Cloudy, with a Chance of Poems

The birth of a poem can be most unexpected.  You might hear a story on the radio, and suddenly you’re drafting a poem in your head.  The smallest kindling can light a fire in your mind.

One morning, just before six o’clock, I caught a glimpse of the moon.  It was low on the horizon, perfectly round, and so big I wanted to reach up and touch it.  I had a notebook in my purse.  When I parked the car, I scribbled the first few lines of this poem:

Early Morning Moon

The early morning moon
Is a round tab of butter
Sweating alone
On a white porcelain plate
Beside it
A worn butter knife
Surrenders atop a linen tablecloth
Ironed to a white shine
By waiters in tuxedos
With fraying tails and
Pomade in their black hair
Arranged with a barber’s comb
At ten minutes to five
Just before they glide
Into place beside
A square four-top or
A champagne bucket
Where they turn to stone
Like trolls caught
By the rising sun

It’s a thrill to pull a poem from the sky.  When I grow up and become a real poet, I hope to pluck some real beauties from the stars.  Feast your mind on this beauty:

The Dream Keeper

By Langston Hughes

Bring me all of your dreams
You dreamers,
Bring me all of your
Heart melodies
That I may wrap them
In a blue cloud-cloth
Away from the too-rough fingers
Of the world.

Langston Hughes pulled a blue cloud-cloth from the sky, and I pulled a tab of butter.  That’s the cool thing about a poem:  It’s one of a kind, just like the mind that birthed it.  What will you pull from the sky?  It will be yours, and yours alone, to share with the world.


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