, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Tonight is great, if only because we don’t have to go to work tomorrow. We have a lot of good plans for this week, once we all get to feeling better. Right now this is a house of snot. Again, I’ve had all day to write this, and I have not felt poemy once. I’m sure it’s getting old, my feeling of slump, but it’s there, undeniably so, and so I can’t not write about it. I just don’t really want to write anything right now, but I especially don’t want to try to write a poem.

We’ve had a lot of good kiddo time, in the last two days, and that should be inspiration in and of itself, but still, my mind is blank. What I want is a pretty, sweet poem, without the usual dark bent. I’m going to try that. Earlier today HP and I were talking about love poems, and I think that might be a talent of mine, given that I have a Big, Grand love to inspire me. There should be lots of material there, right?

Okay, then. A love poem.

The Alcove

I’ll confess to the tether,

that keeps me quivering

and held to your reckoning.

I’ll confess to your tiny threads,

that keep me suspended,

where we once lived.

I’ll profess to you,

the words in my wayfaring heart,

in a whisper up in the alcove.


Neither the poem nor the pre-poem were overly wordy tonight, and that’s okay with me. I think it is done. Love poems should be short, I think. Happy Sunday!