Author's Notes/Comments: 


View pamschwetz's Full Portfolio


Before the dawn in the longest hours

I am wakefull

Before the bustle of unknown powers 

I am wakefull

Before the day once again devours

I am wakefull

Before it has the chance to sour

I am wakefull

Before those folks try to aquire

I am wakefull

Before above me they aspire

I am wakefull

View wrennie's Full Portfolio

Unknown to me

Just as the novelist sat down

    to write
    to nourish
    to align himself
                straight-again with the ground;
another man was lying deep-down,
below the grass,
encased in the systems of stars

he had tasted his last breath.

His moments froze ~

      a small stream of pure water
      poured perfectly from above
      into crown through to roots,
      washed away the worries,
      the illnesses,
      the aches
that paused this man’s infinite progression.

Within mind
refreshed and courageous, 
he traveled far
into jungles of Memory,
there was no shock.
no despair nor confusion.
As these thoughts 
flew him through
on the magic carpet that they always were.

He was transormed——
into a guidesman, a dream,
a neon notion;
this realization shook every nerve 
in its unseen explosion.
He sought the truth,

it had always been slapping him right in the face.

In life
he went insane for perfection
day-dreaming his Earthly footprint to be
in backward ways.
But that work is now
As he and the new setting
his Named became Nameless

All melted into rhythm & roots.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

~ Written during a period of personal DMT use ~ Carmello Yello

View carmeloyello's Full Portfolio

Staying awake.



Home alone.
I'm a boring person.
I used to think a lot more before.

That was interesting.
Dance attempt.
French toast for dinner.

Analizing poses in pornography.

Philosophizing over the translation of an animation.


"It must be very hard to write an opera"
Oh, I hate sunrises.
*sounds of snoring*

View deffangell's Full Portfolio

The Start of a New Day

When does morning start?

When a creature awakes,

Or when the sun rises?

Yea, the morning is

When a creature awakes

To find it starting anew

In the world dominated

By mortal souls.


The human wakes up

First by opening its eyes,

Then stretching its muscles

And sitting up in a position

To retreat from the bed

That held it prisoner 

During the long, dark night.


Out of bed it goes

Attending its normal

Robotic morning routine

Whilst thinking of the future,

Of what the day holds,

And how the day will go.

Either gleefully or woefully

Does the human think of this

For not all mornings 

Are filled with happiness and glee.


Fearful not is the human

Who takes things as they go

Wave by wave.

Wave by wave harassing it,

Wave by wave attacking it,

Wave by wave saddening it,

Wave by wave entertaining it,

Wave by wave knocking it down.

Each wave the human does take

Accepting each as a challenge,

As an opponent, an obstacle,

And one that must be rid of.

Defeat is not in its dictionary,

For there is no defeat

If one can rise again,

And face the same challenge

To only be victorious.


The human does not give up,

It does not ponder on the past,

But it rises from its ashes - 

Waking up to start anew

In a world dominated

By mortal souls.

View youarereadingmyusername's Full Portfolio

day off




a rumpelstiltskin-esque slumber,




              awakens me,


a barefoot stance, 

      stretching dance,





to the kitchen 


checking mail,

    the percolator accompanies







   a yawning



life is good.


10:50 PM 7/7/2013 ©


View nightlight1220's Full Portfolio

Pandora's Box



exhaustion surrounds 


permeating her auric feild


like a blanket of thick smoke


retiring into the darkness of night


it is her solace and place of quietude


undaunted by earthly storms 


the raging fires of voicy havoc


 raucous misunderstandings


petty misgivings that cloud the path to clarity


slowly and calmly anesthetized 


by the rise and fall of her chest


the inspiration of her breath


 far into the depths of unconscious planes


dreaming of spatial incongruencies


distorted views of the day's events


 slip into a place where they make more sense


awakened by a sound


 a child weeping


baby soft skin broken by the remnants 


of an ogre's  shame and anguish 


after dropping bombs on innocent women and children


abandoned by an angel of forgiveness


left in the scourge of suffering


accompanied by his own flesh and blood babies 


 one man's desperation 


the cold war has been resurrected


a house of horrors comes alive


it is up to each one to survive


 raw emotion pierces a hole


gnawing like lightning through the night


 into the core of her soul


awakening with cries


but after 35 years


she is finally alive.







10:07 PM 7/3/2013




Author's Notes/Comments: 

What war does. it lasts long after it's father beat me 2 months after my mother's sudden death, and I blocked it out for 35 years of my life.

Half Past Asleep

Eyes open only to
The stillness of early morning,
I lie in the comfort of my bed,
Warm, soft, still half asleep,
Everything is so quiet, peaceful,
Daylight is just showing itself
Through the blinds on my windows,
Exhilaration without movement, or sound,
All that I feel at this moment
Is still in a place far away from
This reality I am awakening to,
I will savor what pieces of it I can
Throughout this day.




6:09 AM 5/10/2013 ©

View nightlight1220's Full Portfolio


Eyes squint,
A new day,
Birds chirp,
Footsteps heard,
Squeaky floor,
But not a word,
Hallway light clicks,
Kitchen sink,
Water runs,
Smell of coffee,
Day begun,
Alarm sounding,
Snooze button,
Now you're counting,
Blinds open,
With sunshine,
Yawning and stretching,
A wink of your eye,
Mug is ready,
You take a sip,
When you're done,
I kiss your lips,
Monday morning,
A new week,
Then I pause,
I kiss your cheek,
Clothes and shower,
Hair and shoes,
Eggs an bacon,
Maybe news,
Dawn til nightime,
Work past ten,
Tomorrow morning,
We do it again.


5:54 AM 4/28/2013 ©

View nightlight1220's Full Portfolio