Saturday, September 5, 2009

Sweet Surrender

Sweet soma
Sweet surrender
Drink my caffeinated heart
Crystallized form in motion, unable to sleep
Embrace me in a state of relatively suspended sensory
Engulf me in your ruffled velvet bed
In your complete inactivity
In the infinitely friendly world of soma-holiday.
I await thee sweet surrender with these dog tired eyes.


  1. This is both sensually and powerfully written. “Drink my caffeinated heart/Crystallized form in motion, unable to sleep” – brilliant! There is an edge to your poetry as well and I really appreciate that. The structure is also smooth.

  2. Thank you Jenny. I borrowed this line -In the infinitely friendly world of soma-holiday.
    It's from Aldous Huxley's Brave new world.
    I wanted to use soma as my dream holiday and sleep as my travel agent.

  3. beautiful've described how I feel when I can't sleep

  4. I've never read that book, but my fiance is a fan. I love this alliteration--state of relatively suspended sensory. Your poem reminds me of one of my favorites by Sylvia Plath:


    The night is only a sort of carbon paper,
    Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
    Letting in the light, peephole after peephole ---
    A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
    Under the eyes of the stars and the moon's rictus
    He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness
    Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions.

    Over and over the old, granular movie
    Exposes embarrassments--the mizzling days
    Of childhood and adolescence, sticky with dreams,
    Parental faces on tall stalks, alternately stern and tearful,
    A garden of buggy rose that made him cry.
    His forehead is bumpy as a sack of rocks.
    Memories jostle each other for face-room like obsolete film stars.

    He is immune to pills: red, purple, blue ---
    How they lit the tedium of the protracted evening!
    Those sugary planets whose influence won for him
    A life baptized in no-life for a while,
    And the sweet, drugged waking of a forgetful baby.
    Now the pills are worn-out and silly, like classical gods.
    Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good.

    His head is a little interior of grey mirrors.
    Each gesture flees immediately down an alley
    Of diminishing perspectives, and its significance
    Drains like water out the hole at the far end.
    He lives without privacy in a lidless room,
    The bald slots of his eyes stiffened wide-open
    On the incessant heat-lightning flicker of situations.

    Nightlong, in the granite yard, invisible cats
    Have been howling like women, or damaged instruments.
    Already he can feel daylight, his white disease,
    Creeping up with her hatful of trivial repetitions.
    The city is a map of cheerful twitters now,
    And everywhere people, eyes mica-silver and blank,
    Are riding to work in rows, as if recently brainwashed.

  5. I love your poetry. I loved the picture you sent to Attika SOS. Its on their web page :)

    I'm at my grandparents right now. Its wonderful to see them. My computer at home has been doing many strange things. I can't leave comments on many blogs, (including both of yours) but I do visit you and loved your garden wall art xx

  6. I'm also finding these lines arousing:

    "Drink my caffeinated heart
    Crystallized form in motion, unable to sleep...."

    And your use of alliteration really pulls the rhythm together and focuses your distinct voice, which seems evident in the rest of your work.

    I'm glad I strayed over here from your other blog--

  7. I'll have to get you to write a poem for my sugar company! ;) he he (Oh, unless you have read my comment to your comment on my blog post I guess this doesn't make since. . . I don't really have a sugar company but I can draw a Sweet drawing and you can write a Sweet poem.)