Early Morning Quietude

In the early morning quietude,

When the light bleeds into the dark,

Cogs whirr and rusty batteries spark,

As I strike a poetic attitude!


Ah, the gentle hum of central heating!

The warmth of neurones connecting,

Sending the blood back to my brain,

Ideas splutter, retreat, reformulate,

Released, again, into my mind.

Words, fermenting for a lifetime,

Which bottle will they find?


Conveyor belts of shapes and scenes,

Flow, unbidden, past my door.

Neuroses established long ago,

Traumas every human knows,

Trundle past for me to explore.

Which should I assimilate,

And which can I safely ignore?

Which one, truly, tells my tale of strife?


In the early morning quietude,

A poetry machine sparks back into life.

◄ A Chance Meeting

The Dance of Life ►


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John Botterill

Sat 6th May 2023 17:45

Thanks Stephen. I also write poetry on my daily walks. I tend to use notebook on my mobile, in spite of my alleged hatred of phones haha. we are complex creatures, aren't we? Well, I am! 😀

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Stephen Gospage

Sat 6th May 2023 07:17

Thanks, John. I love the metaphor of blood and warmth flowing (light bleeds into dark is very good). Yes, this experience is familiar, although I also get ideas when walking the dog. The challenge is to remember them at the end!
A fine poem.

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John Botterill

Fri 5th May 2023 21:46

Thanks so much Clare. In fairness, my wife says I escape my brain quite often, calling me 'brainless' when, like Helene, I write poetry at 3 in the morning 😂

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Fri 5th May 2023 20:15

Another corker from you! I feel your pain, if only we could escape our brains. 🤣

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John Botterill

Fri 5th May 2023 18:37

IThanks Uilleam, Keith and Helene. I am fascianated by your responses and to learn that my methods are so similar to your own. I shouldn't be surprised! The best lines come unannounced, in all honesty. I ruin poetry when I try to direct, clarify or over explain.
It's poetry that something hidden from us chose! 😂 Ps I write on my cell phone Helene as the muse dictates! Thanks too for the likes!

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Fri 5th May 2023 12:34

A wonderful exposition of the poetic muse stretching her/his arms in the early morn to wake the words in the poet's mind. I have a cell phone that I use to compose poetry in the middle of the dark night (often 3am-ish; hubbie will stir & ask, what are you doing?; writing a poem I confess to him). Then at rising, sitting in comfy chair with coffee & oatmeal, the muse often speaks as I hold pen and journal. Great fun, great therapy. Thanks John for this delightful poem for comrades in poetry!

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keith jeffries

Fri 5th May 2023 10:45

you describe well my thoughts at the very beginning of a day. I now go to bed with a note pad. For some inexplicable reason my mind is very active at the point of waking. Your poem is one I can easily relate to.
Thank you for this,

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Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh

Fri 5th May 2023 09:22

Crikey John.
You've just described my personal experience to a to a T.
Head racing like a train at many a "False Dawn".
Eventually rising and getting to my PC; then asking myself: "now what was that potentially world-famous line I thought of three hours ago? 😐

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