Telling Myself a Bedtime Story
The leaves have turned
Often since I left the garden
His absence held me
Too long to that land
I remained a bottomless well
A foot stuck in concrete
Until the delicious moon
Told me a secret one night
And I rolled off the mountain
Like a rabid pebble
My journal with its slobbering
Testimony followed me to this city
Where I sit at a polished wood desk
And try to write the rigid skyline
So foreign from my familiar pen
Of bendy willow and rebellious hills
Daily sirens now intrusive as a fly
In the next room who eventually
Finds an open window
And goes about its business
Car horns, some drunken couple in the street
The background music of my new night life
No more the questing owl
Or tree frog serenade
No distant coyote heralding kits
Or corn stalks wrestling the wind
No man coming along the river trail
Smiling with fish in hand
During the dark drug of sleep
The mind forgets such folly
But in the ramp of dream
The whippoorwill calls me
To the edge
Of almost there
15 thoughts on "Telling Myself a Bedtime Story"
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Love this poem…heartbreaking and new reality. Time is fluid.
I will be forever glad that the “delicious moon” spoke to you because that brought you to me! (and now I am crying…)
The couplets embrace the duality of loss and desire. It’s hard to give up whippoorwills
Such beautiful, lyrical language! I so agree with Jim about the perfect use of couplets! You can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the tree frogs out of the girl!!
There are many moments in this wonderful poem. I am very fond of this line……
My journal with its slobbering
Testimony followed me to this city
The loss of all those wonderful things hurts way too much to be resolved even by something as dear as the whippoorwill.
So beautifully dreamlike!
I love the rabid pebble, and oh, that whippoorwill. Magical!
The personification, diction, oddly perfect characterization and turns of phrase.
This feels at once tangible and dreamlike. It makes me wistful for a retreat I’ve never found. Beautiful.
Love the choice of couplets, the repeated “No more,” and the title, Sylvia. Possibly my favorite of your poems so far.
Before the mummy dust storm descends upon us, let me thank you all for your comments! Stay safe!
Moving and haunting!
Every couplet is perfect, really! Each line compliments the other. A perfect marriage of sorts. Bravo!
This is such a delving description of a poet’s loss, yearning, and held captive dreams. The Whippoorwill’s call is unmistakable.
Such a beautiful and poignant poem with lovely dreamlike imagery and words! I love this one too.