You'd think ... for someone who has never really been a morning person ... oversleeping would be a real blessing. After all, I generally have no set schedule to meet ... except that which I impose on myself.
But, not being a morning person, getting a late start actually feels like I'm digging my way out of a deeper hole than usual.
Don't worry ... I'll get over it. I always do ... at least I always have. It's just that I don't start my day by popping a wheelie ... it's more like slow and easy ... slow and easy ... for the rest of the day.
And where does that take us?
To the other side of the coin: Not being able to sleep during the night. That brings to mind ... guess what? Another poem.
Sometimes I wake up ... wide awake ... in the middle of the night. I'm not sure what triggered it ... a noise perhaps ... a barking dog ... or maybe just an interval of absolute quiet. In my neighborhood, sudden quiet can be startling, too.
It's almost like someone has flicked a switch.
The cure? Well, I don't pop a pill ... I've found something cheaper and more effective.
I explain in the poem.
It has also occurred to me that, since I often have the itch to write, perhaps crawling out of bed for a few minutes to scrawl a few nagging thoughts on a scrap of paper is simply the equivalent of scratching where it itches.
And what a great feeling it is to go drifting off again.
The poem:
PURCHASE OF SLEEP
I cannot sleep
when thoughts assail me,
forcing me to rise
wearily from my bed
to find pad and pencil.
Hurriedly I scratch
on the patient page,
uniting it with these
its straying children.
Only then may I reclaim
the cradling pillow
and my rest.
© 1996
(originally published in Mind Matters Review)
Today's word: purchase
2 comments:
This poem/thought had lots of meaning for me. I have been known to get up and look at a painting I'm doing, and see what the watercolor has done. Then I can go back to sleep, or may have to paint a little while. You're poem is perfect for me. Your sunrise picture is also.
I don't know if my comments ever go on your site. It's my own fault. I don't know why I'm the only one in the world who has trouble getting in and out of Facebook. I'm afraid to get out because I may never find you or your poetry again. I have never seen one you wrote that I didn't like and appreciate.
Helen in FL
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