My Poem “Insomniac”

During the early hours of the morning
I have been awoken,
my mind has been opened
like the creaking door of an old house,
and I feel something stirring within me…
the sky outside is still dark,
everybody around me is still asleep –
however, I cannot switch of,
nor retreat to the depths beneath
where I return to the realm of my dreams…
I try listening to soothing sounds,
I try listening to the music
of Vivaldi and Mozart
hoping that the beautiful
classical music will help me fall
into a delicate trance
like that of watching a falling leaf –
however, I am still wide awake
and it appears that the delta waves
of my brain were disrupted so severely
that they could no longer maintain
there normal restorative cycle
and pull me down and deep…
I turn off all the lights,
I lay my head down in a room of darkness,
I slow my breathing and I try
to concentrate on the white noise
of the stillness of the early morning,
and I hope that I will soon be able
to resume a mood of restfulness
and renew my state of snooze
by listening to the tune of The Sandman’s muse
and curing me of my insomnia.

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My Poem ‘The God of Sleep’

It’s a shame that I can’t write
while I am dreaming,
just as I dream while I am writing –
because I know that what I imagine at night
would eclipse, and does, any and all
that I put into words in the sunshine
of the day-light…
fragments of my thoughts of the night before
remain in the morning, sometimes,
like the wreckage of a ship
that has run-aground on a beach –
but they are only pieces of a whole
and there are holes now
where unrecoverable dream-moments
used to appear so clear and so real,
but which are now lost
on an ocean of wonder and wishes
being carried out of reach.

Sometimes we have the same dream
over-and-over again,
and each time we imagine them
we remember more about them when we wake up;
why we all dream is still a question
that nobody can give a distinctive
and a correct answer to –
however, I believe the question of why we dream
is on-par with the question:
why do we fall in love?

We love because we must;
we dream because we are unable to stem the tides
of our imagination and our emotional flood;
we wade deep into a dream
when we are doing something in it
that means something to us;
when we dream we are hearing
and we are being pulled-under a spell,
after having been sprinkled by Morpheus’ dream-dust.

I often wonder what I do not remember
about the times that have now returned
to the ether of infinite time, depth, and colour;
like some people who remember their dreams,
I too wonder what they mean;
I often wonder what would happen
if all of our dreams and their content
were to become real and we could share
every detail of our dreams with one-another;
I have always believed that our dreams
are our doorways to a greater world –
a world that knows no bounds
and has no fixed borders,
and I believe that each time we dream,
when and where night and day meet,
we are being given a gift to hold-on to
and do with it what we will
by ‘Hypnos’ himself, the god of sleep.

My Poem ‘Petrichor’

The air is cool;
the thunder and the lightning of last night
have taken away and abated
the feeling of fire that had been burning my skin;
the stormy weather of last night
apparently put on quite a show –
however, right at this moment,
the bright morning light
is streaming through the window;
and like every day that I venture out
into the world, I am hearing things
that I have never heard before,
and I am seeing things and people
that I have never before seen.

I slept like a still sea last night;
I never once woke up
nor was I awoken by any sound of rumbling
or by any flash of light;
when I opened my eyes from my dream,
I looked and I saw the sight
of a beautiful vision before me:
an intense light, brighter than lightning,
enlightened everything and made my world shine,
and the sound that I heard
that sounded like thunder
was my heart beating in my chest;
and as the new day began,
I knew that I could no longer linger or rest –
because what I felt next, to me,
has always been the best.

Making connections;
connecting the dots;
painting a picture of impressions;
seeing the gold within the rock;
understanding the true nature of life and the world;
finding and breathing in the clear and fresh morning air,
and inhaling that extraordinary and unmistakable smell;
feeling happy and sure;
stretching and reaching out
like a newborn chick that has only just
broken free of its shell.

People feel intensely and deeply;
everybody has instincts;
people want to feel secure, as well as free;
everybody can imagine anything
and everything in a single blink;
it has always amazed me
how much our surroundings talk to us
and what they say about us;
it has always fascinated and inspired me
how much life there is above ground,
as well on the ocean floor;
it has always excited me
every time that I have considered and thought
that I and everybody were once cosmic dust,
and that what makes me and us,
who I am and who we are,
also makes the stars what they are –
and, to me, that is enough to make
anyone’s blood rush;
it has always brought alive in me the light in things,
every time that I have taken in
the wonderful planet that I live on,
after a hot day and a stormy night,
and inhaled the air
and became instantly intoxicated
by the smell of petrichor.

My Poem ‘Heavy’

My eyes are heavy;
the time is getting late;
I have just enough inspiration
and energy to write something poetic;
I feel like I am going to be
‘out like a light’ any minute now –
but before I do drift off to sleep
like a boat down a river,
I wanted to write something
about life, dreams, and as always
something about me.

I come to everything
with an open mind
and an open heart;
I face everything
expecting a hopeful and optimistic resolution;
I always get up strong after I have fallen hard;
I keep going no matter what,
because that is my everlasting constitution.

Life, the world, people, fascinate me
and amaze me every day –
I learn something new about something
and someone daily;
one thing that I have learned
is that there is no telling
as you live your life
who you are going to meet
and talk to along the way;
one motto to live by
that I have always liked,
which is also the motto
of the U.S. state of New Hampshire,
is to “Live Free or Die” –
and if that motto could sum up a particular person,
it would have to be me.

I love to talk;
I love to share;
I love to walk;
I love to dare.
The freedom to be who I want to be
means more to me than anything,
and I think that most people take their freedom
to do, to love, to buy,
to express, to have whatever they want for granted –
but I don’t and I never will,
because at any moment anything could happen,
and taking an actual account of what you say
to me is very important.

Words are a promise;
words are a declaration;
words are indelible to some people;
words cannot say everything,
but that does not stop them
from being and sounding magical.
I have loved words since I first earned to read;
I have taken people for their word,
and I have unfortunately on occasion been led astray;
I think about words when I dream at night in bed;
I am always listening and remembering
the words that came out of peoples mouths,
even if they don’t themselves –
a single sentence has repeatedly
been read and recited over and over again
by me in the past for days after days.

I am about to fall asleep,
I can feel a wave of fatigue cover me like a duvet;
I am about to be carried away, and sink beneath;
I can’t remember all that I was going to write
and what I was going to say –
however, I don’t think that it matters:
I think and I believe that the simple act of writing,
thinking, remembering, and dreaming
is enough justification, if there needed to be one,
for me to be who I am, doing what what I am doing;
and if there is to be one last thought
that could become a monument of today
it would have to be this poem –
a piece of me, a method of madness,
a beating heart, which is also the source
of all joy and sadness –
which for me is always heavy.