Sleep Poems

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
...

There are some nights when
sleep plays coy,
aloof and disdainful.
And all the wiles
...

THIS is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou
lovest best.
...

One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.
...

How neatly a cat sleeps,
sleeps with its paws and its posture,
sleeps with its wicked claws,
and with its unfeeling blood,
...

Sweet dreams form a shade,
O'er my lovely infants head.
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams,
By happy silent moony beams
...

And now you're mine. Rest with your dream in my dream.
Love and pain and work should all sleep, now.
The night turns on its invisible wheels,
and you are pure beside me as a sleeping amber.
...

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still.
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
...

I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
...

Under his helmet, up against his pack,
After so many days of work and waking,
Sleep took him by the brow and laid him back.
...

Sweet dreams, form a shade
O'er my lovely infant's head!
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
...

Others because you did not keep
That deep-sworn vow have been friends of mine;
Yet always when I look death in the face,
...

From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
...

I hid my heart in a nest of roses,
Out of the sun's way, hidden apart;
In a softer bed than the soft white snow's is,
Under the roses I hid my heart.
...

Sleep, sleep, my beloved,
without worry, without fear,
although my soul does not sleep,
although I do not rest.
...

I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
...

You don't believe - I won't attempt to make ye:
You are asleep - I won't attempt to wake ye.
Sleep on! sleep on! while in your pleasant dreams
Of Reason you may drink of Life's clear streams.
...

A man leaves the world
and the streets he lived on
grow a little shorter.
...

I made myself a snowball
As perfect as could be.
I thought I'd keep it as a pet
And let it sleep with me.
...

Go to sleep- though of course you will not-
to tideless waves thundering slantwise against
strong embankments, rattle and swish of spray
dashed thirty feet high, caught by the lake wind,
...

EARLY POEMS: JUVENILIA
by Michael R. Burch

These are my early poems, or juvenilia, most of them written between the ages of 11-18 and some published in my high school literary journal, THE LANTERN, and others in my college literary journal, HOMESPUN.
...

I don't want to sleep
Without you
But I can hardly keep you
Around
...

I saw you weep in light agleam
led by a hand from the world of dream
I saw you quivering, muttering
of some words above my hearing
...

Sleep, sleep, sleep
It's magnificent and nice,
...

How do you sleep at night
Do you sleep with fright,
Do you say your prayers
Hoping not for nightmares,
...

I hear sounds of sweet music,
When I'm walking in my sleep;
And the sound of drumbeats,
Even in my sleep!
...

sleep you cannot buy
sleep is non-negotiable
when you want some sleep
sleep is nowhere to be found sometimes
...

EARLY POEMS: JUVENILIA
by Michael R. Burch

These are early poems, most of them written between the ages of 11-18 and some published in my high school literary journal, THE LANTERN. Other poems were written later and several of those were published in my college literary journal, HOMESPUN.
...

Sleep.

Is sleep alive?
Is sleep a politician?
...

I love sleep knowing it is politically incorrect and culturally inappropriate
To say this but I love sleep not caring whether someone is going to bomb
The rialto tower or the Sydney opera house I love sleep at 46
For I don't remember anything about myself or what I do I love
Sleep lingering in my bed with a bit of dream here and there but nothing substantial
To merit a mention I love sleep years ago in Wuhan while I was working
As a lorry driver in a shipping yard I had a roommate who loved sleep
The only two things he did was go to work in the factory lifting things and come
Back to sleep in our three-bed room "I love sleep" he said one night as we stood
On the bridge across a nameless creek that ran into the Yangtze River
"for I dream of things, beautiful things that you never will see anywhere in the world"
I began to know that he was an orphan that he had nowhere to go on weekends
Things like that and I felt sad kind of for him and for myself I love sleep
And when I do so I know I am wasting my life knowing that I am wasting my life
Anyway even if I do not sleep I cherish the time immediately after I wake up
For I hear the birds calling out to each other among themselves I do not hear them in
sleep I become wordy soon I'll stop I love sleep I dream a little although I don't recall
anything this morning I went to a friend's house to interview him he had a beautiful
house that cost him nearly one million dollars off record he talked about his plan
For afterwards he said he would love to lead a xianyun yehe life
I shared his view although I know ours would be different
For that kind of life of leisurely clouds and wild cranes
I love sleep correct me if I am wrong for in sleep I am equal to anyone
Without a fight
...