*Image found HERE



The clouds are growing oranges,
flaming it’s cheeks in streaks
like a verbarodalisque;
the soft wool, the march of darkness,
itching the skin out of sleep,
descend together into oxymoron.
I cannot see him, but the Moon
scatters his bijou,
like paws of a lactating she wolf;
picks up drifters into safety
from the abattoir;
tonight he smells like bones.
The walls stand still,
the thunder of tires
versus their mortuary blue,
the birds vacationing in Copacabana.
The undead glow of the light bulbs
tells me I’m somewhere,
but my body is here,
like auguries with broken switches,
like a highway struggling to bleed,
like solitary flies
with faces of zealots
buzzing to keep the habromania alive –
my dreams without a building permit,
my tongue permanently bound
to the upper left corner of the circle,
brutally incused into coffee grounds,
my pennies and mind corroded,
my right hand stretched into the sky
so insignificant and small.
The sleeping stove, the merry drunken man,
the futile gut that always yearns brimborions,
stray dogs too hungry to howl,
the soul too tired to grow,
my years too waterproof
and you,
you wretched heart,
you keep thumping,
so loudly certain
can end.


~ by Oloriel on December 26, 2015.

27 Responses to “Insomnia”

  1. You are an inspiration, Oloriel. I wish I could write even just one poem like you.

  2. Always nice reading your poetry, great piece! ๐Ÿ™‚

  3. utterly masterful verse

  4. I really love the visuals this generates. Also, I like the contrast between the “great big” environment vs. the “very small” you. I think it helps to create a necessary dynamic between you and your world. Beautifully written, O; as always. :0)

  5. “the soul too tired to grow,
    my years too waterproof
    and you,
    you wretched heart,
    you keep thumping,
    so loudly certain
    can end.”

    At night, that time when the background to the world falls on its knees, the slightest of disruptions, disturbances, even the whispers to ones own heart, shatter the lingering lull at moments, silence gets so loud sometimes. A reason I like a welcome night’s fresh breeze wind. What these last lines remind me of at this time.

  6. Pure magnificence!

    I am SO excited about your poetry book! ๐Ÿ™‚

    • Thank you! I am super excited as well, I only wish customer supports were answering faster! But then I remember it’s the holidays and I hope they are spending it in good spirit!

  7. Beautiful….

  8. oh I like this, it has a great lingering flow, much like its subject, and some great lines like:
    “The undead glow of the light bulbs
    tells me Iโ€™m somewhere,
    but my body is here,
    like auguries with broken switches,”

  9. You’ve some of the most beautifully written poetry I’ve ever seen. That’s not hyperbole or anything. Nicely done, as always.

  10. Beautifully written poetry! Maxima

  11. WOW, that is INCREDIBLE.

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