Perchance

For the dverse prompt, sleep.

 

The stars blaze silently,

while moon sets in a pool of gold,

and I listen to the watery ripple of the poplars,

lullaby-rocking the house where day folk live,

and trip, night time, barefoot after dreams

of sunken pearls and moonstones,

glowing in a sea king’s hands

or rowan berries, glowing bright as flame

where visions dance.

Stars wheel on the eternal sea,

tides of sparks that ravel up the day’s cares,

and drop our thoughts like pebbles

into the bottomless well of sleep.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

51 thoughts on “Perchance”

  1. Nice ending with dropping thoughts into sleep’s well. I was thinking like a wishing well, but perhaps this is a dreaming well. I liked this phrase: “moon sets in a pool of gold”

    1. The move was hellish, but the wonderful thing is it’s over and I can fall asleep to the sound of utter silence. If you discount the owls and various snuffles and yaps from passing wildlife…

      1. Ah, it’s not the noise of other people’s cars that bothers me—nobody uses our tiny road except the four neighbours, so it’s silent as the grave—it’s the thing that I have to get into the habit of driving to do the shopping occasionally. Cars and I don’t get on.

  2. Your new digs sound divine. The few times I have spent time in the country, the silence & total darkness were hard to adjust too. Your poem is lovely, and yes, dreamy.

      1. Excuse the inconvenience, Jane! Now, we had ourself a short delay, because our blogging machine was infected by an drive-by-virus. We are back with reblogging and posting at 16:30 MESZ (in three hours). Michael

  3. Great to see you back, Jane, blazing silent stars!
    I love the ‘watery ripple of the poplars’ and the ‘rowan berries, glowing bright as flame’. For all the trees we have in our garden, and the name of our cottage, the nearest poplars and rowans are a mile or so down the road. More echoes of Shakespeare in that wonderful line:
    ‘tides of sparks that ravel up the day’s cares,
    and drop our thoughts like pebbles
    into the bottomless well of sleep’.

    1. Thanks, Michelle. I had that problem for years. Since we moved, and since Finbar has decided he prefers sleeping with the cats in the veranda where he can keep an eye on the wildlife, I’ve been sleeping right through. Hope it continues!

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