I’m a night owl. Something about the sinking sun inspires me, and my mind just won’t shut down. My best ideas happen when others sleep, and on occasion, I find myself falling asleep as I should be rising to face the day’s responsibilities. I’m also a writer, as you may have guessed, and although I normally exercise my prose prowess, occasionally, I venture into the world of poetry. This little poem dedicated to the night owls of the world demonstrates a favorite style–I am fully aware that it’s a mourning dove and not a morning bird, by the way. The pun is intended.
Although I love most forms of poetry, I enjoy emulating our beloved Shakespeare. His word choices and rhythms mesmerize me, so as often as possible, I like to play with his style. Absent verbs force readers to fill in the blanks and translate; anything worth having is worth the effort to get it, and poetry comprehension is no different.
Here’s a taste of what my poetry students live through…
Said the Night Owl to the Morning Bird
original poem by Ruth Ann Frederick
Upon sinking sun mine intellect summons
all manner of inspiration and ambition.
Whilst others slumber restless mind runs
bring lofty goals to fruition.
Tomes grow through parchment writ upon
when mortal body should horizontal position.
Hark through broken dawn pink hue won
and subtle chortle awaken my condition.
Long battle hath mind lost with sleep bygone
and mourning dove doth hasten this transition.
Loath, loath wakening has my soul undone
at length yonder window close upon submission.
Bleary, blinking, eyes set on hours now gone
wasted slumber never again for possession.
Leave thou haunting chuckle from tree at dawn
and haste the evening repose now my mission.
In mourning, soul harken to haunt now drawn
from morning dove in sour admonition.
Sleep sad soul, for now time has come
for rest and slumber’s sweet submission.
…and that’s the view from My Front Porch.