Masterpiece
The middle of the night.
A word comes,
A phrase, a verse,
The first hint of a rhyme.
All, in the midst
Of sleep and time,
Are lost.
At no apparent cost.
Comments
Thank you for your kind comment, Isobel. This one did not come to me in the middle of the night, at least I don't think it did!
I'd have to disagree with Greg - as a bit of an insomniac myself - if you can get sleep, embrace it, hang onto it as long as you can. An active mind is a curse and often those wonderful lines you thought were great, don't look so good in the morning.
I like the dreamy quality of this and that you've made a poem that works out of the every day.
I should, Greg, and once I did have a notebook near my bed for that purpose. I managed to remember a fair amount of stuff the next morning, but sometimes ideas have gone. Yes, it's best to have something at hand to write them down!
And thanks to all who liked this.
Wake yourself up, Steve, and write 'em down! They may turn out to be rubbish in the morning, but sometimes they're worth keeping ... The birds often wake me at four in the morning in our Northumberland village, and sometimes I thank them for it!
Thank you, Rolph. Yes, who knows what becomes of these little pieces of inspiration which slip away? Are they stored somewhere, to reappear later? Or are they just gone? I wanted to maintain the melancholy by concluding with 'no apparent cost'.
Sun 15th Jun 2025 10:18
Stephen, your poem beautifully captures that all-too-familiar moment when inspiration teases us in the quiet hours, only to slip away before we can hold onto it. There’s a delicate melancholy in the acceptance of those lost verses—like ghosts of creativity that visit but won’t stay. Thank you for giving voice to that elusive feeling with such clarity and grace.
Regards,
Rolph
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Graham Sherwood
Mon 23rd Jun 2025 15:23
Carpe Diem (and the night time too!).