I’m tired my body seems to be telling me to go to bed and sleep but I know I couldn’t, for this poem is lurking inside and won’t be denied as much as I try.
Can poems be found in the tired in the brain of one who’s wired to look here and there and everywhere like the bird perched atop the chair in the backyard, its head swiveling to and fro watching for cats or humans or hawks flying low?
I guess I shall see if there is a poem taking flight here and now teasing twilight will it swoop and settle in my mind will my muse become archly inclined? Or maybe I’ll dwell on that attentive bird and in that dwelling find the words and take a lesson from the throat of its being breaking forth in its flight or its singing.
Is there a verse down there I’ve been saving while the sapling Tallow is waving saying goodbye to the dying day dancing the wind in ***** ballet. Is there a line in the recesses of time between vital concerns and issues that burn?
I hear the cello’s refrain playing nearby in mournful bane it takes me back to practicing Strauss on the piano, filling our house with dissonance and verve getting on my mom’s last nerve. But oh how music flourished and reigned - the joy in my soul could not be contained.
Thinking of what music has meant to me and composed in me a sweet symphony brings me alive here in this sacred space replaces fatigue with energy and grace. I stayed here long enough to find these wisps of memory and rhyme that so often provide the spark to lift and fly me out of the dark.