insomnia

All-nighter

Mockingbird lives in a tree just outside our door —
and every spring he tells songful bedtime stories
about his ardent quest to find a mockingmaiden —
his lovely talented tales start with once upon a time
then it’s nonstop plot and plagiarism all night long
with the happy ending note sometime near dawn!

Terri Guillemets

Fantastic shores

in bed at night his mind had a ferocious imagination
reality and unreality haunted his turbulent brain
the years ticked, an infinite clock of destiny

searching moonlight for the promise of a future
his reveries of heart were coasting on a fairy’s wing
as the world and universe drifted by fantastic shores

but the sea, work, and women — physical outlets —
were his anchor — something old, hard, and soft

Terri Guillemets

scrambled blackout poetry created from F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby, 1925

Awake’ish

my brain —
desiccating
deprived
of sleep
pulsating
too much
life today —

is

as i lay
here in bed
becoming its
own creature
trying to crawl
out of my head —

it throbs away
seconds ticking
memory flashes
of today tocking —

twelve o-three
twelve twenty
one eleven
two seventeen
three something —

fickle
in my mind
restless
the thoughts
runaway
hobos
on a train
down the tracks
to four o’clock —

how did Byron
how the F
did Shelley
write masterpieces
at such young ages
when it has taken
me 36 years
just to get out
three good poems
and entire reams
of bad ones —

how is it that
i wrote better
in my teens
in my early 20s
than i ever have
in middle age
and why won’t that
come back to me? —

oh my brain!
is it purring
or is that the cat?
these thoughts! —

why does
the inevitable creep
ever closer to me?
not crawl
but threaten
overpower
reach over me
horrific shadows
surrounding me
hovering
swallowing
with immensity
of darkness —

insomnia is
a sickness
and i am so sick —

in waking hours
of sunlight
the inevitable
is invisible
but during
wakeful nights
it suffocates
still invisible
but it is all
that i can see —

oh comfort please
i beg of you
curl up with me —

brain throbbing
wanting throbbing
future throbbing —
pink, rubbery, firm
pressing against
my thoughts —
all it takes
is one big fear
to sit on my mind
for all the air
of the future
to explode
with a bang
and seep out
with a muffle
leaving me
empty —

isn’t it interesting
that we can die
from too much of something
that we can die
from lack of something
for want of something
i could die
of lacking sleep
i could die
from too much
passion for life
they are intertwined
within me, destiny —

images or omens
flash through my mind
a watercolor painting
all the colors shades of black —

i have no regrets
in my past
all my regrets
are in the future —

the tree outside my window
is rapidly growing leaves
from bare winter
to verdant spring
but all shades of green
are the same with
night’s eyes closed —

i may as well
bring the typewriter
into bed with me
and let it sing
me a lullaby:
clack click clack
once upon a time
happily ever after
that is all she wrote
springtime mayday
brain overboard —

the cold chatters
in my teeth
warmth boils over
in my brain
and it helps me
feel better to say
the same over and
over in every refrain —

i cannot sleep
the loudness
of springtime
awakening
is deafening
even in the middle
of the night —

oh! it is two a.m.
oh two hundred
oh two oh oh
oh please
let me sleep tonight —

as i turn over
flip-flopping sides
my brain is turned
from black to white
it tosses a ball
playing ping pong
bouncing, falling
flailing seconds
minutes hours ticking
water dripping
from the faucet
into the sink
time drips out of
my leaky head
please let me sleep —

Terri Guillemets

written while teetering on the brink of sleep, from 00:57  to 02:13, and unedited excepting dashes