ElbOW

This year was through with me ere I was done.
Now I just hide and cover me to rest.
The race is over. I don't know who won,
But please believe, I wish her all the best.
My wounds have tapped me out of ev'ry fight,
My goals lie all in tatters at my feet
And nothing that I've started has gone right
But I don't care right now. I'm tired, I'm beat,
And quite forgotten. Oh, of course, I know
The wheel will turn around for me again.
But just now, I would just as soon it go
A spin or two without me. I have been
A few too many times 'round with no breaks;
I'm only human, don't have what it takes.

Sonnet? Nay, This Is A Yawn-et

I worked a night shift earlier this week,
It's part of how I earn the right to roam
This spring. And it was fine, but now I speak
Of aftermath, for once I moseyed home
At 1 a.m., it was not straight to bed
I went, but to the couch to read and write.
Next morning did I sleep, much like the dead,
And barely even dozed all through last night.
And now at work, my Monday, how I yawn!
My thoughts are jumbled and often I forget
Just what I'm doing. Soon, though, I'll be gone,
A beeline for the boudoir made; I'll bet
That I'm asleep before the sun is. Wow.
I wish I could be there, even right now.

In Which I Begin To Nod Off Earlier Than I Should

Computers screen a myoclonic jerk

Well from the view of supervising eyes

Were any here; it's Sunday here at work

And neurally I'm cut right down to size

(Ironic since I found a way to learn

Of all things brain and nervous system at

No cost to me - right here). I itch and burn,

Discomfort keeps me jumpy as a cat

And focus is a memory at best.

I don't regret what I did with the time

I "should have" slept, not when I'm truly blessed

With friends whose schedules are not quite the crime

'Gainst nature that mine seems on days like this.

A nine-to-five routine now sounds like bliss.

SESTINA SATURDAY: In Which It Happens Again

(Digital painting by Jose Anibal Gonzales)

Two fragile, slender twins entered my dream
Again last night, ghosts from another time
Or universe, determined so to haunt
Me through this period. It's passing strange,
That nephews I don't have perturb my sleep
And all my waking hours with the sound

Of plaintive cries. Their fear's a painful sound,
They're stalked by death, these two, within my dream,
A death that is their heritage. To sleep
Is to commune with this pair across time
And wonder what they need from me. Their strange,
Uncanny claim on me's an endless haunt.

Meanwhile, conjured a friend of mine a haunt,
That comes among us without sight or sound,
A program or a virus that eats time,
Attacking clocks and spreading, like a strange
Intelligence, man-made, whose only dream
Is robbing from us hours in which we sleep

Or work, but I suspect it's really sleep
That we would lose by losing. That would haunt
Us all, forced to be conscious all the time
And doubting our reality, each sound,
Each thought resembling something from a dream,
Experience, each one, beyond just strange...

What are these tales for? What could be the strange
Intent of these blond boys, this program? Sleep
Brings questions but no answers as each dream
Spins and careens; we go from haunt to haunt
Of memory and unknown worlds of sound
And sight, familiar and yet not, each time.

Awake, too, in my bed, I watch the time
When Morpheus avoids me, when my strange
Immersions cough me up and ev'ry sound
Is alien, each shadow lack of sleep
Will magnify, another curious haunt.
Exploding head's as weird as any dream.

I love to dream, and do it all the time,
And welcome, yes, the haunt and all the strange
Ideas, but wish my sleep could be more sound.

In Which The Bitch Goddess Conspires With The Federal Government, To My Detriment

Elusive Morpheus, I chased you 'round,

But your bitch sister chased me 'round as well,

And whispered "What will you do when you've found

That your most trusted timepiece (that your cell

Phone) failed to update when we stole that hour

We keep in trust for you lot 'till next fall?

Go unwashed or unfed, or will you cower

Before co-workers sheepishly and call

To tell them you missed out on this time-change?"

I knew that I could trust my gadgets, but --

And is there one of you who'd call this strange? --

I tossed and turned all night, my eyes wide shut.

And even after two turned into three

Insomnia still had her hold on me.

SESTINA SATURDAY: Ass On Cushion

To write sestinas, first I have to sit
And ponder on a topic. As I think
I take strange journeys deep within my mind
And memories, until at last I stop.
Ideas are tricky to pluck from the dark,
But till I do I really have no peace.

This one is all about my search for peace.
Twice daily I take time out and I sit -
Ere sunrise, a quick shower in the dark,
While eve'nings, it's my living room, I think
That is best for my effort to just stop
And tame the monkeys rambling in my mind.

For many years, I've given little mind
To anything that you'd call inner peace.
Too much to do; the chore list doesn't stop
Because I'd like to take the chance to sit
Without having to talk or write or think.
Lights out? I'd still be toiling in the dark.

But now I'm stumbling blindly in the dark
Most of the time, just trying to calm my mind.
Just for a little while, just not to think
About what's pressing me, a bit of peace
Is all I want. Still mostly when I sit,
My ass on cushion, I can't seem to stop.

But one day soon, I know that I will stop,
That I will find there waiting in the dark
Some things I need. Until then I still will sit,
And treat with patience all that plagues my mind.
(I'm sure among them is a thought of peace
That's way off base). That's what I hope and think.

I've spent a lifetime learning how to think,
'Twill take a long time, too, to learn to stop
My dwelling on the things that threaten peace
And quiet. But it's quite good to go dark
For its own sake meanwhile, and I don't mind
A little space and time to simply sit.

This poem was my chance to sit and think
About how much my mind just needs to stop
And let the dark sink in and bring some peace.

In Which I Compose A Reluctant Hymn

The Bitch Goddess has found me once again.

Insomnia makes herself right at home

At inconvenient intervals, like when

I need my brain to focus. O please roam

Elsewhere tonight! What kind of sacrifice

Would you accept, maleficence, tonight

To leave me be? I'll pay most any price

To sleep well once this week. You heard me right --

Or would if you were listening to me.

But all you want to hear are helpless moans

From those you hold in thrall. But soon, you'll see

My body will conspire with me. My bones

Shall sink deep in the mattress and I'll drop

Beyond your reach. But really, can't you stop?

In Which Sleep Deprivation Alters My States, Or Something

I do shift work, as everybody knows,

Which means I am obliged, times, to fill in

For someone with a boo-boo, runny nose,

Or something much more grave, to our chagrin.

That's how I found myself at work five hours

Before my normal starting time, at One

A.M. with little sleep and with my pow'rs

At near their nadir. I'm sure it's been fun

For friends and colleagues to watch all my flubs,

And cognitive backfires -- I cannot find

The home row on a keyboard; more like clubs

Than fingers are these digits. Where's my mind?

I only managed victory at chess

By taking on a fellow victim, yes.

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Sonnetize Under The Influence

No sleep today, and down a pint of blood,
Six hours and a half till I can go
Back to my home -- by car! -- no flecks of mud
Upon my naked shins, no telltale glow
Across my face from happy bike commute,
I'm witless, all cognitive dissonance
And everything I hear sounds such a hoot
I giggle like a stoner. Grateful chance
Has me here in a workspace by myself
Lest others think the daughter of the vine
Hath plied me too much with our fav'rite juice.
Across the fishbowl's glass, beyond the shine
Of glare I see the Twins and Tigers duke it out
But can't make out who's winning, but don't pout.

Yes, I've Deformed My Schedule for Midnight Magic Madness

I've lived this day just slightly inside-out,
This day I call my second Saturday
(In pref'rence to first Sunday). I'm without
The means with which to mend my disarray
As twighlight gleams its last out in the west.
That's not to say I simply stayed in bed,
As my supportive parents did suggest
(Supposing that I'd ache today in head
And body from the prior night's debauch).
I rose and did some things I had to do,
At noon I spent, according to my watch
At least an hour on signing papers, too.
But then I napped, and soon will nap again.
At midnight I must play a game or ten.

Rude Awakenings Won't Be This Rude Much Longer

Some morning's it's worthwhile to try and sleep,
E'en though the workday beckons 'crost the hours,
E'en though the melatonin's failed to keep
The sleeper down to recoup all her powers.
But she was wide awake at 1 A.M.,
Awakened by her border collie's moans,
From drinking of the kitchen's "rain" again,
Her need to go as subtle as her groans.
The predawn chill, the parking lot, the ice,
Th'insistent pulling toward the pooping grounds,
All act in concert to exact a price,
Along with all the gloomy predawn sounds,
To fill my head with wishes for a yard
And make my try at more sleep rather hard.