Tag Archives: Poetry

Awake @ 4:00 am

It’s 4:00 am and I am awake with a song running through my head as if I have been here before. This road I have traveled before, but only for a short while. The winding, twisting and turning road filled with faces, places and seasons of past, present, and future. I wonder what it is that brings all of us to this place in our lives.

Darkness stretches outside so clear as if daylight has reached out and grabbed me. Grabbed me like a friend from the past which I have not seen since days gone by or days yet to come. Friends, words, and thoughts paint turquoise pictures of grand days that were never known. Observations made of childhood days that feel like dreams of future things clouded by the darkness that is outside at 4:00 am.

These sporadic thoughts fill my mind as the ticking of the clock that doesn’t exist hammers in the background. Metronomic moments from practice rooms are the clock of a musicians world. A world that is often abandoned for other forms of life’s pleasure, but more that of practicality that is removed from life’s love.

Nonexistent clocks hammering life’s heartbeat to words streaming from the radio which cannot be understood. Back to the past the words were clear, but the future brought indistinguishable thought. These thoughts, often like informercials selling products disguised as grandiose get-rich-quick lifesavers, fill the heart with joy only to be discarded. Those thoughts teeter on the curb with raindrops tipping the equilibrium pushing one way and then another.

Rainwater gushing along the curb from earlier days tempting thoughts to leap in and run away. But that equilibrium is tempted to stay by the raindrops turned to tears. Street cleaner trucks driving slowly along the trail turning gauzed streets into clean days. The tears that were once raindrops removed with all other discarded items by the brushes and water of the street cleaner. It is the brushes cleaning, caring, and making anew that which was once the past.

We often see darkness as all that is around this oh-so-cool place we call Earth. Is this because we wear sunglasses to veil the light which is shining, or like blinders that horses used to wear? A gentle tug would remove the veil and allow us to see the good.

We smile as the morning comes after smelling the chocolate corona of coffee wafting through the air. It helps bring light to the darkness we had with our eyes closed. Is not this the problem of much around the world? Eyes closed not willing to see? Tug those sunglasses off the face of the world, and squint for a moment to see the beauty that is really awaiting our hearts.

It’s 4:00 am and I am awake with a song running through my head as if I have been here before. Have you?

Leave a comment

Filed under Life, Personal, Poetry

Roomba Haiku: Ode to Old Batteries

For the last three years I have had two pets. No, not a cat, dog, bird, nor a rat or anything of the kind. My pets have been two of iRobot’s Roomba robot vacuums. These creatures are wonderful, and help me keep my floors and carpets clean of all that I drag into my home.

The Roombas are spinning discs that travel the floor hunting for the debris their human master leaves for them. Through thick vegetation and glassy basins the Roombas whirl about creeping under couches, slithering under beds, spinning around chair legs all while devouring the little bits and pieces they can find to satisfy their hunger. That is until today.

It seems that the batteries for my two Roombas have charged and recharged all that they can handle. No more do my Roombas sound their joyful song as they begin to clean. One only hears the sorrowful four-note call that their heart is low on energy and the Roombas can no longer go about hunting for carpet food. So, i wrote a new Haiku of these circular creatures that live in my home.

Evening comes slowly

My Roombas dance no longer

Hearts are dead

Soon these small creatures will again chase, whirl, and shout their call to eat. Life replenishment is on its way to aid the Roombas so that they, much like the spiders of the dark, can eat the small bugs that roust about.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry