Sleepless Nights Are for Writing

I'm up and I don't feel a bit drowsy, which makes me feel like I should capitalize on this time and write.

Unfortunately nothing springs to mind.

I know "good" writers practice their craft regularly, keeping their muscles in shape with daily writing exercises, prompts and other forms of practice.

I tend to wait until a good idea smacks me upside the head and then try to get it onto the screen before all the precious words go dribbling out my ear.

So,  since I'm up, a little piece of history...

Perfect                 

My bright-eyed angel
                looks to me,
                expectantly
                to unwrap the wonders
                of the day.

To coerce smiles and giggles,
                to soothe teary cries,
                to hold on tight
                as if to say
                all is right with the world.

So much riding on
                my every action.
                A life
                with dreams and hopes and fears.

And me,
                with the power to
                love him into being
                his fabulous, perfect self.

11/11/06

Dane                     

My little brother
                stands,
                back curved protectively forward,
                arms awkwardly cradling
                my most valued treasure.

Knees bent, he bounces
                the rhythm of the lullaby.
                looking expectantly
                into those precious eyes
                for a sign of slumber.

An uncle in the making
                rough edges soften,
                eager to soothe
                to win the affections
                of our little angel.

11/11/06

Daddy

To see the love of your life

cradle his son

as if he might break

takes your breath away.

Like peeking through the cracked door

to watch the child 

recline peacefully

while rough hands

carefully turn pages

in a nightly ritual,

The child’s eyes follow those fingers,

as the deep voice 

whispers and sings

the delicate cadence.

Then, he carefully deposits

the drowsy child

with silken touches 

and whispers of

love and sweet slumber.

5/30/07

5 O’Clock 

They sat, content,

unwrapping burgers and fries.

Her warm smile tells the story

of years spent

building a life,

painting rooms,

nurturing dreams.

Of a lifetime of dinners.

His solemn gaze

speaks of

tender love

from the first moment

until now

and on into forever.

He knew then 

that they would sit 

under the florescent haze,

commencing a nightly ritual.

Eons since that first moment

and yet in the blink of an eye

here they are

at 5 o’clock dinner.

8/23/05