My sleep is like

pearls
on a worn string

slipping down the line from one
hour to the next

of jewelled slumber but in between
a frayed cord of anxious waking,

hot turning, grasping for a lifeline that
my sweaty touch disintegrates, dreams

clattering to the floor
and here I am again, awake

~~~

Hot or cold

I don’t want to post only my happy poems, but when I read I do not always want to be dragged into the muck of someone else’s fear without warning. Warning: This is my fear. Wear your tall boots.
Love,
Ellen

~~~

How does anyone sleep
through global
warming
how did we sleep through the cold
war

I twist in my hot
bed and still the rain
has not come

Then we would freeze
to death now
we will fry
the rivers
dry and the animals
and grasses shrivelled
around us

I have made
a million mistakes I
have made a lake of sweat
an elegy
to the ocean planet

~~~