Poets sleep awake

Photo by @dan_cretu from Instagram


I need my naps

I am a modern poet

in semi-deep sleep

never fully awake

dreaming about pre-raphaelites and the Rosettis

still thinking

in all the colors

you left behind.

I hug you close

yet you disappear

into orange clouds

and sunset lawns.

I want to forget

the long trails

to your heart

and climb up

your mountain

to kiss your eyes

to sleep.

Alas, I slumber awake.

Awake, yet not.

poem Poems poetry


Lying in bed right before dawn
listening to silence
it makes a noise
(Jack White)
it is my muse
you might think
I have many. The way my mind works
I do. The way you twist my arm to make me love you. The way you order for me. The way you forget about me.
Treat me like my notebook.
Rip me up
put me together again.
I think clearer when you sleep
kiss you hard when you wake
and look at me in that sexy way.

In my bed
the angels whisper in my ears
about all that crap I forget during the day
the way you walk in a room
the way you touch my soul from a plane
the song you choose to fill my pain
the seriousness and lighthearted
of my fucked up brain.

Sylvia saves me,
has a way with running words on a train track
I wave at her all the time
talk to her
and she is the best silent listener.
She knows.
You might think I love you
when I know not where I packed
my eyeliner
my bra
in this paper mill town
in Quebec.
I am fearless for only you.
I am frozen and warm only for you.
I think you want the
parts of me
I cannot give
but now that more arrive
at our hockey game
you can dump and chase
whomever has prettier eyes
you can punish
and put me in your penalty box
for being so naughty.
You can have all the power plays
you so desire
but watch out for
those cherry pickers
to score.
In this town
it feels like nothing is possible.




There was a title to my love
story. I changed it about
as many times as you left
then came back with
those images that always
worked before. Before him,
that is. The title is in the works.
In my deep mind of altered
dreams. You are inside me
now, like the poems I write. You
write. I sleep. You sleep. I dream.
You dream. We meet. We part.
I want no answers. This is my
main problem. No solutions.
Most girls want it all. I want none
of it. All the things you can’t see
this is what I want. I need to
disappear, even under the sheets
will do. With or without you. I
recite Bono too often, claiming
this time I have tricks of bravery
up my sleeve on bristol boards
of love. I will run to you.
What else will keep me going
from one frozen day into another
as doctors call my name in
waiting rooms and I create
some kind of poetry that wakes
you from sweet daily slumber
and boredom on your screens.
Head on the desk, claiming
the flu has caught you again.
The headaches they’re back.
This stays within me. This long
drawn wait for the inevitable.
Health. Love. All this I claim none
Await to read
screens of destiny.


Sleeping awake

Hardly ate or slept for days

living in four walls

under isolation

and no moderation

as you still grab my legs

from a distance.

Stir the pot with love

chop onions and carrots

to obscure the lies

cry from interior melodies

that no one hears.

Obstruct walls around so I can

run again

I win marathons

Mont Royal is my haven.

I bend the truth

into the winding staircase

at Metropolis. Loud music

ass grabbing, sex in the

bathroom, driving in the car,

still feeling alone. Nothing

crashes into my soul

like you do.

No one can touch the

same buttons

as you do.

I lack sleep and words,

comforted by my darkness

as I stare at the walls

wondering why I

cannot run faster.

I’m not really awake

it is me pretending to

be done with you

but I never am.

It can never end

only begin


Every time.

I keep on telling you more

so you can see

the way

freedom is just

a word.

jim morrison

Poems poetry Some of my poems

Time like this

Who can really sleep at a time like this?
Second death in one month
heart, youth, love amiss,
in the joy of the day
death comes calling
never asking, only taking
bringing loss like divorce
hatred and denial
unanswered questions
facebook updates and status deaths
leave your soul in Barcelona
or Cape Cod
anywhere but Montreal
where they breathed.
Both fathers
and lovers
their wives sorting their affairs.
I had to pack the clothes
and hold it all together
but when you put me on
on the Sygamore bridge
I felt the crash
the faces
and again
you saved me.
I was shaking at the wheel
my son analyzing Rush lyrics
and how you had to be brilliant
to listen to the music
but my head was elsewhere
unfocused, misled
welcoming fear and its claws
as it entered my head
pulled me down
shattered my soul
and I couldn’t do it
so I watched you drive
through Vermont
I admired your strength
your comfort
you let me be
and at a time like this
when the dreams are floating away
I wonder what life is
and children
and parents
and friends that come and go
and family
how that dreaded day comes
and you don’t know what hit you
a regular fucking day
another departed
so I visit my dad
and kiss his picture
It’s on my way home.
Finding comfort in his silence
as I do in Yours.