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Bemused

I am relaxed and warm in bed,
the day is done its time for sleep.
Stray thoughts glide swiftly through my head
obediently like flocks of sheep.
But now and then a thought will be
held to be of interest
Recorded then subconsciously
reprocessed whilst I take my rest.
When I awake I can recall,
sometimes with startling clarity
Those words I did not write at all
and I inscribe them faithfully.
My muse was busy while I slept
I don’t complain I just accept.

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Thoughts Whirling

The need to write
Get rid of these mixes mass of thought
What to write?
Yes, something is amiss!
Talking is not enough
Yet thoughts whirling in my head
Unaware of revelling in the words
Which flow from this pen?
Still no words
Not sure what to write
Yet here it is
A whole massed mess of words
For all to read
Thought this medley of words
Brought some calmness
Shoulders more relaxed
Fragments of each thought
Clear as daylight
This muddled mass of thoughts
A verse created
By, a whirling mind

poem by Persian Khushi
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Thoughts Whirling

The need to write
Get rid of these mixes mass of thought
What to write?
Yes, something is amiss!
Talking is not enough
Yet thoughts whirling in my head
Unaware of revelling in the words
Which flow from this pen
Still no words
Not sure what to write
Yet here it is
A whole massed mess of words
For all to read
Thought this medley of words
Brought some calmness
Shoulders more relaxed
Fragments of each thought
Clear as daylight
This muddled mass of thoughts
A verse created
By, a whirling mind

poem by Persian Khushi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sound Familiar? for Bill Smith

I dreamt I wrote but I had not.
My pad was empty when I woke,
the poem was gone. I had forgot
but in my head a small voice spoke.

Don’t try so hard you won’t succeed
though it’s recorded in your mind.
It will return at its own speed.
There is no way that you can find.

The key with which you gain access.
It simply doesn’t work that way.
You brain needs some time to process
The information stored awa.

I got on with my daily chores
switched my mind to here and now
I knew this was the only course
that my sub conscious would allow.

My chores all done a coffee break
seemed like a good idea to me.
I sat relaxed just half awake.
The floodgates opened suddenly.

My pad and pen were close to hand
I always keep them close to me.
A habit you will understand
if you too write some poetry.

The words flowed freely from my pen
I did not need to think, just write.
I had recalled the words again
and writ them down in black and white.

It doesn’t always work that way
some poems are lost beyond recall.
Never to see the light of day.
I’m glad to say that’s some not all.
6-Apr-08

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We are not amused for M lady Mary Gordley

I cannot sleep the whole night through.
My muse will not allow me to
when she commands I must obey.
I wish she’d take a holiday.

She thinks that sleeping is a crime
she does not sleep so why should I.
A complete and utter waste of time.
Which I could better occupy

by sitting at my desk to write
instead of lazing in my bed.
I think she thinks she has the right.
She just ignores all I have said.

Some folks complain of writers block
whilst I have writers Diarrhoea
My muse would hide beneath a rock
if she could not supply ideas.

Which I must translate into verse
to demonstrate her eloquence
She views my fatigue as perverse;
of very little consequence.

An active muse can be a curse
I sometimes wish she’d stay away
To have no muse would be much worse
I just give in do it her way.

5-Jun-08

http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sleep

I close my eyes and I try to sleep
But I cannot, so I begin to weep
As I am so tired and so very weak
Rest and solitude is all that I seek,
I wish to close my eyes and find that peace
That moment of time when worries will cease
But when I close my eyes I am still awake
Sleep for me, it did forsake,
I need so dearly to enter into a dream
But I cannot, so at the walls I do scream
I am so weary and so very tired
My sleep and rest are both desired,
Tossing and turning still upon my bed
As fatigue and worries still enters my head
Upon my bed I wish I was peacefully lying
Instead of tossing and turning and sadly crying,
Again and again I try my best to find that sleep
I take pills and I even try to count sheep
But every time I dose off my quest it fails
Another bit of madness and more pills then entails,
My thoughts now no longer speak to my brain
I have no energy I feel the slow drain
I remember the words that my friends have said
That I will find that sleep, when I am dead.

poem by Randy McClave
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Maria's Lullaby

An extract from a poem written for my grandchildren to Brahms Lullaby

Sleep; little mice sleep
Mother will watch over you
Shut your eyes and don't peek
Tomorrow the skies will be blue
Sleep; little mice sleep.

Sleep; little mice sleep
No harm will come whilst I am here
The sun has gone down by the peak
When the day dawns it will appear
Sleep; little mice sleep.

Sleep; little mice sleep
Your father is watching the house
That no owl or cat dares to seek
Harm to creatures or mouse
Sleep; little mice sleep.

Sleep; little mice sleep
Tomorrow you run and play
Now is not time to speak
When you awake a new day
Sleep; little mice sleep.

Sleep; little mice sleep
Rest now for your own sake
Shut your eyes now be asleep
I will be here when you awake
Sleep; little mice sleep.

poem by Thomas Golding
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Elusive Sleep

Sleep evades me in the night
I listen to sounds make thoughts
which play upon my mind
in the dark of the room I lay
waiting for serenity to come
time passes slowly
as though held imperfect
its warm, too warm for comfort
and too cold beyond the bed sheet
the day has been long, the body aches
still, still sleep evades me
and those sounds, each shadow
play upon the mind more and more
restless and anxious for sleep
to rest, to dream, to be at peace
the elusive sleep in the night
where thoughts consume me

poem by Matthew Holloway
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The Recollection of Dreams

Many people can’t recall
their dreams when they awake.
But I remember everything,
and this I used to hate.

As a child I was frightened
by my sleep fantasies,
and thought they were visions
of future realities.

When I became used to them
I took them for what they were.
A release for mental creativity
at a time of deep slumber.

I can also recall all my dreams,
and you may think this a curse,
but seeing nightmares when I’m awake,
is really so much worse.

poem by Orlando Belo
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One Minute of Dreaming

whilst i slept and rest my head,
I dreamt of love, by beauty led,
till the dawn, hope brings anew,
no lust for life,
Lest thoughts of you

poem by Phantom Anonymous
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Highly Sought Out

Thanks for taking time to write to me,
Thanks for taking time to receive me,
Thanks for taking time to understand my muse;
Going through it!
personally,
Highly sought out;
And like your poetic accomplishments in life.

Archives, hives, knives, wives, lives, rives, fives, gives, jives, strives! !
In and around the world;
And like a new look,
But, with unique acts in the land of your muse.

Of the interest,
Of your interest,
Of my interest,
Like the appeal of your love;
Artistic!
Artistry,
Poetic artistry,
With your muse,
With my muse,
Ever prepared,
Ever produced,
Ever accepted;
With the aspects of your sweet love.

This muse,
This love,
This mind,
This wind! !
And like a highly valued personal gift from me to you.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Can't Escape the Word

Taking a day away from the pen
makes me feel delinquent again
as if to say why do this thing
when to write will most assuredly bring
peace and comfort as you write,
just as the day is comforted by night.

Tried to change and escape the word
but the word followed and I heard
' Pick me up.
I miss your hand.
Don't leave me whilst you play.
There'll be plenty of time for that my dear
on some faraway day '

So tonight you glide easily and I see
word after word appear before me.
Are you comforted now dearest friend?
Will there never be a time to finally end
this union between my thoughts and you?
Will you follow me when my life is through?

Can't escape, so why do I try?
Cannot let the pen ever run dry.
Some day I know the pen will rest
and I will seek another quest.
But I'll always remember the pen.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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How Can I Sleep?

How can I sleep when the nights are long,
too long to be in bed?
The pull of the pen is calling me,
too many words in my head.

There's not enough time. Why waste it on sleep?
too many things to write.
I hear the words call out to me
too often in the night.

But what care I about the time?
It's the words I care about.
For the body when tired can always sleep
and my thoughts would probably doubt

my sincerity to this purposeful quest
to connect my mind with the page.
I have dedicated my waking hours
too often as I age.

How can I sleep when the nights are long,
too long to be in bed?
That can be left for a future time
when I've nothing left to be said.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Ultimatum

Above, below to left or right.
There is no where that I can hide,
my muse finds me and makes me write.
My wants must go unsatisfied

She interrupts my sleep and meals
insists that I take up my pen.
She has no idea how it feels
to be forced to write again.

She wakes from my peaceful dreams
and asks me why I’m wasting time.
She has a whole new list of themes
for me to translate into rhyme.

I think she has insomnia
Or else prefers to work at night.
She’ll really have to learn I fear
I am entitled not to write.

I need to sleep, I need to eat
I need some time to call my own.
But she refuses to retreat
She thinks she occupies a throne.

And her commands I must obey
immediately without protest.
Ignoring every word I say
convinced that only she knows best.

I dig my toes in and refuse
sometimes a man must make a stand.
I only have a muse to lose
At last she seems to understand.

That I’m not at her beck and call
I have other things I must do.
Her attitude won’t do at all’
It’s something that she must review.

I only write when I want to,
not when muse decides I should.
Renewal of her contracts due
That fact alone should give her food

for thought. I may decide not to renew.
If she wants to retain her place
She will do as I tell her to
accept my bidding with good grace.

There are some muses unemployed
Seeking for opportunities
who would be simply overjoyed
to get the chance to work with me.

She really has to realise
There’s limits to my patience
which she far too often tries.
The time has come to show some sense.

I am in charge and not my muse.
Although she thinks that she should be
I’ve had enough of her abuse
She either leaves or obeys me.

2-Aug-08

http: // blog.myspace.com/poetic piers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At two o’clock in the afternoon

You complicate yourself
It is hot and you need a fan
You sweat
And in between some quick naps
You snap
For some missing thoughts
And you said
You need something to take
To remember
What you miss awhile
You need coffee
Or lemon tea
You do not want
Something cold
This is the hot portion of the day
And you do not want to crack
You scribble
There is something that is terribly lacking
In this foreplay of a good remembering
Something passionate
Or romantic
Or something to shock you so you do not
Get sleepy
You remember some lines at the tip
Of your tongue
But you cannot complete what you just remember
You sip coffee
It is so sweet and you do not like sugar
At two o’clock in the afternoon
You are half awake
You want to write but you cannot remember
You would rather sleep
But it is just too hot
And you are sweating

You keep mumbling words
Keeping yourself busy with what you
Remember and forget and cannot
Completely discard
Something is bugging you really
You know
You just don’t want to say it
You simply want to ignore it
It is facing you confronting you
Like a neighbor wanting
A fistfight
You turn your head away
And you keep saying it is hot and I
Need coffee but there is so much sugar
I can have tea, I am busy
Either you can have her or me

Not both, for God’s sake
Face it.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Notepad By My Bed

I keep a notepad
On the nightstand by my bed
To jot down thoughts
that late at night, fill my head

Thoughts that glide
into my brain
That if not captured quick
Slip away… down drowsy drain

A pad replete
With words and phrases
Caught before
I start to snore

Oft' make no sense
When viewed in daylight
As they so clearly
Did the night before

Still, as a writer should write
A little each day
E'en those words
That trip so lightly by night

And that is why, I suppose
Until the day I die
I'll keep a notepad
In which I'll write

On the nightstand
…By my bed…
Close upon
The reading light

poem by David Whalen
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Love at Midnight a Sonnet

Let me lay and sleep in your warm bosom
That I may feel the love I have dreamt of
That dream of such awe inspiring beauty
I name a dream of fools and a fools love
For what joy a thought does now inspire
Into the words I speak and sing aloud
To you and my impassioned heart a truth
A promise of a hearts full affection
That will not stray nor test your trust in me
An oath to you I would happily swear
For you are to my heart a poem writ
A sonnet to love in all its beauty
Pray rest your head upon my chest tonight
And let us rest in the warmth of new love

poem by Matthew Holloway
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Brephos

Although it is easy for one to think, it is not always easy for one to write
Not all thoughts can be expressed into words, nor should they. Rousseau said in his solitary walks or was it his confessions? That his most beautiful thoughts died in him as quick as he thought them and how he at the time wished he had a pen in hand to write them all down. Those thoughts are dead, but perhaps those same thoughts are born in others written down somewhere in all of infinite time. Some thoughts like some lives are not meant to be born. The seed of this thought, watered by my serene tears, germinates in my soul as I write this letter. Still I can't find the words to express its beauty, its paradox, its mystery. The seed germinates but no plant is born, no flower blooms. For every child that isn't born, for every thought trapped in the moral order nature's thought; the ineffable, the unborn, the unknown, I hope one day you find expression and tell the world what you are and what beauty really is—To eloquence that never speaks, to thought that never thinks, to life that never lives, in my heart you speak, think and live.

poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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The Shepherdess

She walks-the lady of my delight-
A shepherdess of sheep.
Her flocks are thoughts. She keeps them white;
She keeps them from the steep;
She feeds them on the fragrant height,
And folds them in for sleep.

She roams maternal hills and bright,
Dark valleys safe and deep.
Into that tender breast at night
The chastest stars may peep.
She walks-the lady of my delight-
A shepherdess of sheep.

She holds her little thoughts in sight,
Though gay they run and leap.
She is so circumspect and right;
She has her soul to keep.
She walks-the lady of my delight-
A shepherdess of sheep.

poem by Alice Meynell
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Three Hours After Midnight

I was lying awake trying to stop my mind from thought,
but I was losing the fight, my attention was caught.
Sleep was the last thing my mind had in store for me;
it intended to saturate my thoughts with creativity.

It mixed words and flowing colours in an extraordinary blend,
slowly, at speed, smooth, then textured, the mix had no end.
The flowing beauty made no sense; however, for a second it did,
but the speed of the images made everything appear short lived.

I couldn’t capture or freeze any image and retain it in my mind,
my memory couldn’t cope with the instantaneous designs.
The images became chaotic, as I tried to slow everything down.
I thought I’d succeeded, but it only slowed to turn things around.

I became hot and sweaty, and threw back the covers from my bed,
this mental turmoil was having an effect outside my head.
I had to get up to splash cold water over my eyes and face,
and then I just sat trying to stop my thoughts from taking place.

Eventually, feeling more relaxed I lay down and closed my eyes.
I was in a light blue sky, with soft white clouds passing slowly by.
Peace and calm had come to a turbulent and unpredictable mind,
my thoughts were pleasant and slower, at last, I’d found dream time.

poem by Orlando Belo
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The Lady of the Lambs

She walks -- the lady of my delight --
A shepherdess of sheep.
Her flocks are thoughts. She keeps them white;
She guards them from the steep.
She feeds them on the fragrant height,
And folds them in for sleep.

She roams maternal hills and bright,
Dark valleys safe and deep.
Her dreams are innocent at night;
The chastest stars may peep.
She walks -- the lady of my delight --
A shepherdess of sheep.

She holds her little thoughts in sight,
Though gay they run and leap.
She is so circumspect and right;
She has her soul to keep.
She walks -- the lady of my delight --
A shepherdess of sheep.

poem by Alice Meynell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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