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User Rating:
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6.1
/10
(27 votes)
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Grave-shift workers reach Zen-like focus
That sometimes amplifies noises -
Pecans thwacking the tin roof,
And squirrels scrambling after them -
Before everything dumbs down
Into the silent sea of sleep.
The motorcycles revving
Their guttural voices
Thick with machismo
Rumble into dreams as thunder
From the wedges of towering nimbus.
The neighbors arguing,
The dogs yip-yapping in the yard,
And cats yowling under the house
As they each fight over territory,
All are lifted into dreams,
Like so many alien abductions
And become the shadow play
Of conflicts my soul is engaged in.
Lillian Susan Thomas
| Submitted Date |
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Thursday, September 10, 2009 |
| Submitted Date |
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Wednesday, June 22, 2011 |
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Comments about this poem (Day Sleepers
by
Lillian Susan Thomas
) |
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Ray Schreiber (10/25/2009 2:42:00 AM)
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Nice work...you've vividly painted a daily scene I lived years ago for a short time. The pre-sleep world of audio images hasn't changed a bit (except my pecans were acorns) .
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Apothecary Montague (10/21/2009 1:09:00 PM)
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Before everything dumbs down
Into the silent sea of sleep
love this line, great poem, great idea. i work a 24hr. shift and have felt this feeling many times, never thought to write about it. Well done.
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Mehta hasmukh amathalal (9/28/2009 7:08:00 AM)
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All are lifted into dreams,
Like so many alien abductions
And become the shadow play
Of conflicts my soul is engaged in..............beautiful piece of poetry and i admire it. the sleep becoems battle ground and form a shadow play in dreams... lovely imagination....10
read mine all dreams not come true... at cross road.... a place callled home
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Anand Madhukar (9/20/2009 6:25:00 AM)
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A wonderfully written piece, with a very keen eye for detail. The words effortlessly capture the mundane day sounds and turn them into something with much more significance in the last few lines.
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Susan Jarvis (9/13/2009 3:52:00 AM)
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This poem captures all auditory anxieties of that fretful daylight slumber. Your wonderful choice of onomatopoeias – thwacking, yowling, yip-yapping - ensures that the poem is rife with niggling noises throughout. I love the way they are ‘lifted into dreams’. You manage to make an aural nightmare an art form – wonderful stuff! S :)
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