Late Night Poetry

So, even with all my talk about being excited for the Get Sparked round that just started, I remembered last night at around 9pm that I had to write a poem by this morning to send to my partner. By this time I was trying to get Caelyn to bed and asleep earlier (gradual change in bed time I think will work best for getting used to 'school time') and couldn't really ignore her so I could work on the poem. I didn't have the smallest idea what this poem was going to be. As I'm laying in bed, thoughts start to crop up. Good! I didn't feel like getting up so I started typing sentence fragments into the notes function on my phone. I put it away and figure I'll just get up earlier and brainstorm last minute like I usually do. Well, I tossed and turned and didn't actually sleep for any great length of time between then and about 2am. I had to use the bathroom, so I got up, did my business, and then grabbed my netbook and lay back in bed to try and work something out.

I started with the notes I had on my phone, but it always happens: I start trying to rhyme, and I start trying to invent a regular meter to stick to, and suddenly the essence of the poetry gets lost while I try too hard to make the words work. I scrap it and start again on something new. I like it much better (duh), but I still wish I had more time to polish it. Maybe I still will. Anyway, I finish around 3am, put the netbook away, and try to get back to sleep. More tossing and turning. I was cold, so I got up for another blanket, saw that it was 4am, and finally managed to nod off.

Without further adieu, here's my poem:

Morning on Hoel Pond

No sound but the gentle ripples
against my canoe.
The sky is gray
and mist hanging in the trees
seeps down to blanket the lake
in layers of mystery.

I lay my paddle at my feet
and pull my hood close around my face.
The predawn chill permeates all.
I shiver in the stillness.

Two loons call,
greeting each other,
or in warning of my presence.

A stranger in this untouched land,
I close my eyes and breathe deeply.
Nothing but cold, crisp, clean air,
a hint of pine.
Quiet. Calm. Peaceful.

I glide back to the shore,
my paddle slicing the surface,
stirring the mist into spiraling ghosts.
The day breaks softly,
illuminating the sky
from behind the clouds,
a single layer of muted silver.

The forest awakening now,
I feel it reaching out to embrace me.
The loons call again.
I am home.

© Elizabeth Cordes, 2010