Portal to Sleep

Go quietly……
with the rhythms of time
into the mystical space
between wakefulness and sleep.
There, in another world,
suspended in the mist,
I am weightless,
a pleasing, matter-free being.
Communion with timeless space
floats the portal ever closer ….
the doorway into dreamy sleep…….
Come meet me there
for we have dancing to sing
and stories to create……
till we
again segue                                                                                                                               into another earth day.





Sleep, the friend,
pulling up beads of
deep unconsciousness.
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….

Barn Owl & Love Birds

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.

Fighting Sleep

Fighting Sleep 

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….
allowed it,
embraced it…..
maybe now I can leave my fight 
and fly into my sleep of dreams. 

The Two Sleeps

The Two Sleeps

The chill in the air
as the clock ticks
around three thirty.
Mr Tumnus purring
and grabbing my arm
as I type. 
I used to panic at
three thirty,
being awake 
but now, somehow,
it doesn’t matter anymore.
I read about sleep in the middle ages.
The two sleeps…
with time for pottering, writing,
cooking, eating, making love, in between….
so sleeplessness … well
it doesn’t matter anymore…..
I see it as a gift to be awake when most sleep,
a gift to be with myself 
and maybe do the work my heart calls me to.
Life before the two sleeps?….. well –
just catch me humming,
it doesn’t matter anymore.


The Wee Hours

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
of consciousness
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….
just …
o v e r ….. 
t h e r e…….