Forever
I will not have a tombstone –
when I die
A piece of rock to mark
the place where my bones sleep
My soul will not lie down beside those bones
It will soar freely among the clouds,
and stay forever at your side
Forever
I will not have a tombstone –
when I die
A piece of rock to mark
the place where my bones sleep
My soul will not lie down beside those bones
It will soar freely among the clouds,
and stay forever at your side
d’Verse Poets Pub – Quadrille #68: Winkle, Winkle, Little Poem
De is tending bar at the Pub tonight. Stop by and give her a *wink*
–
Longing for Winks
This poem has grown weary of
Trying to be clever, whenever
All it really wants is to catch
Forty winks – to slink off to bed
Get some beauty sleep with sheep,
Instead
This poem winks at the stars
And beams at the moon
Day 2 – darkest hour
–
Before Sleep Claims Me
They come, unbidden
In the darkest hour before
Sleep claims my wandering mind
Kind words unspoken
Good deeds undone
Running rampant through
The crevices of my brain
Until the gentle lullaby of
Morpheus sends me to that
Land of dreams with a promise
That tomorrow I can begin anew
Weekend Mini-Challenge: Out of Your Own Words
I’m using the line, solitude is my friend, from my poem Simply Me
~
Friendship
solitude is my friend
she sits quietly beside me
holding my hand
whispering in my ear
telling me my words matter
solitude is my friend
she nudges my muse
into wakefulness when
morning slips through
the kitchen window
solitude is my friend
she sits quietly beside me
as night steals the light
comforting me with her presence
until sleep taps me on the shoulder
NaPoWriMo Day twenty-three – a double elevenie
~
Last Night – (a double elevenie)
Quilt
Blue squares
Pieced and stitched
Tucked under my chin
Sleep
Pillow
Feathery soft
Beneath my head
Tired eyes drift closed
Dream
the gentle moon peeked in
smiled at me
sang me a lullaby
the morning sun appeared
shook me awake
without sweet song
tonight I’ll draw the drapes
~~
De is tending bar at d’Verse Poets Pub and has challenged us to write a
Sevenling. Here’s my attempt.
tulip bulbs sleep
beneath a blanket of snow
waiting for spring
by Chang Houg Ahn
The poet rested his head atop
the empty page surrounded
by shards of words
The petals of his mind
folded in sleep
Voices of long dead
muses whispered in his
unhearing ear
Morpheus and the Sandman
danced across the void
of his consciousness while
the music of sages played on
When the quietus of night
fell upon him he rose
up to find profound scribbles
had appeared where blankness
had prevailed
Whose words they were
he did not know