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Poems On / About SLEEP  11/25/2015 7:39:50 PM
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Fire Island

my mind is infinitely insane.the part of the brain that degenerates the music note known as love dont exist.my mind is terrified of the fact that i sleep, eat and play in the same yard.a cage is a cage is a cage.the lower half of me is 44 years old, and i dont do numbers much.pointing out the fact, yall want to hunt but you dont want to kill.the will of art is to build a case, not divy up willy nilly dividends like poems and sex hits.parts of me are in every state when the wind blows, and a cow goes home across the moon, waving a flag, we surrender, we americans.thats not it you think, thinking americans dont lose, but you miss the total point of the thought.i got wind in the knees and it breaks my heart to cry, wind in the knees is harm to a fellow.the mello yello is dry here, been in arrears for years.spear me a gum fish just to eat, is there any gum under the dirty old mattress i sleep on? the one with no sheets? i wanna beat poet and rock star, but rocks are thrown in the air and we live on green grass.another flash from me, this is the last point, dont divvy up me with willy nilly divdends, i got depends on the C.I.A. bet.they watch? they do.so go ahead and report me US message board, they have your number.already ruined and the fight hasnt even started, thats yall.millions are dying while we stand by and launch attacks at nothing, bombing empty old infrastructure wont change iraq boys, but a pepsi might.get the light on, what do you die for? envy is love, and god above, dont beat me to the punch, i dont have any lunch money nor any place to sleep on the road.the mother of all art is, dont kiss me, risk me, the cops frisk me and i already did the thing of reports.the rose is red, and its offered.the spot on the wall is blood from an old injury, one i didnt report.now i got to go retort to the law in the air, they dont care.every envy in me is out there, i wont play the part of allen ginsberg or jim morrison, they accept men sexually, i dont, they would be more to your liking christians.
chris bowen

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The Monsters

Sometimes, just sometimes, you need to let out every thought. Every feeling. Every tear you need to shed. Then, and only then, the monsters stop screaming. They just whisper dirty awful things. It takes everything you have not to cave in to these things the monsters tempt you with. It's just so hard. You try and block every thought. You do fine most of the time. But the sometimes, late at night when the rest of the world sleeps and is at rest, the monsters come whisper their twisted lullabies that make you drift to sleep. Their words resting in your mind as you sleep, etching them into your memory. That's what happens when they monsters words are the only ones you hear. We stopped checking for monsters under our bed when we realized they were in our heads. That's the sick little game life like to throw at us, isn't it? It likes watching us struggle to keep our heads above the water, drowning in societies words and judgments. Because that's who the monsters really are, aren't they? They live inside us, these monsters created by society, judging and humiliating those people who are the weakest. Who haven't yet succumbed to the pressures of the world. But just you wait, those girls and boys who raise their heads, will be torn down for their passion. No one can survive this world. Everyone ends up falling under the pressure, dropping to his or her knees in defeat. Pressure always wins. Society, no matter how cruel and unforgiving, always wins.
Mariah Fisher

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Sleep Teases A Man

Markov took off his boots and, with a deep breath, lay down on the divan.
He felt sleepy but, as soon as he closed his eyes, the desire for sleep immediately passed. Markov opened his eyes and stretched out his hand for a book. But sleep again came over him and, not even reaching the book, Markov lay down and once more closed his eyes. But, the moment his eyes closed, sleepiness left him again and his consciousness became so clear that Markov could solve in his head algebraical problems involving equations with two unknown quantities.
Markov was tormented for quite some time, not knowing what to do: should he sleep or should he liven himself up? Finally, exhausted and thoroughly sick of himself and his room, Markov put on his coat and hat, took his walking cane and went out on to the street. The fresh breeze calmed Makarov down, he became rather more at one with himself and felt like going back home to his room.
Upon going into his room, he experienced an agreeable bodily fatigue and felt like sleeping. But, as soon as he lay down on the divan and closed his eyes, his sleepiness instantly evaporated.

In a fury, Markov jumped up from his divan and, hatless and coatless, raced off in the direction of Tavrichesky Park.
Daniil Ivanovich Kharms

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Read more: sleep poems, sick poems, home poems



The Winter Forest

The trees are guarding, the water is a mirror, the snow is falling, the animals are sleeping, and the forest is quiet.

The trees are the unmoving force that is guarding this place. They are standing and waiting for the time that all leave their home and hunt. They hide prey and predator alike, for they have no prejudice.
The water is frozen, it reflects all like a mirror. At first look, only a swirling mist is found. Held within are the souls of all those who peered into this timeless looking glass.

The snow is falling with a grace unlike that of this world. Unmoved by the wind, it falls unrelenting to the ground. On the ground it creates a chill that is unlike any other, a chill that slithers into your muscles and creeps into your bones.

The animals are sleeping, hidden away within their homes. All awaiting inside, for the chill is too much. They sleep, unaware of anything about the outside world, and of its effects upon them.

The forest is quiet. The water is frozen in its place, the animals are sleeping in their burrows, and the trees are unwavering in their task. The only sound is the snow falling daintily and shyly kissing the ground.
michael parks

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Poems On / About SLEEP