Idle Mind of Saturday Night: Three Poem Blues

sunday slketch

Sketch by Terry Whidborne




She faces fear in feathered form

How small she feels

At the mercy of this so large foe

Must it end in tears

She writes her death in tears of woe






It’s magic

Scientific trickery

Outside the moon

Yet here inside with me

The sun beams down majestically

Upon the streets of towns far west

Neither sun nor moon doth need a rest

This flattened world spins endlessly

With a touch of magic

And a dab of scientific trickery






It’s lonely

Here on my old armchair

Sipping honeyed tea at midnight

The only one besides myself

My cat demands her share of milk

Then leaves me to myself

With three books all half read

I watch the Giro d’Italia instead

Discontent winds its way past

Buildings older than carven gods

Swaying leers over ravines

Swollen with snow melt streams

Gouging paths in historical season grooves

It could be worse

I whisper aloud to the night

When no one questions how

My inner voices retreat

No point in talking to myself

I’ll only answer full of scorn

It’s your own fault that you’re alone





Copyright May 2014



One thought on “Idle Mind of Saturday Night: Three Poem Blues

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