A Prose Poem about Trying To Write a Lyric Poem at 11 p.m.

I am brushing my teeth and it begins- a word attack. Sometimes I close my eyes at these moments and dismiss the frisky ideas with the wave of a hand. But phrases love to gather at bedtime. I tell them to return in the morning but they never do. I worry I have turned down some majestic poems that reared their creative heads just after I’ve turned off the light. So, I go to the computer and type syllables that sling themselves at me like cream pies in a keystone cops movie.

the stars luxuriate
In their bed of night

Good start! I like the idea of the stars luxuriating, which is just what I want to do luxuriate under the covers, push my toes against the new flannel sheets I had put on for winter, curl my back into my husband’s and slip into dreams. But the words persist.

arising in the morning dimpled with sleep
to disappear under the cover of light,

Oh, sleep! “Sleep, that knits up the raveled sleeve of care.” That’s exactly what I need. The thought of a cover of light is appealing, rather than a cover of darkness, which one hears so often that it is, of course, trite. Cover of light is original, or so I think at what now is approaching 11:30. I long for my own covers, my blanket, my comforter, but the thoughts soldier on

Until the sun, a star itself, and surely knowing so
Preens its way over the horizon

Well, well, an overdone pathetic fallacy at midnight. What a surprise! The sun, aware it is the brightest star and the whole preening bit. I mean, really. At the very least, I should remove the word horizon, an overused word if ever there was one, but look at me posturing about clichés when I am writing a star poem again. The lines have become punchy now. Swarming mosquitoes, ready to land. I listen-in a minute before I slap them silly.

As the simple stars simmer waiting their turn
To shimmer, shimmer, shimmer,

The computer page is shimmering now. My eyes are heavy. But, of course, one more line has to have its say.

Later the night again rolls its way over the pages of the sky.

Rolling, rolling, rolling over, burrowing, snuggling. I’m going to bed. Contain yourself, metaphors. Settle down, similes, until morning rolls its way over the horizon.