But I am tired

But I am tired

I’m sorry;
I would read you lines of lovely prose,
But, I am tired, today. Perhaps tomorrow.

I’m sorry;
I would tell an amusing anecdote,
But, I am tired, today. Perhaps tomorrow.

I’m sorry;
I would brave brigands and burglars,
But, I am tired, today. Perhaps tomorrow.

I’m sorry;
I would sing you the sweetest lullabye,
But, I am tired, today. Perhaps tomorrow.

I’m sorry;
I would read you a thousand and one tales,
But, I am tired, today. Perhaps tomorrow.

I’m sorry;
I would tell you what the rain sings to me,
But, I am tired, today. Perhaps tomorrow.

I’m sorry;
I would dance until the dawn breaks,
But, I am tired, today. Perhaps tomorrow.

I’m sorry;
I would write a million words to tell you how I feel,
But, I am tired, today. Perhaps tomorrow.
When I am less weary.

© Bridget Noonan, 2012.

The Doubtful Guest

Okay, I have something a little more linear and a lot less odd for you fellas today. Another from the vault!

The Doubtful Guest

The doubtful guest entered slowly
Shaking off her umbrella onto the mat
As her hostess fluttered into
An inviting kitchen of warm smells
Calling over her shoulder to sit, rest!
The hostess returned bearing mugs
Of steaming tea to comfort a weary heart.

Mrs Reed, whose hospitality a guest
Could always rely upon, prattled on;
Trivialities of suburban life, one
Consisting mostly of the idealized
Sort of domesticity found in the work
Of Normal Rockwell.

The gossip! the games! the neighbours!
The unendurable tedium of bridge
With a terrible partner on Thursday nights.
Mr Reed, his job and his car;
The children and their little friends;
Mrs Next Door’s tiny yapping dog.

Suddenly, a flash of deep thought from
The illustrious Mrs Reed:
“Oh! to speak plainly, as children do;
To proclaim feelings boldly is my wish.
The innocent see no need to hide.”
Suddenly the doubtful guest’s demeanor
Changes to a cautious acceptance.

Mrs Reed regards the young woman
As one might a saucy daughter
Or waterlogged puppy: with fondness;
While the woman, sipping her tea,
Silently reevaluates her situation
And wonders if it would be so bad
To while away this rainy afternoon.

(C) Bridget Noonan, 2010, 2012.

June 22

This poem came out of a great night. From about one to two in the morning, there was a huge thunderstorm over my place. It was amazing. Haven’t done it justice, but this is as close as I could get. Nobody on the road, nobody out walking, just me communing with nature even in the city. Awesome.

June 22

Tonight,
The leaves are talking in their sleep
While raindrops soothe their slumber
And lightning promises vengeance
On the wind that disturbed them.

Now,
The storm begins in earnest
Thunder speaks in tongues over rooftops
Torrents of water drench the cracking pavement.

And I,
The weary traveller, crouch
In narrow doorways to watch
The many-textured sky split
By light, by sound, in solitude.

Life-
This is feeling alive!
In the midst of summer’s first downpour
I breathe raindrops, wet earth and thunder
My heartbeat the only reminder
That I am not cloud, or water, or earth
Or the tumultuous sky above.

Once more,
My page is lit by blue flashes
As I shield my notebook from the rain
And wonder at the fierce beauty around me.

© Bridget Noonan, 2011.

Sorry I haven’t been around much. Stuff going on. Life happens.

Gasp! Another two-fer!

This poem was brought to you by the letter I. And inspired by Writer’s Island.

Incomparable

Indomitably idealistic,
I idolized her intellect.
Incomparable to the idiots
Ignoring ideas for industry,
I sat irritably idle while my
Iconoclastic ingenue
Irrigated iron minds,
Impelling them to interchange
Instinct for inductive reasoning.

© Bridget Noonan, 2011.

But wait! There’s more. This is kind of a response to this poem.

don’t know if this is senryu or haiku or just fun

relief comes pouring
in cool torrents from the sky
breaking the heat’s back

© Bridget Noonan, 2011.

Thank goodness for today’s thunderstorm. I love watching them, hearing them, smelling them- the whole experience.

Both short and sweet. Let me know what you think! And if you know what I should be calling that haiku-senryu-thingy, help a sister out 🙂

Three Word Wednesday Two-Fer

I thought I might mess around with that Fibonacci thing I did before. Since I spaced on last week‘s Three Word Wednesday, I figured, why not do both this week? Last week was erratic, luminous, and omen, and this week is alter, fond and tranquil.

Also, these might be a bit weird; I have Baba O’Riley by the Who stuck in my head, and I’m not sure if that’s related to the weird. It’s a good song, don’t get me wrong, but I’m usually more for Led Zeppelin than the Who.

Bottom of the Ocean

watch
out
for the
luminous
bait of the fearsome
anglerfish-  soothing light luring
its erratic  prey closer to the jaws of their doom.
it’s tough living at the bottom
of the ocean; see
omen of
rising
sea
heights.

© Bridget Noonan, 2o11.

Shakespeare Said It Best

Love allows no impediment to it,
Alters not with the changing winds. Instead,
It flows like rain from the heavens, collects
In our hearts, overflows in everything
We do.  Love is the bright sun in the sky,
Warming the seeds of fondness in this earth.
Turbulent seas calm in the face of love,
Stifling afternoons fade to tranquil nights.

© Bridget Noonan, 2011.

The Leaving Bell

The Leaving Bell

the children ran out of the school
the moment the bell rang
the leaving bell
it was scarcely to be heard
over the sound of their delighted screams
at the puddles and worms awaiting them.
mothers waited at the bus stop
for their muddy offspring,
to lead them home in lines like
the ducks led their ducklings to
the overflowing river.

© Bridget Noonan, 2011

For the prompt at Beyond Rhyme or Reason. I used the words children, bus stop, rain, and instead of faces, I used mother.

Now I’m actually going to bed this time.

EDIT: I also posted this at Poetic Asides. The prompt was for a leader or follower poem. 🙂