Simple GiftsA Poem by Joel M Frye
The rumbling cat circles the chair,
wondering what wakes me at this hour. A reassuring stroke or two between lines, and she puddles beside in tail-wrapped satisfaction. Heir to a hundred insignificant sufferings which scurry and gnaw at the underpinnings of slumber, half-awake and fumbling for gratitude, I choose enough small misery to write. Don't scare up ambition to rhyme or scan, or make myself look good, or put lipstick on the false smile of swinish apathy wallowing muddily. Cold, clammy soil suits and soothes my mood. There is a hunger howling in hours dark with early morning for a gentle scratch behind my ears, a soft hand welcoming my nuzzle; a nesting ground of warm worn cloth smelling of home and family where I can pad its perimeter, curl into myself and sleep. © 2015 Joel M Frye |
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Added on March 1, 2015Last Updated on March 1, 2015 AuthorJoel M FryeSt Petersburg, FLAbouthttp://k002.kiwi6.com/hotlink/3w6q0yrymv/01_Ballad_to_Ben.mp3 http://k002.kiwi6.com/hotlink/jhjs7gw3cz/02_What_Do_I_Say.mp3 http://k002.kiwi6.com/hotlink/652qs6u270/03_Lady_Chasing_Rainbows.mp3 htt.. more..Writing
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