Friday, March 13, 2015

Night Sounds

Night sounds drift through

The wet morning air

Birds chime like the sun is rising

Yet, there are hours to go

Before bright light

Burns away the darkness

The full moon must be confusing

These feathered creatures 

It hangs high over head

Like a night watchman

With his flashlight

Constantly shining down

Through the slow moving clouds

The birds’ songs echo across this town

Down its barren streets

For, most are sleeping now

Sleepless, I sit drinking coffee

Steam rises up out of my cup

On this cool March morning

Sitting here

I write poetry and read Whitman

Read Whitman and write poetry

As time floats by

One minute falling into two

Two falling into three


Coyotes move through

The school’s grounds

Across the street

They communicate

Out there in the darkness

With what almost sounds like laughter

Their cries bounce off the buildings

And the covered walkways 

The coyotes’ laughter now moves

Into a neighborhood

Rows of homes that all look the same

Like they’ve been stamped out

In a giant machine press

Nothing more

Than a maze of the modern

Up-to-date and boring

Perfect for insecure souls

To watch one another

For what to do next

What car to drive

What outfit to wear

When the sun rises


The night sounds are no more 

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