Tuesday, September 27, 2011

I Sit

This poem plunked into my head at 6:08 this morning and I wrote it down:
I sit,
Glistening in bug spray,
Listening to the wires
Crackle in the night-steam
And the garbage truck
Churn its dirty work,
The willow around me,
And I’m as close to Holy
As I’ll ever be.
Your turn: a poem, if you choose, about the start of your day.*

* Good, bad, short, long, punny, ribald, emo, po-mo, bro-mo**, limerick, haiku, sonnet, rondel, doo-wop, hip-hop—all is fair in love and early-morning poetry.

** “Bro-mo”: I just made that up. (You can use it but you have to cite me.) It’s when bros (dudes) get really po-mo (post-modern) together.

4 comments:

  1. Anonymous12:15 AM

    Open eye, open other one
    Wonder
    How flies wake up.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Early, I’m awake.
    Machine hums; I attempt sleep.
    Does my day begin?

    ReplyDelete
  3. Anonymous3:21 PM

    No, no, no, no, no, NO.
    Saturday.
    I'm staying in bed.

    ReplyDelete
  4. I crawl on my belly
    Like a soldier,
    Half naked.

    Self-lit numbers blare in the half darkness of morning.
    Alternating electronic beeps and whirrs confuse me.

    In the fog, I forget where I am
    For a moment.

    My senses return.
    I get out of bed
    And take a shower.

    ReplyDelete