Anniversary the Third

Apparently, today (technically yesterday now — sorry) was my blog’s third anniversary. I had meant to begin blogging on my birthday (later in the month), a sort of coming of age present to myself; but, metaphorically speaking, the temperature of my feet began to drop, and I decided it’d be best to just jump in before I completely lost my nerve. I’m very glad I did so.

Though I haven’t exactly been on top of things lately, I appreciate this community a great deal, and everyone who’s decided to join me here, recently and in the past. I wish I could return half so much of your cleverness, kindness, and attention. But I’m afraid I must again caution that my attentions have external reasons to be diverted, and I may (assuming that’s even possible) be even more scarce than I’ve been. Sorry in advance!

The Mother Hen and the Night Owl

It’s not an act of self-destruction;
It’s the active choice to mind
The things that I’ve set for myself,
Even when it’s easier to let them slide.

It’s not a tumble down an endless hill,
For me to be gripping on so tight;
Sometimes, staying up to get things done
Is what gets me through the night.

***

Still need sleep though — alas…

Reverse

I hear you early in your morning
When it is still my night;
Your day, just beginning,
While I’m still enjoying moonlight.

When the sun at last peers through the window,
It will find me sleeping, turned away
Someplace far where it can’t go;
Thus begins my day!

And there I hunker down and hide
Until it’s safely noon,
So that time will soon be satisfied
And once again give me the moon.

And then at last I live again —
Until the sun decides to end the show;
And my moon leaves me in the end,
Just like every one I know.

New Year, New Day. Maybe.

I’ll see you in the morning
When the day comes back at last
And the fireworks die down
And the year is well and truly past.

The tree will still be standing there;
The lights will still be up.
But I can hope that when the day is here,
The shadows will be given up.

Things That Go Bump In the Night

1 AM, 2 AM, 3 AM fears:
Is that a voice that I’m hearing,
Come from downstairs?
Just the A.C.? The clock?
Or perhaps it’s my brother.
Or is the back door unlocked,
And it’s really something other?

Maybe it’s the dogs,
Barking next door;
Maybe it’s the neighbors,
On their back porch.
Maybe it’s the wind,
Howling in the distance;
Or maybe it is robbers,
Marauding in the kitchen.

How Such Things Begin

Is this how such things begin?
“Oh, it’s just a chance thing.
Maybe he’s met a girl…
Or has some other reasoning.

He’s been staying out later…
Maybe helping someone out?
That’s fine; I just wish
I knew what he was about…”

The hours tick by;
It grows later than it should.
You hate it, but you wonder
If he might be gone for good.

It must be all those crime shows:
They’re getting to your head.
He’ll be there in the morning;
You should simply go to bed.

But, what if he isn’t?
You’ll stay up ’til he’s in;
All the while dreading
This is how such things begin.

Note

Will likely be absent this week. My sister is going to be gone for a few months starting the end of the week, and I’m hoping to spend a little time with her: Go on a few walks, maybe rope her into playing a game of Rummy with me. Things best done when not half asleep… lest she win. But, I haven’t been doing very well with time management lately… So, I’m going to bed (*cough cough*) “early” (I’m pretty sure my definition of that word is a little skewed); which, since late night is unfortunately when I do most of my blogging, that (i.e. blogging and the time vortex that is blogging related things) may very well take the back seat for a couple days.

Missed Opportunities

You want me to go to sleep;
I’m a wreck who’s hit delete
On my life, and everything
That I’ve ever dared to dream.

It never came to more than that.
Just a stranger on the welcome mat:
My dreams, waiting at the door,
Knocking until they knocked no more.

What if I had let them in?
Could I anew my life begin?
Become something I’ve never been before,
If I had only opened up the door?

Sidetracked

Oh, what pretty notes
Of love and sorrow.
But alas,
For my siren dance
Diverts me long;
Oh, what a pretty song.
But such a shame
I’m such fair game
When I ought to have been long gone.

Night Owl

Are you counting the minutes;
The minutes ’til I sleep?
I don’t mean to keep you awake
But to you I cannot speak
I can’t burden you with this
Except in greatest need
So I talk it over with myself
Long after you try to sleep.