Morning breaks on crooked arm,From dreams I resist sun.(Wake, wake, you slugabed,Work needs to be done.)Very greatly, lassitudeTethers me to bed.(But without your work-a-dayChildren won’t be fed.)In a slumber well intactFortunes visit me.(To collar me in dream-landThey beg on bended knee.)Sleep-dismissing day and work,Spirits drag me down.(You’ve no use for daylight.Sink, sink and drown.)Last-ditch fury, roil the quiltsOf my tender sleep.(May as well stop fighting.Laugh, laugh the deep.)
#23 of 30 Poems in November to benefit Center for New Americans, styled after a poem titled "In Arcady" by William Cosmo Monkhouse (1840-1901).
A wonderful piece, dreamy and vivid.
ReplyDelete"But without your work-a-day, children wont be fed." Arising with a cackle is a good approach.
ReplyDeleteI didn't want to get up this morning either.
ReplyDeletevery candid write, though you have put so much fun into the writing. takes me back to my pre retirement years
ReplyDeletehave a nice Tuesday
much love...
There are those mornings... especially when sleet are pounding windows.
ReplyDeleteI'm going to read this to my husband. Hee hee.
ReplyDeleteLove the sing song conversation here.
ReplyDeleteI like your Cat Stevens type opening. And I love the sluggard admonishments. Modern Proverbs.
ReplyDeleteWhy don't I think of these ways?
. .
So that's what the sleepyhead folk were singing when Day tore me up from Night!
ReplyDeleteLike the way the poem flows with the lines in parentheses...
ReplyDeleteThe call of the bed is strong and loud!
ReplyDeleteMorning is not my friend anymore. You describe so well the urge to remain in bed, but I love how you ended it...."laugh"
ReplyDelete