Tag: 3am poetry

Grandma walks down the middle of the road at 3AM.
The tarmac cold under her bare feet, a breeze
coming in off the canal flaring her nightie.

Mist rolling in off the lock.
The trees hold their leaves up
to the yellow glow of the streetlights.

A neighbour fetching a glass of water sees Grandma
from his kitchen window. Puts on slippers.
Walks into the road with an outstretched hand.

I’m like a human,
Who at three in the morning
Looks out the window.
And there is nothing to see,
And nothing to hear,
Thoughts are circling
Past joy.

I’m like a human
Who at three in the morning
Looks out the window
and feels an irresistible
Urge to push my head through the glass.
And you? Are you feeling well?

---

Translated from German by IKT

You call,
at three in the morning.

I answer,
we are the only two,
in the world,
awake.

We talk,
like we discovered God
before everyone else
did.

---

[Hat tip]

Detectives from the vice squad
with weary sadistic eyes
spotting fairies.
          Degenerates,
          some folks say.

          But God, Nature,
          or somebody
          made them that way.

Police lady or Lesbian
over there?
          Where?

---

[Hat tip]

Who put canned laughter
Into my crucifixion scene?

---

[Hat tip]

Better that every fiber crack
and fury make head,
blood drenching vivid
couch, carpet, floor
and the snake-figured almanac
vouching you are
a million green counties from here,

than to sit mute, twitching so
under prickling stars,
with stare, with curse
blackening the time
goodbyes were said, trains let go,
and I, great magnanimous fool, thus wrenched from
my one kingdom.

at three in the morning go into the kitchen

pour milk into a glass, take out a red apple
or green and sit down at the table

eat the apple, drink the milk

and the context of existence
that the poets seek
is found

3 a.m. Feeling like death
and wanting to end it all
I reach for the paracetamol.
Will there be enough?

One by one I count them out. 72?
Need more to be on the safe side.
Rummaging around I add another 30.
That should do it.

Take the first two with a glass of water.
Feel better. Go back to bed. Fall asleep.

At 3 a.m.

the room contains no sound
except the ticking of the clock
which has begun to panic
like an insect, trapped
in an enormous box.

Books lie open on the carpet.

Somewhere else
you’re sleeping
and beside you there’s a woman
who is crying quietly
so you won’t wake.