why do I write your poems, you
who every night this week
have spun phrases, skillfully braided
& murmuring like rivers of liquid silver
in my ears, just on the edge
of sleep coming
if I get up to write,
you are appeased and me sleepless,
the poem a gift that hums
so sweet I can almost
forgive the timing. but
not quite.
I am once again
the butt of your joke, the
comedic straight man,
yawning, stumbling & stretching
into poetry
but such magic you twist
on either side of sleep
I am onto your game now
and catch your words
not at my desk
but scrawled in a notebook
on my nightstand
without glasses
& by moonlight
sometimes
in the morning
I can even read
what I wrote
Oh! How true Susan ~ nicely captured
Thank you! Why does it do this to us–has to be for the sheer fun of it
Yes! I know this experience. Awaking to scrawled mystery words in my bedside journal. Sometimes written by the light of my phone because I am too lazy to turn on the light!
I am SO glad I am not alone in this! Must be something going on in the unspooling mind of a poet/writer as he/she gets ready to dream that brings this on.
Selfish of me to say, yet your broken slumber provides us with such beautiful verses to enjoy.
Oh, you are so very kind, George. Appreciate your comments and support more than you know…
I so get this
Call them what you will–muses, personal gods, chi–I am beginning to think we all go through this!
sometimes
in the morning
I can even read
what I wrote
brilliant comment on life I use the computer most for that very reason
Rivers of liquid silver indeed. Well done Susan!
Trent, thanks very much!
Excellent write about something that so many of us feel. I just let a certain amount of those thoughts and words and phrases tumble by, trusting that there will be more to come.
Good way to handle it. Sometimes, though, those thoughts are so good I want to catch them. hence the paper and scrawling in no light, sans glasses
I also suffer this at work and end up with a pocket of half scribbled notes on bits of till roll most of which I cannot read later
Well expressed, on target.
rofl… as mentioned elsewhere,so true. We writers are an amusing lot when our craft calls us to inspiration. I never suspected a word or phrase emitted high pitched whistles, but I hear them, so there you go.
Hey–sometimes they do
Mine hum….
It sounds like you are being given a gift. And like all gifts, it comes with a price.
…the price is worth it
I Don’t Undestand where you have or find the time to really concentrate on anything else girl. Glad Im a recipient !
thanks–this is really getting out of control, this crazy muse of mine.
the poem a gift that hums
thank you for your songs
Oh–thank you! Like I said, not “really” complaining…