steel blue

November dawn hangs against the window like wet hair.
Arising has become a wrestling match with the sheets,
involves dis-entangling, rolling, pivoting, seeking balance,
defying gravity’s hooks into joints and eyesockets.
The cold knuckle of the wind raps at the window.
Fumble, snap on the light: illumination consoles, nurtures
some hope that the rumours of the sun’s departure are
propaganda, malicious fabrications of the moon, jealousies
fomented and elicited by jealous Saturn, shivering alone
in his sunless cellar.

(Visited 15 times, 1 visits today)
FavoriteLoadingAdd to favorites

About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
This entry was posted in aging, Mild-mannered opinion, Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *