ts735bSTUDENT10 | Poetry Vibe
ts735bSTUDENT10
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RUBY

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Beddie bye boo ski time for yours truly and/or the missus

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Views: 64

Found us abed thee twelfth day
of December, cuz yours truly
still felt dehydration, physical
fatigue and soreness,
which possibly linkedin
to riding stationary bicycle
with no handlebars.

Our bed (mine and the wife),
I arbitrarily describe as double wide
mine traditional established
approximate sleeping side
on the right if facing headboard
while standing at footboard;
if I blithely disturb, dismiss,

and disregard settled pattern
posse would appear out of thin air
as if most other married couples
linkedin with their own sleeping arrangement,
would dare tread against observed covenant,
which blanket statement tacitly notified
among/between themselves

even when away from home
husband and spouse cannot hide
embedded behaviour, but the above lines
serve as a convenient aside,
when segueing into remaining poem
trumpeting, summoning, roping,
quintessentially kickstarting, and joining

"Wynken, Blynken and Nod"
at figurative drop of hat
even if/when yours truly
woke to immediate
necessary nocturnal comfortably numb
zzz land eagerly, joyfully, opportunistically
surrendering to his slumbers.

When zapped of energy
the sandman doth knock
no matter readout
of analog or digital o'clock
hankering urge to sleep
exponentially increased
with every passing tick tock.

Our marital bed
(when we hit the hay)
occupied about more'n
two and half score years
since we (me and the spouse) wed
even during spate (sowing wild oats -
regarding gathering rosebuds while I may)
of mine risqué business,
where unnamed husband did dread

with extreme trepidation manning left side
(picture said individual
lying on his back) atop
sleep number mattress of paramour,
predicting spouse considered me
(courtesy crimes of passion)
better off dead
in retrospect I recognize
the signals clearly straight ahead.

Now on the lighter side
say slender woman Betty Boop,
though both mine deux daughters
(figuratively and literally)
flew the coop
mine wife chides me courtesy
(unwittingly preceding trend
concerning popular couture),
where she playfully
pulls down mine baggy sweatpants
leaving drawers droop
around mine skinny (think chicken)
spindle shank like legs

bent appendage vaguely
hinting hula hoop
(fake detail here,
which singular purpose
to supplement reasonable rhyme
ultimately sole purpose
to lasso and loop)
exert tight hold
on reader's imagination
more torturous versus unsuspected prey
subjected to deafening war whoop
after cannibals counted scalps
sacrificed victims as human zoup.

Before concluding current endeavor,
(yours truly about half way thru),
which prompts me to think
metaphysically ruminating regarding
when does authored written work
reach childhood's end)
possibly vexing readers
to trot off to zz top less land

miserably (perhaps purposely)
failing to pony up
reining in long overdue adieu,
where beastie boy king of schnorrers
snores dreaming about
foo fighting motley crue (in dire straits)
donned in gay apparel characteristic ecru

whereby unconsciousness
REM memorable cycles found
upper and lower eyelids shuttered
courtesy invisible glue
hermetically sealed airtight
as blocks of ice constituting
(albeit housing) an igloo

temperatures greater than
five below fahrenheit
finds me freezing off my kazoo,
hence despite somnambulant state
I (charming cheater) trod along
tundra of broken
(not very sweet) dreams.

When zonked out and wired
invariably somnolence finds me dead tired
no recourse available
when energy meter expired.

Impossible mission to thwart repose
thus once noggin plunges into pillow
thus these lovely bones
approximate rigor mortis pose
faint breathing detectable out me nose
intermittent twitching of limbs
characterize highs and lows
stuff mine dreams are made
where mishmash of images juxtapose.
 

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