Night Porter

Wee rowan lad
drums me into night
a fabled rhythm
conjuring mystical
oneiric encounters

There is freedom
in dreaming
slipping ego’s hold
soul taking flight

There is sorrow too
for when the drummer’s
song is done
morning must come.

(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)

Not Meant To Be

He was night dark,
ruminated over death
and loss and injustice
Don McLean on repeat

I was sunshine yellow
joy of living
optimism on steroids
Dancing Queen

If opposites attract
then we were magnets
lured by the mystery
One Way or Another

When night meets day
colours explode
light breaks black
Shame, Shame, Shame

(For Eugi’s Causerie weekly prompt: when night meets day.  Image mine)

 

Night Calls

A shrill note
pierces night’s curtain –
an insistent, pestering alarm

Is it loneliness
that motivates the caller –
the need for a warm body
to calm her feathered fears
or a throaty hum to lull her?

Or is this an infant cry,
a hunger for nourishment
anxious in separation
waiting for mother’s
regurgitated assurances,
father’s watchful stance.

An onerous honk
breaks through
the high-pitched peep
and then, as
warmth wanes
a softer, sweeter
melody presents
followed by
a laughing trill

avian pleasure
prefacing night’s slumber.

Midnight Caller

Who is at my door,
at nighttime prowls?

Temporary is this stopover;
bravado attempting vision –

fear limits perspective
and I’ve been called –

what emergency exists
that sets my heart throbbing;

why is it so difficult to breathe?

Is it angel or devil that seeks
entrance, pierces the darkness;

I am present – would prefer sleep
(more clarity in dreaming), need

to devise a plan for safety, try
to connect, believe this intrusion

answers my aching, unyielding soul.

(Image:  nightmare-aisle.tmblr.com)

Parents Beware!

Warily watching innocents
parading on the edge of darkness,
portraits of miniature monsters
haunting deserted streets.

Howls from a local asylum
like sirens scream of wizards,
devious deviners hovering
over fresh young blood

Heart beating irrationally,
I pause to calm my breathing,
turn to find my charge gone,
disappeared in the haze.

I retrace my steps – no!
She’s evaporated, snatched –
vomit rises in my throat,
while goblins stalk shadows

frantically I hunt, search
stashes, grasping for clues,
the night closes in, I shiver
at the echoing laughter.

Curiosity caught her –
twilight’s call, visions
enticing –  unaware of her
vulnerability, eager eyed

as any student of fright –
hissing cackles circle
the unsuspecting morsel
of flesh, drooling fangs

connive – bumping into
evil, she tried to run, was
swallowed up, lost, stench
of morbidity closing in –

found her crumpled like
a broken bird – princess
dreams dishevelled, streaks
of tears on muddied face,

tended to her in the shadowy
hours dissuading her fears,
All imaginary, I persuaded,
just costumes like yours –

yet even I felt the lingering
snarl of beasts, the undeniable
chill in the air; I snuggled her
tight, and said an extra prayer

as Night wrapped her in his
ebony cloak and feverish and
afraid she was whisked away
to another mortifying realm.

(Image: hdwallpapers.cat)

 

 

Sorrow’s Vigil

There is sorrow in the nighttime,
when the light of day has faded,
and the noise of life subsided,
and all the world is slumbering.

Then my heart beats with a single
lone drum, a heaviness weighing
on me, chest punctured with grief,
distractions losing their hold.

There is sorrow in the nighttime,
a deep-seated darkness, void of
hope, the deafening echo of unshed
tears, the brutality of solitude.

When all have surrendered to dreams,
my soul – tired of the daily effort to be
courageous, to smile when I want to
rage, to protect my beloveds – weeps.

There is sorrow in the nighttime,
the grief of knowing that this defective
existence is too much for others to
bear, whose hearts have glazed over,

who will me to wellness, shake
their heads, and spew frustration,
as if I am somehow an accomplice
in this state of vile stagnation,

There is sorrow in the nighttime,
when questions rob me of sleep,
and the passage of time fails to
ease the injustice of so much loss.

And while acceptance is the best
progress, and I know that faith
will sustain me, they are fickle
companions when the sun sets.

There is sorrow in the nighttime
a restless amalgamation of so
much emotional angst, with no
shelter for relief…