An Ode to Sleep [poem]
An Ode to Sleep
a poem
An ode to sleep, said I, a perfect idea;
So sharpening a pencil, I sat to write
"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered-"
But no, that shall not do; for what follows is "weak and weary"
And while sleep partakes when you are weak and weary,
Sleep itself is hardly dreary.
For sleep you are, and nothing more.
(Nor is Poe the best to use; those midnight hours, spent pondering,
Are the best times for sleep to overtake)
"I wandered lonely-"
That shan't do at all;
Hardly lonely, sleep is, although best done alone
And the vision of daffodils, while fitting for a dream
Is hardly inviting for a bed - imagine, just imagine!
Sleeping upon those golden flowers, dancing in the wind
(Wordsworth's couch is a much better place to sneak in a nap
And perhaps dream of those daffodils)
"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"
No; there is no comparison there.
Summer days are perfect for naps,
Caught beneath the willow trees.
But summer days are meant for picnics and playing
And only those short naps. Hardly fitting to compare to sleep.
(The end is fitting, but hardly proper; I doubt Shakespeare
Meant for his sonnet to be used while talking about sleep)
"Ode on a Grecian Urn" shall not work, for structure's sake,
And sleep is so ravished, in this modern era of artificial light.
Nor shall John Donne; while Death should not be proud,
Sleep often is - and rightfully so. What better a cure does this world have?
(Medicine and sleep, words repeated by doctors all around the globe,
The body doesn't heal without the latter.)
Eliot, Whitman, Hughes and Silverstein - all great poets
In their own right, spinning poetry as meaningful as anything.
But hardly fitting to style a poem on sleep by.
Perhaps what is needed is something else.
Although what I do not know. A sonnet, a haiku?
A narrative poem, perhaps?
Amusing, anecdotal, quirky, or quixotic?
(It is late and random words sound fun.
I'd try to fit in 'jabberwocky' but this isn't the poem for it.)
Structure and rhythm, never my strong points, seem even more elusive
And there is so much choice - pentameter, hexameter, or decimeter?
Is there even a decimeter?
In measurement, perhaps, but in poetry, probably not.
And what, exactly, does 'ode' mean? Time to resort to the dictionary.
Only not now, not now. Tomorrow will come soon enough.
After sleep.
(And that, I think, is the best ode to sleep there is:
Sleep.)
a poem
An ode to sleep, said I, a perfect idea;
So sharpening a pencil, I sat to write
"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered-"
But no, that shall not do; for what follows is "weak and weary"
And while sleep partakes when you are weak and weary,
Sleep itself is hardly dreary.
For sleep you are, and nothing more.
(Nor is Poe the best to use; those midnight hours, spent pondering,
Are the best times for sleep to overtake)
"I wandered lonely-"
That shan't do at all;
Hardly lonely, sleep is, although best done alone
And the vision of daffodils, while fitting for a dream
Is hardly inviting for a bed - imagine, just imagine!
Sleeping upon those golden flowers, dancing in the wind
(Wordsworth's couch is a much better place to sneak in a nap
And perhaps dream of those daffodils)
"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"
No; there is no comparison there.
Summer days are perfect for naps,
Caught beneath the willow trees.
But summer days are meant for picnics and playing
And only those short naps. Hardly fitting to compare to sleep.
(The end is fitting, but hardly proper; I doubt Shakespeare
Meant for his sonnet to be used while talking about sleep)
"Ode on a Grecian Urn" shall not work, for structure's sake,
And sleep is so ravished, in this modern era of artificial light.
Nor shall John Donne; while Death should not be proud,
Sleep often is - and rightfully so. What better a cure does this world have?
(Medicine and sleep, words repeated by doctors all around the globe,
The body doesn't heal without the latter.)
Eliot, Whitman, Hughes and Silverstein - all great poets
In their own right, spinning poetry as meaningful as anything.
But hardly fitting to style a poem on sleep by.
Perhaps what is needed is something else.
Although what I do not know. A sonnet, a haiku?
A narrative poem, perhaps?
Amusing, anecdotal, quirky, or quixotic?
(It is late and random words sound fun.
I'd try to fit in 'jabberwocky' but this isn't the poem for it.)
Structure and rhythm, never my strong points, seem even more elusive
And there is so much choice - pentameter, hexameter, or decimeter?
Is there even a decimeter?
In measurement, perhaps, but in poetry, probably not.
And what, exactly, does 'ode' mean? Time to resort to the dictionary.
Only not now, not now. Tomorrow will come soon enough.
After sleep.
(And that, I think, is the best ode to sleep there is:
Sleep.)