Sleepy

[BobBradshaw]

v2:
Sleepy

One day I will write a poem as lively
as Mozart’s Piano No. 16 in C Major.
Or I will pursue a romance

and become a lover par excellence--
like Casanova who was loved by women
as earnestly as he was by scandals

though I can’t pursue a female
this afternoon. The sunlight washing
through the bay windows

leaves me sleepy. Okay, okay,
maybe I’ll begin a novel
this evening. Or at least a sonata.

"You poseur," my ego groans.
"You can’t even read music."
Maybe I’ll learn tomorrow.

Or maybe I'll start a charity
to feed starving poets.
I’ll ladle bowls of soup

at St. Anthony’s to the homeless
on Wednesdays, my one free day.
"Everyday is your off day."

My ego can’t keep from scolding. Merde!
you are unkind. “I always believed
you would make something of yourself,

but you throw away your days
like you do quarters in arcades.”
One day I will do something

my ego can brag about…
Now I need a nap, my eyelids
lowering like shades in a room

that is filled with sunlight.
Soon I'll come up with an opening
for a brilliant novel, but for now, Merde,

no more complaints. A long nap,
that's all I ask. To keep it short
I'd have to lie down on a bed of nails…

Tomorrow, I'll compose a symphony Amadè
would envy--with kettledrums and trumpets
to wake the thunder in clouds.
v1:
Sleepy

One day I will write a poem as lively
as Mozart’s Piano No. 16 in C Major.
Or I will pursue a romance

and become a lover
par excellence--like the golden pheasant
with its gold crown and shining rump!

Visualize my orange-red cape
fanning a fire in a blonde,
a brunette

though I can’t pursue a female
this afternoon. The sunlight washing
through the bay windows

leaves me sleepy. Okay, okay,
maybe I’ll begin a novel
this evening. Or at least a sonata.

"You poseur," my ego groans.
"You can’t even read music."
Maybe I’ll learn tomorrow.

Or maybe I'll start a charity
to feed starving poets.
I’ll ladle bowls of soup

at St. Anthony’s to the homeless
on Wednesdays, my one free day.
"Everyday is your off day."

My ego can’t keep from scolding. Merde!
you are unkind. “I always believed
you would make something of yourself,

but you throw away your days
like you do quarters in arcades.”
One day I will do something

my ego can brag about…
Now I need a nap, my eyelids
lowering like shades in a room

that is filled with sunlight.
Soon I'll come up with an opening
for a brilliant novel, but for now, Merde,

no more complaints. A long nap,
that's all I ask. To keep it short
I'd have to lie down on a bed of nails…

Tomorrow, I'll compose a symphony Amadè
would envy--with kettledrums and trumpets
to wake the thunder in clouds.

[Kenneth2816]

You may not have intended it, but this is a great piece about what psychologists call the inner critic.

[BobBradshaw]

Thanks, Ken. I don't know the term inner critic. I'll have to look it up.

[Billy]

Love merde, my mother in law used to say it all the time and I had a couple of Brazilian women friends. Yes, and a great revealer of the psyche.

[BobBradshaw]

I have simplified this...taking out the golden pheasant image. Let me know...thx, Bob