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.
Sleepy
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- Posts: 1619
- Joined: 01 Jun 2008, 09:17
Re: Sleepy
You may not have intended it, but this is a great piece about what psychologists call the inner critic.
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- Posts: 2688
- Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Re: Sleepy
Thanks, Ken. I don't know the term inner critic. I'll have to look it up.
Re: Sleepy
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.
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- Posts: 2688
- Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Re: Sleepy
I have simplified this...taking out the golden pheasant image. Let me know...thx, Bob