Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Early Morning # 1

Speaking of navel-gazing...

Occasionally when I am doing something I will write a little poem in my head. It usually happens when I am watching the kids play or entertained by something Loki has done. Every now and then it happens when I am at work and should not be thinking about poetry. More often than not it happens when I am running in the early morning.

There is nothing refined or fabulous about my poems, they are mostly just observations and they certainly don't adhere to any rules. Frankly, I am not even sure it is fair to call them 'poems'. Perhaps I should just call them 'notes'. I do remember and appreciate some of the rules. I know how to write a haiku (5-7-5, I agree, it's a gimmee). I grew up with two brothers who spoke in iambic pentameter for sport. This is all just to say, I get it, at least to some extent. Yes, I know that stanzas should have the same amount of lines. I also remember e.e. cummings and learning about how sometimes there aren't any rules. But I gather that, much like in other art forms, you sort of have to master the rules before you can break them.

At any rate, here is one of my more recent ones:

Early Morning #1

The alarm buzzes quietly and it is just me
awake and with creaky bones and sweaty skin
because the ceiling fan wasn't quite up to the task.

As the family dog shakes off a night of sleep
we are gone and those first few steps make me rethink.
It is hot. I am tired and my belly sloshes from too much water.
But I start to notice there are others who are awake,
yet he is not like me; he is fast.

And soon the rhythym of my feet and the dog's lulls me
and I am distracted by glimpses into dimly lit kitchens.
I see mamas clutching coffee cups and business men tucking
papers underneath their arms and I think...
they are both like me, but not completely.

I pass a loud bus filled with quiet passengers
and school children with pressed uniforms and they make-believe
that they are ready for the day, but I know better.
They are bleary-eyed and they are not like me, they are still sleeping.
I am like the little bird chasing the littler worm.
This is me, my peaceful time, my graceful good morning.


Cathie said...

Julie, this is beautiful, and yes, it counts as a poem.

Anonymous said...

Julie, this is beautiful, it sounds like a poem to me.
See you soon, love to you all.