#innsomnia

Thrumming like a Heartbeat Constant, while we’re asleep Nighttime whispers her symphony

Operating mostly behind our gaze Only a glimpse can leave us amazed Nighttime is cloaked in secrecy

Comfortingly cold, like monsoon showers Laid beneath the crystal stars Nighttime is obsidian, cut finely

Insomniacs sit at window-sills Wrapped in blankets to warm their vigil Nighttime is both hell and heavenly

In the soft whoosh of a brown owl’s dive In the swaying of trees which seem alive Nighttime is both myth and mystery

14\11\19

Four in the Morning Whispers

You are all of my 4 a.m. thoughts– the weight of your hips against mine, your kisses, your scent, the way your chest rises and falls beneath my ear– my heartbeat whispers into  darkness, “Come home!” —– AUDIO FILE: https://soundcloud.com/penelope-connor/four-in-the-morning-whispers

Sleeping — After Adele, Remedy (a golden shovel poem)

I’ve held you more closely when  the night stole your sleep, and the  thoughts in your head brought pain. I’ve seen the way your fear cuts  your breath, and dread leaves you  staring long into the darkness, deep. I’ve been the broken one, tired and  scared — and you have been the  rock, that sheltered me in the night. This love we are building keeps  us stronger, together — you  and me. We are…

Late lies the wintry sun a-bed, A frosty, fiery sleepy-head; Blinks but an hour or two; and then, A blood-red orange, sets again. (excerpted from “Winter-Time” by Robert Louis Stevenson) —– Were it not for shadows, there would be no beauty. (Junichiro Tanizaki) —– Learn to reverence night and to put away the vulgar fear of it, for, with the banishment of night from the experience of man, there…

Sleep is for the Birds — After Rod Stewart, Maggie May (a golden shovel poem)

I wonder when it is that you wake — and ponder what it is that keeps you up. I am Rod Stewart’s Maggie, lying — asleep, beside you. I  will while away nights — I think — until I stir and meet your eyes. I  think you’re used to this — you’ve got  a rapport with 4:00 a.m. Something  I wish I knew, and don’t envy you — to  eat the night as I drink death’s sleep. You say  you’ll sleep when you’re…

Sinner — after Hozier, Someone New (a golden shovel poem)

It’s four o’clock in the morning, I  know the hour, before I wake. The beating of my heart, at  this familiar darkness will be the  penance to open my eyes — the first  groaning prayer of my day. I won’t cringe.  I shall not moan over tired bones or lack of  sleep, I’ll flood this night-filled morning  with words, kneel before it with ache and  ink. I’ll spill this blood to write my  pain across…