sleep – Page 5 – Poems by Sam

You Don’t Bug Me

Howdy howdy, folks. I’m fittin’ to show y’all a brand spankin’ new poem I’ve just written. It’s about the feelings you get when you’re trying something new. Without further ado…

You Don’t Bug Me

Cicada, cicada,

what do you see?

Much like a dog,

you bark up the tree.

Blasted blasphemers

that scheme and abscond…

What do they do

at the edge of the pond?

Tempted now

by shadows in the deep,

dip your toes,

and then you weep…

But weeping then,

is valorous and honorable

when it is the fragile pen

with which you struggle.

In the corner of your ears,

someone hears

the whirring vibrations

that stem from a thousand carnations.

And every color of the rainbow

sings a happy lullaby

to that one

happy little butterfly.

Agency

Howdy folks! Haven’t posted in a bit but I hope you like the poem (even though it kinda sucks). Without further ado…

Agency

It feels like it always did, I think.

I drink.

I’m trying to find the missing link.

I sink.

The drowned man is never dead,

for there he sleeps inside his bed,

with all the bad little things

that are just inside his head.

Whiskey in the barrel,

whiskey in the cup,

whiskey in the bottle,

whiskey in the cup.

Drink, drank, drunk.

Something in the night that makes a thump.

I cannot see,

I cannot hear,

I cannot bear to be so free.

So here I sit

and bide my time,

for it means much to me

that there be roots beneath this tree.

Afternoon, everybody! I’ve got something special for you today after my month-long hiatus. I graduated too! Finished everything I had to and now I’m there. I appreciate everybody’s support on my way. Without further ado…

Beneath the Water

Tick, tock

On the clock…

There’s something in the water.

Do you see the ripple there?

The shadow before your stare?

Bubbles flit atop the pond

and find their place about a frond.

Troubles bared and troubles shared…

Can you spot a thing so flared?

The anticipation almost makes you scared.

Here abounds that thing unknown

that breathes the water

and remains unshown.

Beside that water do you totter.

Afeard and alone,

freezing to the bone.

You rang again.

A dial tone.

Ribbed and Smothered by Light and Shadow

Good evening, everybody. Dark today? Weirdly warm too. Nothing ever makes sense in the midwest. I graduate now in less than a month and I have never been happier to be finished with something. I want to be unconscious for a week. Without further ado, a poem.

Ribbed and Smothered by Light and Shadow

Lights compete for attention,

splayed across those places

where shadows have faces.

Seeing,

that light,

those bands

in all their dreary graces.

Sometimes I wonder

why all that’s made

are paces.

From one,

to one another,

are the faces bound in leather?

Are the faces well and truly weathered?

The door again,

to there again,

I see the light home again.

Then,

I grasp the handle.

Infection, Terminal;

Good evening! I hope everybody is having a good night. I’m locked into a grueling reading session. One day I will be free of this accursed workload. I hope you all enjoy the visuals in this one; I’ve got a midterm for medical anthropology coming up. Without further ado…

Infection, Terminal;

Faded, faded, faded, faded,

all the words inside those pages,

all the words that make those phages

and stalk the boundaries of your ribcages.

There’s a virus,

there’s an infection

that hides inside your introspection.

When you look into the space behind your eyes

and see behind those billowing lies,

there inside you one little eye spies

all those old and forgotten ties.

It is multiplying.

There,

inside you.

You don’t even know it yet

but you feels the signs;

there’s a fever coming on.

Chills,

headache,

a burning sensation.

All the tell-tale signs of some evil dispensation.

It hurts and hurts,

oh god,

it burns.

My skin is on fire.

I can feel it melting,

sloughing off.

I never should have peeled back the lid.

There’s something wrong that I did.