Sleeping Poet
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sleepingpoet.bsky.social
Sleeping Poet
@sleepingpoet.bsky.social
40 followers 53 following 39 posts
Artist, journalist, moonlighting as a poet |

https://sleepingpoetstories.substack.com/
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sleepingpoet.bsky.social
Moons collide in the middle of the night.
He stands on the porch, looking for daylight.
The air goes dry, flames light up the sky,
A Cadillac passes, waving a black flag.

Clocks refuse to keep ticking in the dark
...

---

#story #narrative #poem #poetry #writing #writingcommunity #literature
Moons collide in the middle of the night. He stands on the porch, looking for daylight. The air goes dry, flames light up the sky, A Cadillac passes, waving a black flag. Clocks refuse to keep ticking in the dark. Mayors gather, gaze at one moon’s mark. He goes quiet, people start to riot, Streets screaming out, as men drop down. Grass rebel on the banks of the lake. Gardeners squeal, as thin leaves snake. The water is still, a marlin shows its gill, At peace, left out of the frantic scene.
April 1, 2025 at 9:49 AM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
He was whistling at dawn,
Whistling alone,
Watching the sun,
Rise from below.

Leaves were falling,
Branches, shaking,
Lines of streetlights dim,
Above metal tins.

She was standing alone...

---

#poem #song #lyrics #narrative #story #writing #writingcommunity #poetry #literature
He was whistling at dawn, Whistling alone, Watching the sun, Rise from below. Leaves were falling, Branches, shaking, Lines of streetlights dim, Above metal tins. She was standing alone, Hers hands pale and thin. At the top of the road, Listening with a grin. Glass amplifying His pure tones flowing, Her burning stare, Inches away, but nowhere. She doesn’t know, Where he stands. He doesn’t know, He’s her one-man band. They fly past other, But never land.
March 29, 2025 at 10:03 AM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
Currents brought us towards the shore,
Waves slapping the side of our boat.
Ira at the front, hands around the oar.
Mera at the back, prepared to float.

Darkness around a waterfront home,
Clouds stand...

---

#poem #poetry #story #narrative #writing #writingcommunity #literature
Currents brought us towards the shore, Waves slapping the side of our boat. Ira at the front, hands around the oar. Mera at the back, prepared to float. I in the middle, content to fiddle. Darkness around a waterfront home, Clouds stand ahead of the flashing berth. Ira shoots a flare, aims at a cracked dome. Mera covers her ears, preserves her worth. I hit the ground, push the boat around. Water pours in and drenches our bag, We shout and we scream on the bay. Ira trashes the waves, we zig and zag. Mera closes her eyes, starts to pray. I just try not to flinch, to move an inch.
March 23, 2025 at 12:13 PM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
He looked to the side,
And watched worlds collide.
He flashed a smirk and blinked,
Stuffed a doe-eyed girl into a precinct.

He banged his gavel, adjusted his tie,
Told the kid to be quiet, just comply.
He grinned from ...

---

#poem #poetry #story #narrative #writing #writingcommunity #literature
He looked to the side, And watched worlds collide. He flashed a smirk and blinked, Stuffed a doe-eyed girl into a precinct. He banged his gavel, adjusted his tie, Told the kid to be quiet, just comply. He grinned from the bench, Pounced at her only defence, Stripped of his moral sense. A tailored suit straightens In the back, A voice cackles, eyes watches the attack. Dull greying coifs slip out of sight Long flowing locks put up a fight, The middle ground takes flight. The girl inside the damp precinct cell, Watches an anxious crowd swell. Her eyes harden, lips curl, He’s at home to unfurl.
March 20, 2025 at 12:47 PM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
Blooming flowers open in December.
Standing guards, silently remember,
One swollen body running into the light,
Rusted metal coils compressing at night.

Clocks start to tick and doors start to click,
And manic elements ...

---

#poem #poetry #story #narrative #writing #writingcommunity #literature
Blooming flowers open in December. Standing guards, silently remember, One swollen body running into the light, Rusted metal coils compressing at night. Clocks start to tick and doors start to click, And manic elements become yardsticks. Ice cracking on a dim, sunless day. Captain Jim packs up the bay, Pushes thick rotting panels aside, Then silently stands by the wayside. Clocks begin to stop and door lock, And manic elements empty sidewalks. Bare branches drooping down at dawn. Dark feral rodents race to climb on. Mera watches, clasping her cross, Silently standing, wholly engrossed.
March 18, 2025 at 2:10 PM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
The Searchers:

A few minutes before dawn, Alice rolled out of bed, grabbed an old camera from her desk, and began to creep down ...

Continue reading at : berrybaychronicles.substack.com/p/the-search...

#story #narrative #writing #writingcommunity #shortstory #short
The Searchers Sleeping Poet Stories 6–7 minutes A few minutes before dawn, Alice rolled out of bed, grabbed an old camera from her desk, and began to creep down the damp and winding steps outside her porch. Streetlights were still shining and a light breeze pushed thorny branches across the ground, forcing them into her gangly legs.
March 16, 2025 at 9:08 AM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
v2:

Felled oaks splayed across a teetering road,
Bound by cliffs, wide emptying valleys below.
Ira sits still, gazing, slipping in and out,
Between screaming men, children jumping about.

Wheels turn and stop, the aisle ...

---

#poem #poetry #story #narrative #writing #writingcommunity
Felled oaks splayed across a teetering road, Bound by cliffs, wide emptying valleys below. Ira sits still, gazing, slipping in and out, Between screaming men, children jumping about. Wheels turn and stop, the aisle swells then thins. An old bearded man boards, toothless with a grin, A child leaps up, his mother gently shoves him out, The men go quiet, feel a bristled hand reach around. A knock and a blare and they’re on their way. Running ahead, leaving the hills at bay, Winding down, towards men whiling away. Glimpsing painted plastic signs; red, rusting hooks, Walking canes, a greying man, his glimmering looks. Ira ricochets into a tempered glass pane, turns away. Fiddles with his broken watch, transported to another day. Wheels start to slow, glass towers above tarry rows of concrete. Stained, disused storefronts frame dense streets. Ira straightens, looks around, beaming at facades, Serene scenes, covering spiked and polished shards. A knock and a blare and he’s on his way. Sliding down, wiping thick sweat away, Sighing, looking at the hills held at bay.
March 16, 2025 at 6:17 AM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
Hands wrung, sparkling glitter flies.
Darting left and darting right,
She stands still to eulogise.
Glaze over scratches and blight.

Her fingers hidden, playing with rings,
Masking hidden homages to kings.

Lines ordered ...

---

#poem #poetry #writing #story #narrative #writingcommunity #power
Hands wrung, sparkling glitter flies. Darting left and darting right, She stands still to eulogise. Glaze over scratches and blight. Her fingers hidden, playing with rings, Masking hidden homages to kings. Lines ordered, waves crashing high. Bikers, strikers, feigning cries. She throws her arms to the sky. Stamps her feet, brings rhythmic demise. Her deep breaths in, furtive glances right. Her hidden crossed fingers, suppressed fright. Taped roads, sirens squealing thick. Limos barrel down, on guard, She nods and winks, jumps down quick. Ducking, tucking, falling hard.
March 15, 2025 at 9:03 AM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
Eyes fluttered, beaten storefronts shuttered,
Dim flashes light the tiered spire.
Cars lonely, surrounded, blinking bright,
Gravelled mud flowing down boulevards.

Striped freighters thrashing back and forth,
...

---

#poem #poetry #writing #writingcommunity #story #narrative #nature
Eyes fluttered, beaten storefronts shuttered, Dim flashes light the tiered spire. Cars lonely, surrounded, blinking bright, Gravelled mud flowing down boulevards. Striped freighters thrashing back and forth, Planes litter a tarmac, unadorned. Sparse shelters packed tight, out of sight, Bearded fathers handling fright. Thunder echoing off mountaintops, Standing, unmoving, unyielding. Rotting old cabins dislodged, sliding, Nests tucked away, sparrows turn their heads.
March 11, 2025 at 11:30 AM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
Heart throbbing, sweltering streets gleaming.
The hall’s thin glass doors burst open wide.
A line winding, teenage dream waking,
Staring at the stretched posters on the wall.

Base rhythms echo, the stage still dark.

---

#poem #poetry #story #narrative #memory #writing #writingcommunity
Heart throbbing, sweltering streets gleaming. The hall’s thin glass doors burst open wide. A line winding, teenage dream waking, Staring at the stretched posters on the wall. Base rhythms echo, the stage still dark. Fire projecting, whistling erupts. Blue light dancing across the hall, While young passions break through, take their place. Heads bob, sweaty bodies jump. Horns fly and snares thump. Hours come and hours go, Decades of memories flow.
March 9, 2025 at 11:27 AM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
The men sit in a cold, crumbling room,
Old perfumes shooting toxic fumes.
Their folded hands and black costumes,
Masking the rags strewn across the room.

Minds blank, they’re forgetting names,
Side effects, their potent shames.

#poem #poetry #narrative #story #writing #writingcommunity
The men sit in a cold, crumbling room, Old perfumes shooting toxic fumes. Their folded hands and black costumes, Masking the rags strewn across the room. Minds blank, they’re forgetting names, Side effects, their potent shames. Their flaming hearts and torrid claims, The lonely ones they assigned names. Lights dim, the door starts knocking, Voices go low, some try mocking. One stands up, begins blocking, Weepy crowds remember the knocking.
March 5, 2025 at 1:23 PM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
v2

Silence in crowded, painted rooms
Hidden beneath raised stages.
Damp and constrained,
Cracked and contained,
Like crooked, dilapidated tombs.

Unphased booms in empty hallways
Joining wavy concrete blocks.
Echoing ...

---

#poem #poetry #writing #writingcommunity #story #narrative #atmosphere
Silence in crowded, painted rooms Hidden beneath raised stages. Damp and constrained, Cracked and contained, Like crooked, dilapidated tombs. Unphased booms in empty hallways Joining wavy concrete blocks. Echoing and deceiving, Shifting around, heaving, Like dimming, concocted hazes. Air thickening above worn out floors Sprawling into the distant hills. Some lines slippery, warmed, Most others sticky, deformed, Like halves sliced, lashed by boars. Restless nights coming and going, Lustful masks melting and falling. Creaseless faces start showing, Beneath the layers sprawling.
March 3, 2025 at 12:47 PM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
Lights twinkling above streets,
Feet stomping toward suites.
Roads opening wide,
Halls thumping inside,
Bright dye flowing right through a park.

Laughs and whistles,
Rimmed hats and bristles,
...

---

#poem #poetry #story #writing #writingcommunity #festival #narrative #atmosphere
Lights twinkling above streets, Feet stomping toward suites. Roads opening wide, Halls thumping inside, Bright dye flowing right through a park. Laughs and whistles, Rimmed hats and bristles, Bring a moment of delight, A break from long fights, Across bustling, central sites. Striped flags shine onto stones, Wigs push hair up into cones. ‘till dawn they shine, Spill glasses of wine, Dancing through the city all night. The new day comes too fast, Streets go silent in contrast, To the many livened hearts, Their simple works of art. Our truest, loving parts.
March 2, 2025 at 5:10 AM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
Pain rippled down Paul’s arm,
When he hit the broken alarm.
Shards on this chest,
Hair ruffled and wet,
Blood soaking through his vest.

A few men huddled outside,
Silent, sweaty, standing aside.
A grandma watched the door,
...

---

#poem #poetry #story #narrative #writing #writingcommunity
Pain rippled down Paul’s arm, When he hit the broken alarm. Shards on this chest, Hair ruffled and wet, Blood soaking through his vest. A few men huddled outside, Silent, sweaty, standing aside. A grandma watched the door, Saw some women hit the floor. Paul slumped down to the floor, When the men started to explore. Their hands icy and tough, One’s eyes warm and teary, They all just laughed, called his bluff. A child with a gaping mouth, Watched Paul’s luck go south. A mother begged on his behalf, Pleading, trying to save the staff. Paul’s voice was tinged with fear, As he told the one to listen to her. Eyes darting to and fro, He paced along the hall, Before whispering a self-conscious no.
March 1, 2025 at 11:04 AM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
How did they know,
Where he was.
How did they know,
Where he was that fateful night.

He was by a dim candlelight.
Thinking he would have the time.
At least a few hours,
To make to make things right.

---

#lyrics #poetry #poem #narrative #ballad #story #writing #writingcommunity
How did they know, Where he was. How did they know, Where he was that fateful night. He was by a dim candlelight. Thinking he would have the time. At least a few hours, To make to make things right. Holding the verse that she sang, In the cold, sweaty palm of this hand, He whistled high and he whistled low, He whistled loud, didn’t see them approach. How did they know, where to hide, How did they know, when to strike. How did they know, where he was that night, On that dull, fateful night. Did they see him closing his eyes, Trying to remember their sweet desires. When they told him to come out, Put his hands out, Did they tell him how they’d found out.
February 28, 2025 at 10:56 AM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
They hear a tick, tick, tick,
Registers start to click.
They hear a tick, tick, tick,
She’s leaning, falling sick.

They hear a tick, tick, tick,
Towering doors close and click.
They hear a tick, tick, tick,
...

---

#poem #poetry #writing #writingcommunity #story #narrative #atmosphere
They hear a tick, tick, tick, Registers start to click. They hear a tick, tick, tick, She’s leaning, falling sick. They hear a tick, tick, tick, Towering doors close and click. They hear a tick, tick, tick, Her webbed feet start to kick. They hear a tick, tick, tick, Dry mouths begin to click, They hear a tick, tick, tick, She shrivels like a wick.
February 27, 2025 at 9:46 AM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
Lights flash in the sky,
White and red and bright.
She looks up, rolls over,
Creeps out of sight.

Hail hits a pane of glass,
Shatters, slides down its side.
He perks up, looks around,
Pushes silk curtains aside.

---

#writing #poem #poetry #writingcommunity #story #narrative
Lights flash in the sky, White and red and bright. She looks up, rolls over, Creeps out of sight. Hail hits a pane of glass, Shatters, slides down its side. He perks up, looks around, Pushes silk curtains aside. The corner house goes black. Bangs, crashes, and wails, Hidden behind nature’s attack. Black and webbed veils, Stops the town going stale.
February 26, 2025 at 8:57 AM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
They told us to leave,
In the middle of the day.
Raising swollen arms,
And pushing knees high,
And brushing aside locks of grey.

Nobody told us where to go,
As purple skies faded to black.
Caravans rolling down a hill,
....
....

---

#poem #poetry #narrative #story #writing #writingcommunity
They told us to leave, In the middle of the day. Raising swollen arms, And pushing knees high, And brushing aside locks of grey. Nobody told us where to go, As purple skies faded to black. Caravans rolling down a hill, And little jets whirring past, And all of us huddling in the back. They told us not to make a sound, On that frosted December night. Thin blankets for young men, And stained cots for a child, And shackles for ones who put up a fight.
February 22, 2025 at 11:18 AM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
Chandelier shards,
Stuffed into a sink.
Brown, bruised knees,
Reshape battered links.

Flickering lightbulbs,
Pop on top of a bed.
The trader’s limp legs,
Slump over the edge.

Mellow young men,
Rattle between rooms.

---

#poem #poetry #writing #story #narrative #writingcommunity
Chandelier shards, Stuffed into a sink. Brown, bruised knees, Reshape battered links. Flickering lightbulbs, Pop on top of a bed. The trader’s limp legs, Slump over the edge. Mellow young men, Rattle between rooms. Low howls float in, Echo like they’re tombs. Shattered, painted glass, Covers the browning grass. Ladders fall to the ground. Lines pour out without a sound.
February 21, 2025 at 9:51 AM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
Feet skimming across the marble steps,
Legs crossing back and forth.
Gazing at the watchful stones,
Waltzing along the course.

Suited men with their heads down low,
Bowing deeply as they go.
Stumbling, mumbling, bumbling,

...

#poem #poetry #writing #story #narrative #writingcommunity #lyrical
Feet skimming across the marble steps, Legs crossing back and forth. Gazing at the watchful stones, Waltzing along the course. Suited men with their heads down low, Bowing deeply as they go. Stumbling, mumbling, bumbling, Tumbling, staring up at their past. Spinning her around the fountain’s edge, Bending her back and forth. Wrapping his arms around her curves, Guiding her gently to and fro. Grizzled men keep their heads down low, Pins pushed into their chests. Balancing against cold, rusted rails, Grasping each other’s scaly hands. Snapping his fingers, pulling her tight. Kissing her wrist in the cool blue light. Lifting her up and putting her down, And confessing under the gilded dome. Hushed prayers and laughs filling the air, Memories formed and memories shared. Lovers visit, over long days and night, Only some remembering noble fights.
February 20, 2025 at 9:56 AM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
Drafts of wind,
Blow in through open flaps.
Riley stretches,
Checks all the kitchen taps,
Opens bins, looking for scraps.

Scooters whistle,
Circle winding tracks outside.
Riley whisks,
Wide-eyed, standing beside,
...

---

#poetry #poem #story #writing #writingcommunity #narrative
Drafts of wind, Blow in through open flaps. Riley stretches, Checks all the kitchen taps, Opens bins, looking for scraps. Scooters whistle, Circle winding tracks outside. Riley whisks, Wide-eyed, standing beside, Lean stacks of the wet and dried. Riley’s mellow footsteps echo, As he walks to the door. Feet drifting along the floor, Waiting for the starting roar. A truck’s horn blares, A shutter hits its thin, metal ceiling. Riley shuts his eyes, Starts absent-mindedly peeling, Thinking, losing all feeling. The door slams wide, A waiter marches into the front. Riley barks an order, Really just a coarse, guttural grunt, So he tries again, clearer but blunt. Frenetic stomps don’t echo, The team hovers around the door. Riley grabs a bottle, starts to pour, A quick drink, his hands already worn.
February 19, 2025 at 11:05 AM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
Sand dunes begin to crumble,
Grains tumble, past waxed sedans.
Weary drivers shake and huddle,
Thoughts muddle, with bottles of diluted gin.

Some men pick at mottled threads,
A group treads, along a long jagged cliff.

---

#poem #poetry #story #narrative #writing #writingcommunity
Sand dunes begin to crumble, Grains tumble, past waxed sedans. Weary drivers shake and huddle, Thoughts muddle, with bottles of diluted gin. Some men pick at mottled threads, A group treads, along a long jagged cliff. One vents, spits at the man in the gleaming ship, Rehashes his script, dreams of golden tips. As the white yacht floats, Its greying captain copes, shakes off numbing beats. Sweat dampens his white collar, Young men holler, crowding sprawling decks. Two women approach him, Faces grim, as they bark. They jostle and shift, The endless drift, prompting them to whinge. His voice goes hoarse, Changing course, with the sun on the horizon. Nodding and assenting, He tries repenting, clasping hands together. Then his eyes flash open wide, start burning, His stomach starts turning, lights flash red. He locks the door, the engines trip, His legs slip, on the squealing ship.
February 18, 2025 at 10:45 AM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
The front pews glistened,
Choral chants echoed through the hall.
The pastor, he listened,
Watched Paul’s hands drop to the floor.

His face flushed, eyes pale and white.
His body still, head drifting forward, falling back.

- - - -

#poetry #poem #story #narrative #writing #writingcommunity
The front pews glistened, Choral chants echoed through the hall. The pastor, he listened, Watched Paul’s hands drop to the floor. His face flushed, eyes pale and white. His body still, head drifting forward, falling back. The back doors swung open, Warm gusts of wind swept in. Paul shot to the ground, The silent crowd rushed towards him. His face flushed, cheeks cold and tight. His body still, arms flailing left, floating right. The front pews listened, Harried cries carried through the hall. The pastor’s eyes glistened, Felt his hands drop to the floor. His face flushed, lips blue and bright. His body still, legs pacing forward, tripping back. The pastor dived, pulled Paul aside, Stood his ground, held the restless crowd back. He pulled the grand doors shut, Let them beat against a gaping crack. Took the boy’s head in his hands, Promised to keep him out of iron bands.
February 17, 2025 at 9:24 AM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
She’s sitting at the very top,
Eyes tracing down,
Walls curving around.

She spots him holding his guitar,
Fiddling with a strap,
Her words on his lap.

A deep breath catches his attention,
He looks up at her,

-

#poem #poetry #song #narrative #writing #writingcommunity #story #lyrics
She’s sitting at the very top, Eyes tracing down, Walls curving around. She spots him holding his guitar, Fiddling with a strap, Her words on his lap. A deep breath catches his attention, He looks up at her, The room’s thick with tension. And before he can tell her to go away, She cries out, makes sure they hear her say. Don't tell me to just stay around, To watch the world go round. Don't tell me that you'll come at night, You'll come home at night, Just one last time. And crowd just stares into the distance, He shakes his head at her resistance. Two fingers tap her left shoulder, Hands grasp her arms, Managers push her over. The crowd erupts, starts to scold her. He jumps offstage, Comes around to hold her. He smiles at the crowd, Drops his head down low. Barks at her, lets his temper go. And then before she can run away, He cries out, makes sure she hears him say, I never wanted you to stay around, Or watch the world go round. I never wanted to come at night, To come home at night, To be anywhere in sight.
February 16, 2025 at 5:00 AM
sleepingpoet.bsky.social
Deep in the mountains,
There’s a story to tell.
About a young, resting widow,
In her cabin on stilts.

She sleeps in the morning,
Writes through wakeful nights.
Watching for creeping wolves,
At the shifting treeline.

...

#poem #poetry #story #narrative #writing #writingcommunity #loss
Deep in the mountains, There’s a story to tell. About a young, resting widow, In her cabin on stilts. She sleeps in the morning, Writes through wakeful nights. Watching for creeping wolves, At the shifting treeline. They come to her at dawn, They come to her at night. She comes out with a cane, Swinging left, swinging right. She wanders into the town, On some damp Friday nights. Walking through empty stores, Waiting for the daylight. They forget her at dawn, They forget her at night. They forget her all day, Until they claim their prize.
February 15, 2025 at 9:03 AM