A Light Slumber

When in lost youth smelled astronaut glories
From stick-on skies, aviator stories
Filled empty hours adding noise
Pretending these much more than toys.

More real, then, no glowing sorrow:
Of all that, “What will you be tomorrow?”
When you grow up, grow tired
Of such delights finding life mired,

Yourself possessed. For whose sake
Those games, those laughs, now fake
Reminders that haunt his daydreams
As he slips from recounting endless reams.

Pastoral of middle age or floating sights
Caught up in that enslumbered head:
What lives on in these late, drifting flights
But dreams once thought laid to bed?

Early Light (April 3)

Write before the dawn:

Slumber-lidded conversations under
Mist-dashed skies;

Bus-paused travelers align in
Momentary installations;

Come the day’s adrenaline revolt:
Life rushes in
Right before the dawn


If anyone actually ends up reading these, I should probably start adding some explanation. I write these, or parts of them, when I have a spare moment (I have to snatch moments when I find them, usually in early mornings or late nights).
What I post is never the first version. Each piece has gone through a series of changes. I add, delete, cut, rephrase, edit, rewrite, discover new ideas, listen to the words and think about what I’m saying. As for the lost words, some of them will never be recovered (they flitter through my mind and disappear), while others I keep in a book. Sometimes I will return to them later for inspiration.
But enough info for now!