Light in Flight

See how the dawn yawns, arches to 

begin a day’s flight? The sun rises? 

Like a single minded annulus being dipped 

into iced confection, every morning 

I draw ink from a life’s well, stir senses 

to what might be a baker’s tardy tart 

scrounged from a dozen left over lines. A poem, 

this poem, my opening bid to hand 

of solitary whist, making hay from chaff 

being scattered to four winds dark reveries, 

the single minded crochet of a pen 

racing against time, sun’s dismissive review. 

Though I am of the world, the world 

only waits so long for the spilled ink to dry.  

Long before I am finished, the day will fade, 

summon it’s thoughts to moon’s serendipitous tides. 

See how the dawn yawns? The day already 

slipping away. Light in flight from my indolent lines.   

Ken e Bujold

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

Time is the way of the world. This poem uses poetry as a metaphor for man's fleeting days. "Long before I am finished, the day will fade". It's a struggle to empty the jug fully before darkness comes. Well done.
PS: You have a misplaced apostrophe in the third line from the end.

[Ken e Bujold]

thanks john, not sure how that sloppy miss got past me.

[emmajoygreen]

'Though I am of the world, the world
only waits so long for the spilled ink to dry.
Long before I am finished the day will fade,
summon it’s thoughts to moon’s serendipitous tides.'

It's true: seconds blink, time loses a fatal breath, thoughts are shadows.. and the writer, thinker, being -hardly if at all, has time to cherish that speck of - who knows. Possible glory? Words to return to.

[W. Barrett Munn]

This gives me the sense of someone making coffee in a French press, in no hurry but at the same time trying to produce a quality brew.
The cup I tasted was fine.

Winston

[Ken e Bujold]

thanks. I'd say guess the genesis, but you couldn't in a million yrs, since other than see how and arches of the first line, it has nothing to do with the poem i was reading at the time. Just the thought of sun and arches played a chord in my mind and ... voila. anyhow poet and poem was Andrew Marvell's Upon the Hill and Grove at Bill--Borow. 17th century Brit (only read if you really insterested in digging through the vaults)

[light and ashes]

Very very good.

Excellent thoughts and expressions, conveyed very well.

[JR]

I love your sense of movement, of things slipping away before they can be realized. It gives the idea that a poem can't ever really be current because before it is done, that world is already gone. Really cool ideas in here, and a good read.

[Ken e Bujold]

thanks for the visit JR. glad you enjoyed the work

ken