The Beyondness of Things

By Silver Spun Sand

Tue, 31 Jul 2012
  • 1669 reads
12 comments
 

The sun...
much as I,
reluctant to rise
this morning,
as I sit here
on the terrace
stubbing out
yet another cigarette,
drinking
a fourth cup
of coffee.

Day stretches
and yawns
before me –
does its level best
to gets its act together;
as does the man
cleaning my windows...
I could do it myself
but I’ve far
more important
things to do...

like listening
to the sound of
motes of dust
as they fall
behind
these lathe
and plaster walls...
and waiting
for unicorns.

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Comments

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on
Great idea, Mac. Even better, I guess, if it were a '99';-)

 

Submitted by Overthetop1 on
Tina - enjoyed this very much. A poem full of atmosphere which conveys brilliantly the morning blues. Some days really are just a you depict. `and waiting for unicorns' is an inspired end that will stay with me.

Overthetop1

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on
Thanks, OTT..you got it in one;-)

 

Submitted by Overthetop1 on
Now when I feel like this I can just tell myself that i'm waiting for unicorns - I am much indebted to you for this piece.

Overthetop1

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on
You're welcome, OTT;-)

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on
Good afternoon Tina, you've written exactly the way I feel first thing in the morning and written it in such a beautiful, poetic way. So much to be done, but more important things to take care of first, like your always much loved poetry. I too love the idea of waiting for unicorns, if only! Thanks for sharing. Jenny.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on
Jenny, thank you so much. Pleased you could identify with this and if you do see a unicorn, be sure and let my know;-) Tina

 

Submitted by Sooz006 on
like listening to the sound of motes of dust as they fall.. this is so good. The lengths we'll go to to avoid work, eh?

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on
Yep...you're right there, Sooz. And some;-)

 

Submitted by Indrani Ananda on
Indrani Ananda I loved this, Tina. It describes perfectly the languid stupor I would prefer to be in instead of doing any housework. Who says that the unicorns won't come? If they can be imagined, they must exist in someone's daydream. How do you think those motes of dust are caused to fall? We're poets, we can't be expected to play Mrs.Mop all the time - and you've captured this sentiment beautifully. Indrani.

Indrani Ananda

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on
Thank you for your inspired words, Indrani. More than appreciated;-) Tina

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on
Thanks, Nathan;-) Tina