"I am hearing poetry when awake, dreaming poetry when asleep, breathing poetry with each breath, I am living in a poem."

Wednesday, December 30, 2015

Turbidus

Somewhere between
the light switch and nightmares
I cling to what I can’t forget.

The pulled threads of nothing
keeps knitting itself into a mountain
my eyelids can’t climb to reach sleep.

I tear the petals from reasons
thinking a dry stalk won’t
bring crows to ridicule me again.

Forgive…Forget….Forgive….Forget
My demons keep poking sleeping dogs,
and I add another link to their chains.


©Susie Clevenger 2015




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10 comments :

Marian said...

Ahhh Susie. Slaying dragons at night, that's what I call it. Be well, peace to you in 2016. xoxxox

Debi Swim said...

"My demons keep poking sleeping dogs"... how true that is. Just when I'm sure I've forgotten and forgiven I feel that jab of hurt all over again. Wonderful write

Kerry O'Connor said...

Your description of insomnia, and the things that can keep one awake at night is just superb, Susie. My brain, being over-worked, has a habit of not switching off when my body is ready to sleep, often the stress can lead to dark thoughts.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

I was struck by the line Debi quoted too. Wishing you and your family good health and happiness in 2016, Susie.

Sara McNulty said...

Loved the trueness of the imagery in this, Susie. Solid poem.

Jim said...

A lot of troubled thinking can take place after the lights go off. The nightmares probably would be mild compared with some of those thoughts.
Personally, I sleep with a nightlight or two. I go to sleep with the room's TV going. A sleep timer function shuts it off. It doesn't keep Mrs. Jim awake. Lucky me.
BTW, I hardly ever dream anymore. My recurring dreams seem to have stopped. I actually enjoy those now, when they come.
HAPPY NEW YEAR !!!
..

blueoran said...

Whew, you nailed that Iron Maiden of a bed between forgiving and forgetting. The poem reads like a claw through sleep and the title is perfect. I pray the heart heal through this worst hour of night.

Ostensible Truth said...

"The pulled threads of nothing
keeps knitting itself into a mountain
my eyelids can’t climb to reach sleep."
Ohh but I know that, it's in the solace of night that our minds tend to drift,
to consider all the minutiae. Great descriptives here, nice!

J Cosmo Newbery said...

I'm confused but, granted, it is easily done. The poem seems to pull in a dozen directions.

Toni said...

Excellent. You nailed the landing on this one.

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