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Poets don't sleep
they do research, with eyes closed
minds open wide, they tiptoe
through synaptic creaks and groans
sifting through impulse and why
why not?
electricity, simplicity
alive, are we? asleep
no never!
let those poets dream
and snooze, blink and sort
through millions of blasts
of memories past
for something worth writing about
no doubt, it will be deep
sleep a poet's sleep-
dream and wade, wander
and glean
and claim your poem, in the morning
and sometimes you wake up at three a.m and must write! The muse finds you at all hours of the day, and that fleeing lady found you quite nicely on this one. How about in the shower, ever happen? Or at a restaurant and you ask the waiter for a pencil and napkin so you can write? I have all these 1/2 written poems on scraps of paper. Damn that muse, gotta love her!
this poem feels like home to me. i can never "dial down" to zero. even in the attempt to sleep, my thoughts are in flight. occasionally, they wake me, and i have to write.
since i came snooping ..it's always such a treat.
this too is wonderful, and another so clearly understood by any poet.
claim my poem in the morning
indeed darlin. wonderful poetry!!
"Poets don't sleep
they do research, with eyes closed
minds open wide,"
I could relate to this poem. :)
we don't sleep, but we dream up such beauties as this:
I am Spam
Bits of parts molded
into one cold, fleshy slab
self-esteem, merely a
gelatinous coating
lol... I'm a veggie to boot!