Midnight

One.

Two.

Another twelve hours through.

Open eyes to daylight shines,

yet only moonlight pines

to midnight’s dawning.

 –

Through yonder window breaks,

wrote the poet

where heart and pen would sing,

but this open window blows only wind,

the Wind of You and I,

sailing hurricane into the west

to sing no more.

 –

Insomnia, they say,

breeds strange dreams

immaculately rendered.

They don’t tell it to the man

getting his degree in cardboard architecture—

reality never seeks another’s pleasure.

 –

But the wind always knows.

The circuit of character

as a race, renders whistling whispers

of the boy’s shaking grips

upon the sill.

They comment on the breeze

without ever looking up.

 –

Time is the factor

where it all starts slip-slipping

you and me and mystery makes three,

the boy upon the windowsill

staring at the clock-lit silhouettes,

making ghosts of men.

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33 thoughts on “Midnight

  1. Once again, your writing is simply exquisite and written with a finely honed pen…and there is such wisdom in this line Chris: Time is the factor
    where it all starts slip-slipping…Yup, we’re all just slip-slipping away!

    And, “Open eyes to daylight shines, yet only moonlight pines to midnight’s dawning.”

    Roger ☺

  2. nice…great flow man, you really measure the lines…race, renders whistling whispers, is just fun to say….reality never seeks another pleasure is a tight line as well…well penned chris….

  3. I love the mood, the atmosphere you have crafted here Chris, I especially felt these lines..
    ‘but this open window blows only wind,
    the Wind of You and I,
    sailing hurricane into the west
    to sing no more’

  4. The wind at midnight on the cusp of insomniac dreams (those I know all too well) Reality had not dare step into this mystical read. And fantastic to read aloud!

  5. reality never seeks another’s pleasure <— absolutely my favorite line, followed closely by Insomnia, they say, breeds strange dreams immaculately rendered.

    As I read this out loud, I pictured an observer of the scene discussing these thoughts and observations from a high corner of the room. Isn't that odd? Did you intend to leave a haunting sense in this verse? Very intriguing. Much enjoyed.

    • Oh yes! A somewhat haunting sense of things was certainly what I was going for. Glad you enjoyed – always nice to hear people’s favorite lines form a given piece.

  6. Every stanza is almost a free standing capsule with its own strong image, but linked together they make a powerful whole—I’m partial to the insomnia stanza with its cardboard architecture degree, and the final, especially. You’ve got that lonesome midnight feeling down, very elegantly and where love is concerned, most elegiac. Fine writing, and thanks for the Wilde earlier–not every poet could get away with ‘duggen’ but it fit that verse like a glove.

  7. “They don’t tell it to the man
    getting his degree in cardboard architecture”

    My favorite lines right there. Overall, just an amazingly strong piece image-wise. And the verses, while all introducing their own images, link together in an incredible way. The message the poem as a whole sends is very loud and clear.

    Absolutely love this. ❤

    – Nick

  8. “Time is the factor

    where it all starts slip-slipping

    you and me and mystery makes three,

    the boy upon the windowsill

    staring at the clock-lit silhouettes,

    making ghosts of men.”

    Masterfully done Chris. This final stanza is simply perfection. Wish I’d written it.

  9. This just may well be a top favorite of mine in your work Chris…the emotion of it so felt and still delicate in its tempo. I love its entirety and

    “Time is the factor

    where it all starts slip-slipping

    you and me and mystery makes three,”

    Just melts! Perfectly lovely piece, hope your journey is joyful. ~ Rose

  10. stellar write. glad I didn’t miss this one.

    you have so eloquently captured the sense of unwelcome wakefullness and longing. your delicate word choices and stunning alliteration are simply gorgeous.

    enjoyed this Chris, outstanding poetry.

  11. Insomnia, they say, breeds strange dreams immaculately rendered.

    In my experience with insomnia (15+) years this occurred because I was awake during the time my brain was trying to recuperate and enter REM. All that time felt like a waking dream, now that I sleep I don’t miss anything about that unproductive time that haunted my days with the blur of too little rest. Great write!

    Have you read Alicia Ostriker’s poem on insomnia? http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/21531

  12. I have nominated you for the Versatile Bloggers Award. Your site always inspires me in poetry and I believe you deserve this recognition. Please claim your award and follow the three requirements for this award. It is my honor to nominate you for this award. Thank you.

    http://wp.me/p1lGBx-qO

  13. There was a lot of mysticism in this midnight poem… If I were to start picking likes I loved here, I would end up picking the entire poem eventually!

    “the boy upon the windowsill
    staring at the clock-lit silhouettes,
    making ghosts of men.” – these lines held within them a depth which is beyond words and expression for me! AMAZING!

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