Tag: oversleeping

No, Snooze Is Good. Snooze!

Overslept to start the day?
You know you’re going to have to play
A game of catch-up all day long.
Moral: Too much sleep is…wrong?
Except that’s clearly not the case.
Moral: There’s a time and place
For sleeping, namely night and bed?
That may be what our forefolk said
When nowhere was electrified,
But since we’ve brought the sun inside
The advocates of Franklin’s dictum
In re bedtime lost: We licked ’em!
Sleep delayed is sleep denied
And no sleep’s never justified.
If Ben objects, I’d say to him
That any other moral’s im-.
Here’s a pithy thought worth keeping:
Early to bed…means more sleeping!

Choose Sleep

Deliberately sleeping late’s
A guilty thrill: As Fate awaits
Your condescension, you lie snug
And comfy in your hammock’s hug
Imperiously waving off
Your schedule’s deferential cough.

Oversleeping by mistake
Is quite a different slice of cake:
Instead of waiting, Fate storms in
And rips the covers from your chin
Berating you for laziness
And just like that, your day’s a mess.

Unplug your clocks! A pox on Fate!
Choose sleep: That extra hour’s great!
(It boosts the unemployment rate.)

Dead Tired

Oversleeping’s not a crime.
In fact, I must admit that I’m
An advocate of sleeping late:
If dreams are streaming, work can wait.
Ostensibly, the reason for
My sloth is sleep: I need some more.
I wonder, though, if it’s because
I crave that lateful wakeful buzz,
The jolt that races through my veins
To galvanize my limbs and brains
The way that Dr. Frankenstein
Would do when he’d had too much wine
And got the urge to play a prank
On Igor. (Yes, the Doctor drank!
Why else would it occur to him
To build a bro from bits of Jim,
The late Great Nate, Expired Jay,
And other dudes who’d passed away?
That’s not what we call “sober” thinking.
That’s what comes of too much drinking
When you ought to be in bed:
“Let’s reeninanimate Dead Fred!
We’ll use my uncle’s castle lair–
My cousin stashed a bottle there!”)

…I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten what
My point was when I started, but
It probably was much less frightening
Than creating life with lightning
Wired to cadavers’ necks…
Maybe it’s to do with sex?
I don’t know why my mind would go
From sex to making monsters, though.
I must be tired. If you please,
I think I’ll snag some extra Z’s.

That’s Why They Call It “Evening”

Some mornings I awaken late;
On others I anticipate
The buzzer set the night before
And fling my feet from sheet to floor
Without a single snoozebar tap.
Both latter (great) and former (crap)
Reliably barometrize
The coming day. Before my eyes
Are cleared of crusty, goopy gunk
I’ll know I face: (a) Joy; (b) Junk.
But, here’s the thing: By end of day,
Twelve hours, give or take, away,
The day that was to be is done
And I’ve survived another one.
Before I lay me down to sleep
(Or flop in an exhausted heap),
That I rose early (or slept late)
Is swept from each diurnal slate.
The day became what it’s become
And I’m back where I started from,
Nocturnally recuperating.
Early? Late? Tomorrow’s waiting….

Prompted by November PAD Chapbook Challenge 2011 – Day 29