Contagious Nocturnal Friend

Slow is tired;
me, a cool festival
hanging limp
as a willow in the night,
you smile
like a moon favoring
one hemisphere
over the other
spraying the dark virgin air
aglow, suffused with blue
livening us, along with you,
celebrating in your over world
over, and over,
above a day,
thousands of miles
beneath our feet,
with sleep postponed
until the morn dawns
when insistent desires
fade, like children
worn with amusements;
curled flat and
heavy as lead,
with festive dreams
inside their head.


17 responses

  1. , like children
    worn with amusements;
    curled flat and
    heavy as led,
    with festive dreams inside their head.

    Superb line and image – beautifully descriptive. I just love it.

    • Thanks Don, this was a spontaneous poem. I forced myself to write even though I just needed to sleep. Funny what can come of it.
      Thanks for being such an avid reader of my blog and poems and for leaving “likes” and comments. It is encouraging as always.

    • Jots, thank much. The comments are like fuel, even, if ever critically suggestive. My aim is to search for, find, and bring up the treasure from the deep so that others may also enjoy. Anything to encourage me to search supports the joy in my gratitude and the momentum of my ambition. I am so grateful you are here!!

    • Thank you so much for extending your presence upon this page and sharing your encouraging thoughts. I am catapulted into wondrous places above the thoughts of such thoughtful compliments. I am glad your are here and I am there in your journey as well.

  2. Somehow this just fits with summer, with its late nights and assorted festivities. I can remember childhood nights falling asleep in the car or at someone’s house while my parents continued to enjoy the events.

    • Hey Doris,

      Wonderful that I was able to inspire you to visualize. poetry and words are an amazing vehicle to accomplish that.

      I am grateful for your visit and encouraging comments.

      Love this quote: “Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.” ~Leonardo da Vinci

      But to see and feel simultaneously is bliss. RKL

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