Early Morning September 11, 2o15

I'm finding my way as an artist by discovering the artist I was a few years back. About 3 year ago, I got into writing these short, off the top of my head "little things" for Facebook. They weren't really worked on, just written as posts . . . not much to them, really. But I found a few of them and thought, "Hey, these scribbles! I could turned them into poems!" Here's the first one. {smiles}

Early Morning

 

Morning creeps-up on my eyes.

Such a weight  upon the lids,
upon the gray matter
where my thoughts reside.

 

I feared the dark once long ago in this life.

Always needing a bit of light
to watch me as I slept.

 

Too many shadow creatures living in the dark,

hunting in the dark, in the cobwebbed corners
of the bedroom that I shared with a younger brother,
between the cracks of the door and jamb,
in the haunted boughs of the old oak tree
just outside our window.

 

Too many frightful, horrible  things in here, out there.

 

Scratching sounds . . . branches against

the window screen . . . Sleep? Impossible.

 

A thump, thump, thumping on the wall,

a constant thump, thump, thumping on the wall
scares the living shit out of little boys, all.

 

I'm not sure why she has it in for me,

but from the moment that I hit this Earth
Mother Nature’s tried to murder me.
Woodie o9-11-15