Natural alarm
Apr. 6th, 2015 07:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vaneramosOut of the mesh of dreaming I am drawn.
My lover’s mindless tumble, halted breath
or curtained window’s finger scratch of dawn
will end the night: a certain, silent death.
Within our back street’s lazy circling
no one makes a noise, there’s no startling
except my own self-inflicted tension.
Often it’s some unpaid bill wakes me dead,
on the edge of my bed
in one heart flutter of apprehension.
That’s how each morning claims necessity
as if its hour holds a greater claim
than any other, exacts a penalty
for every momentary waste or shame
I stubbornly deferred the day before.
Behind each worry’s tail, a dozen more,
utter a harsh, unsettling comment.
But on my bedroom wall’s pellucid grey
an innocent new day
enlarges in the turning of a moment.
For this is where each new endeavour begins
not in hours of cheerful contemplation
or on an office corkboard prickling with pins
but in a leap from panic’s sensation.
I mulled opportunities the week before
but now unsatisfied, I look for more.
No wistful hope for what might happen someday.
Fear is a better taskmaster than regret.
I owe my greatest debt
to fertile morning tyrannies of Monday.
Today's prompt from NaPoWriMo was to write an aubade or morning poem. The example given was Philip Larkin's Aubade, which I like a lot because it reflects my own difficult philosophy. I used his form and premise (what I think about when I wake) as the basis for this poem.
My lover’s mindless tumble, halted breath
or curtained window’s finger scratch of dawn
will end the night: a certain, silent death.
Within our back street’s lazy circling
no one makes a noise, there’s no startling
except my own self-inflicted tension.
Often it’s some unpaid bill wakes me dead,
on the edge of my bed
in one heart flutter of apprehension.
That’s how each morning claims necessity
as if its hour holds a greater claim
than any other, exacts a penalty
for every momentary waste or shame
I stubbornly deferred the day before.
Behind each worry’s tail, a dozen more,
utter a harsh, unsettling comment.
But on my bedroom wall’s pellucid grey
an innocent new day
enlarges in the turning of a moment.
For this is where each new endeavour begins
not in hours of cheerful contemplation
or on an office corkboard prickling with pins
but in a leap from panic’s sensation.
I mulled opportunities the week before
but now unsatisfied, I look for more.
No wistful hope for what might happen someday.
Fear is a better taskmaster than regret.
I owe my greatest debt
to fertile morning tyrannies of Monday.
Today's prompt from NaPoWriMo was to write an aubade or morning poem. The example given was Philip Larkin's Aubade, which I like a lot because it reflects my own difficult philosophy. I used his form and premise (what I think about when I wake) as the basis for this poem.
