When I’ve Passed A Restless Night
When I’ve passed a restless night,
to once more welcome morning light,
I do not leave a lover’s grasp.
No knitted legs need to unclasp.
What time on waking I can afford
is spent by me, unwinding cord:
the earbud cord around my neck,
my PC power cord from the wreck
of pillows, comforter and sheet
that somehow, now, are at my feet.
My MacBook Air, just by my shoulder
has come unplugged and so is colder
to my touch. It won’t power on.
Then, when plugged in, my poem is gone.
For the month of April, I am marching to the beat of two drummers, NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month) and the daily WordPress blog. So, for the fun of it, I’m going to try to write a few poems that incorporate both prompts. The first part of the poem (above) meets the NaPoWriMo challenge that springs from the form known as the aubade. These are morning poems, about waking up, dawn and daybreak. Many aubades take the form of lovers’ morning farewells but the topic was left wide open and so I took a different slant on it.
The second part of the poem (below) segues into the WordPress prompt entitled “Switcheroo,” that asks what blogger I would trade places with if I could. I’ve tried to make the two poems work either as single poems or as one longer poem. Tell me what you think. Does this work or do you prefer them as separate poems?
My Kindle lies upon the table,
still spewing words, if it is able,
from the book by Audible
that I heard was laudable;
so I chose it to listen to
knowing words would be but few
before I gave my thoughts to dreams
in short, imaginary schemes.
In sleep, I’ve pulled the ear cord tight.
It disconnected and tales took flight
into the air and so are gone
and my dreams become the song
whispered in my slumbering ear–
all that I dream and hope and fear
coming up to enter thought
revealing to me what I’m not
as surely as what I may be:
a page, a paintbrush and a tree.
And so as I’m unwound from sleep,
I sit up, my date to keep
with that world I’m connected to
with cyber-nails and blogging glue.
Those who find the world absurd
might give pause to read a word
that I wed with more words ‘til
my dreams have finally had their fill
of eating up my conscious life.
Now that I’m no longer wife,
mother, an employee or
the keeper of a traveling store,
if I wish to spend my days
ensconced in a creative haze,
who is there to bother me?
I live alone. My days are free.
I would not trade with Heather Armstrong,
(Dooce.com) or Huffington,
for though more followers would be nice,
(Any blogger would like a slice),
still it is perhaps excess.
I don’t want so much success,
for much as I’d enjoy renown,
as far as being toast of the town–
I will remain just who I am.
I’ll take my blog without the jam!