My gardener’s broom goes whisking light
first left, then right, then left, then right
with touch so slight I barely hear
the bristles as they take their bite.
The birds were first up and about,
and then both dogs asked to get out.
Then that broom reminded me
of one more creature left to rout.
Searching for ideas and words,
I use the rhythm of the birds
and Pasiano’s sweeping broom
the braying burro, the bleating herds.
Noises fill this busy world
even as I’m safely curled
still abed, my senses all
alert and ready, full unfurled.
I hear the grackle far above,
the insistent cooing of a dove,
as in the kitchen, Yolanda dons
her apron and her rubber glove.
I hear the water’s swirl and flush
the busy whipping of her brush
around each glass I might have left,
careless in my bedtime rush.
Her string mop silent, I barely know
if she’s still here. Or did she go?
I find her in the kitchen still,
arranging glasses, row on row.
Then it is to my desk I trot.
Arranging glasses I am not,
but rather words I nudge and shift
here and there until they’re caught.
Glued to the page forever more––
be they rich words, be they poor––
nevertheless, these words are mine:
poems, stories, truth or lore.
We are not slothful, lazy, weak
because it’s words we choose to seek
instead of labors more obvious
like plumber or computer geek.
Words’ labors are most harrowing.
Our choice of them needs narrowing
and not unlike the farmer’s sow,
mind’s riches we are farrowing.
So blame us not if others mop
our houses or they trim and crop
our gardens for us as we write.
From morn till night, we never stop.
Poets, our lives may seem effete––
not much time spent on our feet––
but those feet are busy, still,
tapping out our poem’s beat.
Cerebral though our work may be,
we are not lazy, you and me,
for though we sit and write all day,
our writing’s labored––that’s plain to see!
The dVerse Poets prompt is “Noise.”

You make your point so well 💗
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Thanks, Esther.
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Wonderful, Judy!
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Hope all is well with you, Regina.
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Love – love- love this Judy🙌
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Thanks for letting me know you liked it.
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Nice one Judy
the noise becomes the muse.
Thanks for dropping by my blog
much♡love
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Wow Judy, you knocked this one out of the park! I love what you did with the defense of us writers who spend a lot of time laboring over words! Your rhyme scheme seems to flow very well.
Well done.
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Thanks, Dwight
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You don’t see a lot of traditional forms these days: nice tetrameter!
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Thanks, Stefan. I was writing metered and rhymed poems at the age of 6, thanks to my mother. You might not have been so accepting of them, however.
Or my spelling.
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On the contrary, I don’t mind traditional forms. I’ve dabbled in the villanelle and the sonnet. Ballads are great for making political or social statements.
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Love your poem Judy. The noise is so delicately described.
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Thanks, Sadje. Don’t want to contribute to the cacophony!
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You’re very welcome.
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Amen! Nice tribute to the craft. Love the defence of “tapping out our poem’s beat”. 😊
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Judy, I like how you turn everyday sounds into a rhythm for writing—feels playful yet strong in its defense of poetry.
~David
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The writers notebook, I love the images and descriptions, they come alive.
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