I’ve mentioned that odd thoughts stroll through my mind and into poems; or I get in a mood and write a quirky poem. Last weekend, as I was falling asleep, the first six or seven lines of the poem below jogged past. Then I couldn’t fall asleep (cue a sigh and throwing up my hands). When I write after being whisked through whimsey it doesn’t always make sense…and yet it does…and I’m not sure which is more worrisome 😉 But sometimes you just have to go with it and have fun 🤡👽🧟‍♂️


All week long I’m too tired to get up
and all weekend long I’m too awake to go to sleep
and all the rest of the time
I’m half awake or half asleep
or in between
eether and iither,
Eeyore and Igor,
a head-hung donkey, 
a mad-scientist’s slave,
both hunching beasts of burden,
so on a scale of
munching thistles to robbing graves
I’m undead 

Published by mrteague

Teague McKamey lives in Washington state with his wife and two children. Teague’s poetry has appeared in several journals and in self-published books. He blogs at thevoiceofone.org and awanderingminstrel.com. In all areas of life, Teague desires that Christ may be magnified in his body (Php. 1:20).

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