Copyright © July 13, 2014 by Douglas W. Jerving.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise, without prior permission of the author, except as provided by USA copyright law.

[To Rachel,
My Poeticus Continuous,
with great love and joy that you pursue
the word-smithings I began
at an early age as also did you.]

Cold peace invades slim sleep without dream time
Here lying in this hard place I make mine
Not even sure of who or where I am
Or shall contend with after this gray break
Of light that slightly filters through the panes
(A shadow maybe fleeing from the chill
Or shallow shell of sunlit phantoms purged
Against the horrors of a bitter tomb)
Before I am aware that it is day.

Egregious placement on that killing floor:
That is real life. Yet not known by the few
Sleeping casually in their satin beds
Far from the “comfort” of those slabs of death
The rest, the major part of living beings,
Endure with just the joy that their sleep brings,
Who burdened with time and poverty dwell
Continually in the pain that only knows
That chill belongs to their existence still,
And find yet more without a remedy.

I wake rocking in that bitter rolling
Like a ship lost in a sea to far from home,
Not even sure upon new consciousness
Of the day opening bright before it
That safety is there just beside the bow,
And moorings, so like mornings bring the shore
Close like a friend not trusted but still there
To rapture and bestow great love and peace
When waves of turmoil through the night had racked
That soul to darkness, now to bring sunlight.


Doug Jerving is the publisher of the You may contact him at


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