last [type] ..A Global Poem Project
A lightness of being would be bearable
Since the weight that I carry feels terrible
If my worries and cares
I could just lose, somewheres
Then a mantle of sleep might be wearable
Tonight?
No different from last night
Or the night before.
No different from any of the other nights.
No…without a book to distract me
The TV to numb me
The voices start to whisper in my ear
They tell of how I snapped at my daughter
Or rolled my eyes at a student
Or let shared what I meant to keep secret.
They remind me how I stepped and misstepped
And then tripped while trying to retrace
Each mistaken step.
Tonight is like last night
And the night before,
Only the list is different.
The predictability of not sleeping
It used to go off steadily at 2 am
To the soft sound of my eyelids
Popping open
Like someone somewhere had pushed a
Cosmic button that forced such a reaction
Rather than worries or work or gnawing pain
Just awake
I miss those hours of 2 am
Stillness
Time to read, think, process, plan, reflect
To stroke the cat curled on my side and ponder how he purrs
It didn’t feel like insomnia after a while
but a daily ritual of
Me Time
Now I struggle to free myself from sleep
Alarms blaring
The only buttons pushed are snoozes
Too tired despite extra hours of sleep
to appreciate the irony of the change
Super, Kevin. I love that you share the podcasts with us as well. April is a writing blitz. I try not to look back until after the month is over. For right now, everything is pretty organic. . .revision afterward is the treat.
as night lifts its veil,
I wake in the wrong room. what potion bound me here?
behind the curtain, linger
sweet resting breaths of jasmine. Erin Wilkey´s last [type] ..2
Shoulders heavy
with the regularity of
Routine.
Hourly bells sounding–
Repetitious reminders of
Responsibilities–
Religiously and
Rigorously kept.
Just remember–
Sometimes it’s ok to
Relax. Christina Helsel´s last [type] ..NPM 1 – Remember
waking up?
no that would require sleeping
enveloping oneself in the arms of sleep
than be rudely taken from them, jarred awake
instead each night i grasp
with hands outstreched and hungry
fingers searching for dreams
only to find fingertips carressing cool air
no waking up…
waking up would re
waking up?
no that would require sleeping
enveloping oneself in the arms of sleep
than be rudely taken from them, jarred awake
instead each night i grasp
with hands outstreched and hungry
fingers searching for dreams
only to find fingertips carressing cool air
no waking up…
waking up would require sleeping…
Confusion
begets dreams
begets hours of wakefulness
of missed opportunities which
begets regrets
which in turn
begets confusion.
—
I am abandoning Cinchcast for now — it was too choppy. Here is the podcast of this of this poem.
http://www.box.net/shared/b3p814n6xg
Kevin Hodgson´s last [type] ..A Global Poem Project
A lightness of being would be bearable
Since the weight that I carry feels terrible
If my worries and cares
I could just lose, somewheres
Then a mantle of sleep might be wearable
answers that i seek
not hidden in the black lead
sleeping tonight? no
possibilities, potential
nervous excitement
currents of change
i’m hopeful
Tonight?
No different from last night
Or the night before.
No different from any of the other nights.
No…without a book to distract me
The TV to numb me
The voices start to whisper in my ear
They tell of how I snapped at my daughter
Or rolled my eyes at a student
Or let shared what I meant to keep secret.
They remind me how I stepped and misstepped
And then tripped while trying to retrace
Each mistaken step.
Tonight is like last night
And the night before,
Only the list is different.
“It Makes a Sound Like Need, Need, Need”
It makes a sound like tin
a sound for which there are no nine,
as if a plural for nouns could be ate (or eaten–it’s still so early)
I’m between sevens (always in the twelth degree of being)
and sixes (wait.strike.reverse)
and the hour of awakening is still five (snooze.revise)
It almost always sounds at for,
the call to duty for the three
I am most beholden to,
the call to be the first one
awake.
The chirps of Tweetdeck
echo from basement office
to bedroom above.
Andrew Forgrave´s last [type] ..April iPhone Photo Project- Day 01
Waking Up
Alarm!
Alarm!
Alarm!
Alarm!
Alarm!
Child!
Alarm!
Repeat.
Work!
Work!
Work!
Work!
Work!
Child!
Church.
Repeat.
Every morning something wakes me.
First my profession, now my progeny.
Me, the guy who slept ’til noon,
And never went to bed ’til three.
My father, he would fall asleep
ten minutes after sitting down
I never understood
Now I do.
I never make the ends of movies anymore.
Bud Hunt´s last [type] ..NPM 2011- Prompt 1
The predictability of not sleeping
It used to go off steadily at 2 am
To the soft sound of my eyelids
Popping open
Like someone somewhere had pushed a
Cosmic button that forced such a reaction
Rather than worries or work or gnawing pain
Just awake
I miss those hours of 2 am
Stillness
Time to read, think, process, plan, reflect
To stroke the cat curled on my side and ponder how he purrs
It didn’t feel like insomnia after a while
but a daily ritual of
Me Time
Now I struggle to free myself from sleep
Alarms blaring
The only buttons pushed are snoozes
Too tired despite extra hours of sleep
to appreciate the irony of the change
Daya
Daya!
he calls
in the dark
I roll over
and pretend not to hear
Dayad!
he calls
before my alarm
I wipe my eyes
and begin to move
Dada!
he calls
it’s clear now
I’m on my feet
and on my way
Daddy!
he calls
and I’m there
I pick him up
and we start our day
Super, Kevin. I love that you share the podcasts with us as well. April is a writing blitz. I try not to look back until after the month is over. For right now, everything is pretty organic. . .revision afterward is the treat.
as night lifts its veil,
I wake in the wrong room.
what potion bound me here?
behind the curtain, linger
sweet resting breaths of jasmine.
Erin Wilkey´s last [type] ..2
Shoulders heavy
with the regularity of
Routine.
Hourly bells sounding–
Repetitious reminders of
Responsibilities–
Religiously and
Rigorously kept.
Just remember–
Sometimes it’s ok to
Relax.
Christina Helsel´s last [type] ..NPM 1 – Remember
set the alarm for espresso
but I snoozed
like warm milk
until the light of day
beckoned me away from the decaffeinated dream
of yesterday
waking up?
no that would require sleeping
enveloping oneself in the arms of sleep
than be rudely taken from them, jarred awake
instead each night i grasp
with hands outstreched and hungry
fingers searching for dreams
only to find fingertips carressing cool air
no waking up…
waking up would re
waking up?
no that would require sleeping
enveloping oneself in the arms of sleep
than be rudely taken from them, jarred awake
instead each night i grasp
with hands outstreched and hungry
fingers searching for dreams
only to find fingertips carressing cool air
no waking up…
waking up would require sleeping…