Monday, 12 January 2009

To Sleep Or Not To Sleep?

In view of yesterday's post, I need to give the other side of the story, don't I? The one follows the other as night follows day, I've found, in more ways than one...

Forty Winks

Sleep has command of my eyelids.
Unconsciousness keeps engulfing me
and patches of sleep are being sown
onto the cloth of day; patches rich
with pattern of bizarre dreams,
not matching the plain stuff of reality.
My brain feel drugged and my eyes
have difficulty in staying open.


Can't say this is really a poem, in an accepted sense, but it needed to be written down, and I haven't the inclination to go back over it to check on meter, or form, or parts of speech - it just IS.
Simply a passing thought captured like a butterfly in a net, to be scrutinised for a moment before being set free. Much like this second offering:-

Sleep

You search for it in vain;
yet when sleep is furthest from your mind,
a creeping somnolence again descends to claim you,
to bind your leaden limbs until you sink
into oblivion in the freedom of your dreams.


But if you catch a butterfly, isn't the first instinct to show it to somebody else? I guess that's what these little snippets of 'non poems' are doing here. Enough of these poderings, though.

Instead, here's a completely different road for this post to take ( here I have visions of a line of fence posts, strung together as if holding hands, much as a line of baby Ents might be, skipping down afore mentioned road... bother my stupid imagination!)
D'you know what is one of the best things about Sunday? There is NO POST ( from the postman, I mean here, just to be sure you understand.)
With Christmas fading on the horizon, catalogue companies are trying their hardest to boost their sales, and a positive deluge of junk mail has been flowing through my letterbox recently. As Royal Mail considers Sunday a day of rest, along with almost every male on the planet, this is one time when the letterbox is able to clench its jaws together for the whole day.

Why should I care about this, you may be thinking? The following gives the answer, if you read it to the end.

Paper Mountain

Abandoned envelopes,
flyers, free newspapers,
catalogues; junk mail
tidy people discard
immediately,

but I collect...

Beside my chair
it gathers, potential
pulp paper slagheap,
waiting to slip-slide
and annihilate me,

but I collect...

while it grows too fast
to be contained
by any wastebasket.
Paper Mountain rises
higher every day,

but still I collect...

in case I mistakenly throw away
that one vital item
I know I shall need
tomorrow.

5 comments:

  1. Hi, thanks for your kind comments. Have to say that I'm a papercollector too, sometimes I sleep and dream and I saw that you are a Chinese snake. So am I. Maybe that's why we share the same sense of humour ;-)

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  2. just left a comment and it didn't seem to post so I will try to rewrite -- saw your comment about grays on BDOGD and enjoyed your point of view, so thought I'd come by to say hello.

    I completely relate to the paper poem! I have three blogs and I write on one almost every day. Please come visit when you have some spare time. I especially think you might like Adventures in Nature, and I do post verse often (though not my own poems) on Looky Here....

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  3. Jinsky, Thanks, for visiting my blog and asking about V. words. Sometimes when you answer a post they ask for a verification word. None of them are real words. But, I like to write them down and try to make a nonsence blurb with them.
    I enjoy reading your blog and now I am following it. Hope you don't mind. Cheers~~~~

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  4. Well said!! I unwillingly collect too :-(

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  5. Thanks for sharing your butterflies. I like it when you say that sometimes it just IS.

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