Odd Little Saturday Morning Poem

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Odd Little Saturday Morning Poem

I lie in bed, flat on my back, head raised by pillows,
computer raised to eye level
by a wadded comforter over bent knees.
I listen to raised voices in the village down below,
the staccato of an inadequately mufflered car revving up,
a hammer falling on wood, birds in the coco  palms.
A pianissimo chorus of dogs spread
over the surrounding hills swells to a frenzied crescendo,
then falls silent but will swell again.

I have dropped obligations
like clothes shed for a lover.
My Saturday morning pool aerobics and Zumba,
I slipped out of years ago.
Group luncheons hang from doorknobs and chair backs.
Committee meetings lie sloppily abandoned in the hall.

I have retired from the running of the world
to run my own small universe on paper.
Saturday morning is my brainstorm session
with “Me,” “Myself” and “I.”
“I” suggested feeding the dogs,
but they are quiet now, so
“Me” suggested we let them lie.
“Myself” laid out some words to dry
in the heat of the fire of our communal
inspiration, laying them smoothly on the page,
rumpling up others in her fist to send them sailing
to join the crumpled singles event invitations in the corner.

This slow Saturday morning dressing of pages
and stripping them bare
is a sort of ceremony celebrating seizing time
and making it my own.
Pages  fill up with passion, angst, anger,
irritation, joy, laughter, camaraderie.
There is more than one word for each.

Imagine such control over your world–
not having to live the world of any other.
If you could have any life you wish?
Imagine a Saturday morning  building it.

The prompt today was crescendo. This is a reprint of a poem written a few years ago.

14 thoughts on “Odd Little Saturday Morning Poem”

    1. lifelessons's avatarlifelessons Post author

      I feel very fortunate right now to be experiencing no hurricanes, tsunamis, fires, bombings, demonstrations, floods or droughts. All is not perfect, but it is possible to pull one’s little world around one and pretend all is right in the world.

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        1. lifelessons's avatarlifelessons Post author

          I have never in my life walked under a ladder. I throw spilled salt over my left shoulder and turn around when black cats cross my path. I like black cats. Just why not take proper precautions, I say.

          Liked by 1 person

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  4. slmret's avatarslmret

    I love the second and last stanzas of this poem — right now I’m feeling a little as if others are pulling the strings of life, but that will come to an end soon, and I’ll be back into the mode of enjoying retirement again!

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  5. Pingback: Author Interview – S.D. Mayes – “Letters to the Pianist” (Historical Thriller/Suspense) | toofulltowrite (I've started so I'll finish)

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