Autumn’s dried up day.
Visual noise titration stops.
Sleep – Life’s fermata.
Sleep, the friend,
pulling up beads of
Where is life giving oxygen
in the swirl of darkness?
Tree Spirit breathes in,
yet I am lacking….
Perhaps I fly the planet
in the night – O2 isn’t needed
when soaring, bodiless.
Written from Papworth Hospital where I am for an overnight stay on a sleep study. From the window next to me I can see a Silver Birch and in it is a face….
Sleep is weighing down on the eyes of the people tonight…..
Feathers fall from the skies like particles of stars
as God’s own passionate ones spoon together
under a mellow duvet of golden beams.
“Good sleeping Love birds” says the Owl of the white barn.
“Fair flying oh watchman of the night…” say the swooning Lovers.
The old school clock stands in silent too,
until the dew filled dawn seeps over the horizon
and far away, in foreign lands, other faces are washed,
bags are filled with weighty books, as a new day
calls the people to add another chapter to their Lifescape.
I notice I can’t take my hands off the keys.
I want to write.
My body, who is clearly a separate entity
has other plans – and yet,
I want to be here in the rough and tumble
of the seeker’s life,
the writer’s sweat,
the poet’s playroom of deliciousness.
Am I still the inquisitive four year old
fighting the sleep?
Throwing feather pillows in the air?
If I am, my little heart has Loves to live
and passions to embrace…..
Perhaps now I have said it….
maybe now I can leave my fight
and fly into my sleep of dreams.
I whisper –
The spider hears.
My little voice
It’s the tiny hours
in my room
where sleep comes
over the edge of the clock….
Coming in and out
like waves of hot flushes,
I struggle to tap
these wee few words.
If my eyes were even
a little open
I would see the
Spectre of Sleep
beckoning me into
the echoey chamber….
o v e r …..
t h e r e…….