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it's 4 in the morning

Posted by shoe on January 13, 2011 - 17:14
from the ABC set You're O.K, I'm not O.K

The first night - in a while - without
wine, and sleep eludes

Squint at the LED without the customary
headache, the hour belongs to regrets

which gather in the shadows to stare me down
like lost souls in the dark

'You can't live in the past' you say
-you call this living?-

Life - that playground bully-
saunters on, triumphant

I count the things I thought I had, but
like stars, really they were somewhere else entirely

Life - that trickster - plays a close hand
and you, sleeping, convexed

Is life playing an ace

Discuss this piece in the abctales forum


Comments

Beeme | January 13, 2011 - 17:35

Absolutely love the poem Shoe, great last line.

Beeme xx

Highhat | January 13, 2011 - 18:23

Wonderful Shoe. Brilliant.
;)Pia

insertponceyfre... | January 13, 2011 - 19:47

I really like this one Shirley

JoseHdz | January 13, 2011 - 20:20

Clever.
loved this line:

"Life - that playground bully-
saunters on, triumphant"

cheers,
jose.

SundaysChild | January 13, 2011 - 21:47

Very good, thanks for sharing :)

seashore | January 14, 2011 - 09:31

Superb.

shoe | January 14, 2011 - 11:44

Thanks to you all for your encouraging comments,
Things always seem worse at night don't they.

MistakenMagic | January 14, 2011 - 13:24

'Life - that playground bully-
saunters on, triumphant'

- love this image, Shirley. And those last couple of lines are just wonderful!

Magic xxx

Silver Spun Sand | January 15, 2011 - 09:08

Inspired, Shirley...this one. Totally inspired;-)

Tina

maggyvaneijk | July 27, 2011 - 20:15

This is such a clever piece (I was craving some Shirley poetry so I decided to go through your old stuff :D), I liked these lines especially:

I count the things I thought I had, but
like stars, really they were somewhere else entirely

I find myself wanting to scuttle back to my own writing desk, inspiring stuff.

shoe | August 4, 2011 - 11:25

Wow, thanks Maggy, that's the best compliment I have ever had! I sometimes get bought back to an older poem and it always feels like someone else has written it, not me, wierd.