Insomnia Sucks
It's two o'clock in the frakking morning, I am exhausted and arthitis/fibro achey, have to get up in less then 5 hours..... It's fun summer insomnia. This happens every summer that I don't have to work. Ever since I can remember setting my own bedtime. When I was younger, I would stay up until two or three in the morning reading. As a teenager, especially when I worked night shift at McDonald's, I would stay up 'til five or later, and not get up until 3pm. Now, as a teacher, I can't sleep and I get up and usually read or go on-line.
This is one of my favorite times of day- if I didn't have to be alert the next day. This is when I would get most of my writing done, when I used to write more poetry and short stories and not fan-fic. There's just something about this in-between time, when half the world is getting to bed and the other half is going to have to be up shortly. It's quiet yet tumultuous.
In the spirit of motherhood, I will try to accomplish something productive as I miss sleep. I mentioned before maybe putting up some of my old poetry, so I think that I will. I haven't dug the majority of it out, but I do have some of the "published" stuff on my shelf, so I thought that I'd start with that. (I should really scan it all or re-type it anyway. Most of it's hand-written or on hard disks for a Brother word processor.) But as I re-read the stuff, boy, oh, boy- I thought that I was some hot-shit poet/writer, and my stuff blew. So much annoying teenage angst, wild imagery, "deep" thoughts, and righteous indignation at the world. Of all the 15 or so pieces published in various lit mags (all school related, BTW), there are maybe two that I'm not totally embarrassed to claim. As I come across more, I will add. This one is about a cousin of mine who was thrilled a wrote a poem about her, years ago, so she might like that I posted here again.
three years older but shorter
This was my I-don't-follow-grammar-rules, let-me-indent-everything-oddly, I've-read-a-lot-of-Ferlinghetti phase. Can't you tell?
i remember
sunburns
and chlorine tears
hide and seek
under shade trees
and thunderstorms
that shook the house’s walls
you had cable t.v.
before remote controls
you always beat me at
space invaders
and i would never go into you basement
alone
we exchanged
hot-breathed secrets
in the fan’s
steel-bladed breezes
although i don’t recall
the rise and fall
of your whispers
but the lack of moonlight
thru uncurtained windows
and now
i can hardly see you
thru the echoes
of texas winds
and empty beer cans
yet I just
can’t afford
long-distance telephones
we never really
talk
except for snatches
of vehicular conversation
words exchanged
like long-held gifts
on our way
to some place
i never really know
if I want
to go to
or if
i really care
if we ever get to
This is one of my favorite times of day- if I didn't have to be alert the next day. This is when I would get most of my writing done, when I used to write more poetry and short stories and not fan-fic. There's just something about this in-between time, when half the world is getting to bed and the other half is going to have to be up shortly. It's quiet yet tumultuous.
In the spirit of motherhood, I will try to accomplish something productive as I miss sleep. I mentioned before maybe putting up some of my old poetry, so I think that I will. I haven't dug the majority of it out, but I do have some of the "published" stuff on my shelf, so I thought that I'd start with that. (I should really scan it all or re-type it anyway. Most of it's hand-written or on hard disks for a Brother word processor.) But as I re-read the stuff, boy, oh, boy- I thought that I was some hot-shit poet/writer, and my stuff blew. So much annoying teenage angst, wild imagery, "deep" thoughts, and righteous indignation at the world. Of all the 15 or so pieces published in various lit mags (all school related, BTW), there are maybe two that I'm not totally embarrassed to claim. As I come across more, I will add. This one is about a cousin of mine who was thrilled a wrote a poem about her, years ago, so she might like that I posted here again.
three years older but shorter
This was my I-don't-follow-grammar-rules, let-me-indent-everything-oddly, I've-read-a-lot-of-Ferlinghetti phase. Can't you tell?
i remember
sunburns
and chlorine tears
hide and seek
under shade trees
and thunderstorms
that shook the house’s walls
you had cable t.v.
before remote controls
you always beat me at
space invaders
and i would never go into you basement
alone
we exchanged
hot-breathed secrets
in the fan’s
steel-bladed breezes
although i don’t recall
the rise and fall
of your whispers
but the lack of moonlight
thru uncurtained windows
and now
i can hardly see you
thru the echoes
of texas winds
and empty beer cans
yet I just
can’t afford
long-distance telephones
we never really
talk
except for snatches
of vehicular conversation
words exchanged
like long-held gifts
on our way
to some place
i never really know
if I want
to go to
or if
i really care
if we ever get to