You Know The Way…ll

…after you’ve

already written something

and think

that’s it

I can go to sleep now

I’m done

only you can’t

because

after you’ve navigated

your way into bed

in the darkness

and he’s already snoring

but not quite sleeping

and your warmth

suggests

you might be Michael McIntyre’s dishwasher

but all you can think about is

the next in a possible series

but shit

know

you’ll forget

if you don’t get back up

or sneak the kindle under the bedclothes

and he’s still snuggling in

not quite snoring

and going

mmmm

and I go

sorry

need to get up

I’ll forget

and he goes

you owe me

and I say

I know

big time

and I do

because

how many

don’t get it

but accept it

that you write

even

in the night

after Drambuie

and giggles

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You Know The Way…

…your husband’s gone to bed before you and you’ve stayed up

for hours

writing

or whatever

and now you have the issue

of trying to figure a way into bed

without disturbing him

round the obstacles

or

like tonight

you’ve both watched Michael McIntyre together with a wee

Drambuie

or two

and pissed yourselves laughing

and ideas come for a blog post

and he’s already brushed his teeth

and you’re still writing

so you take your kindle

and your fag

to the bathroom

to have a quick wizz

a toothbrush

and maybe

jot down

that wee idea

because you’ll surely not remember it

in the morning

and do you know the way

sometimes

one of your kids comes out of their room

just as you’re

fag in mouth

kindle in hand

heading to the ladies’

and the fag drops

out of your mouth

onto the floor

and you laugh

because hubs

who’d

already put the feckin’ light out

bastard

says

by light of son’s room

you’re away to write

aren’t you

and I go

yeah

pick my fag up

laugh at my son

with a wink

who laughs back

because

youth

remember my idea

and write

this

thinking

I’m gonna do more

of humour

it’s a laugh

think I might

entitle it

you know the way

‘cos most of us do

Unsleep The Night

Unsleep the night, 

DiSTuRb,

repress fallacious feasibility,

DiSTorT,

awake the dreamer to all probability,

Forsake the hours spent in cloud drifts, ghosted shadows

of the lives we meant to see,

all possibilities.

Day’s disambiguation

BrOKeN,

Remembered fantasies.

Trail the highways of insomnia,

where bridges solid

link illusion to reality,

Unsleep the night.

Explore the Night

Awake again at 4a.m.

New disconcerting routine,

Disturbs my equilibrium.

What can it really mean?

 

Alert in mind, I light and write,

Fast and furiously,

While body, eyes demand more hours

In unconscious liberty.

 

Expel the words, take down the notes.

Try to keep it legible.

Later on today, I know,

I’ll make it more intelligible

 

 

Except this one, it came to me,

Not at 4 but half past three!

It’s going in my post right now

As is. Insomnia is such a cow!

 

I never used to wake at all.

I slept and dreamt till wake-up call.

And now I can’t get through one night

Without waking, writing. And some is shite!

 

Has anyone an answer to

This problem? What to say or do?

Except. I don’t know. I may quite like

Waking in the dead of night

 

When all asleep explore their dreams

And I explore my mind.

Stealing Time

A new day arrives quietly in the small hours. No sunrise to herald its arrival; no light to show the way for those who await its coming. The seconds tick by slowly and sounds of a settling house interfere with the silence.

For those asleep the night is upon them. For one who watches, the morning hours are at hand; the hours when a body should rest and rejuvenate itself in sleep.

Only in sleep can the mind and spirit settle the cares of the day just gone – making sense of the madness that is life. In sleep the answers come unbidden.

To the one who will not or cannot sleep the answers are elusive; the questions foreboding. How will the new day work? What will it hold?

Without the rest to take upon the new day’s cares the minutes tick by endlessly and, although morning is come in the early hours, yet it feels like the longest night.

To begin afresh one must awaken.

And to awaken one must succumb to slumber.

How to close the eyes and mind to all that is gone and is yet to come? The mind will not rest, the eyes will not close until physical exhaustion dictates that it must be so.

Awareness of duty in the day that lies ahead pushes the feet in the direction of the place where heads must lay to rest.

And so, although the morning is here, the night begins.

Too short a night for true rest and rejuvenation, but time enough to replenish physical well-being for the activity that lies ahead.

To lie asleep the next day until body dictates wakefulness will be the dream, but only that, for when duty calls in the voices of those who cry for attention the body will answer despite its desperate need for sleep. And then the real day begins.

The wakefulness of the bright morning is harsh; the one which should herald hope in a new day.

Hope will find a way to penetrate the activities otherwise the body could not go on.

The pen can write no longer for to do so would deny the needs of those whose cares are priority. When the children call they must be answered. It is written so. The needs of the children must come before those of the parent.

Only sometimes, when all duty is done and love has played its part, can the parent relax and steal some time in the small hours of the morning when real morning has not yet come; when night still lies ahead and when, eventually, the dream of sleep becomes greater than the need for quiet time to oneself.