Late Night – Quarter to One
If you ever wondered why Twitter exists and why poets love it, read on.
Picture this. You wake. You toss this way; then that. Punch the pillows. Kick off the covers including the rolled up cat. Left side. Right side. Flat on your back. Take a swig of water or whatever might be bedside. If you find only two empty beer bottles, an uncorked bottle of bitter wine, then warm water will suffice.
The phone with its fraying umbilical cord hovers too near the brink. You push it further back on the table, notice friends from Facebook, a couple of texts, a missed call. Why did you think umbilical cord when you saw the tangled cord? Poem fragments jangle in your tired mind.
You read in the Twitter stream that Cher is having a magical celestial underwear tour. You realize – No. She’s not — that a candidate for POTUS wears them. Mormons are offended by Cher’s comments — You didn’t need this crap – You are often offended by Mormons. So get over it people, you declare, becoming more focused on where your mind seems to wander.
You tweet to everyone. You tweet to no one. It’s almost the middle of the night where you are. Twitter never sleeps because it’s always awake time some where out there. You are no longer restless.
You notice an opened journal on the empty pillow next to yours — a Thoreau quote catches your eye–
This was his looning – perhaps the wildest sound that is ever heard here….
You grab a pen – pen poetic thoughts in cursive in case you later become a loon and have a looning yourself.
- He pulls me up / as he lowers himself down
- Two lips / to fruit / too soon /devoured
- half twist / backward’s glance / glimpse
- remembering to remember not to forget
- the substance of a shadow in tall grass
You post five consecutive Tweets not even using hashtags for #poetry or for #amwriting. These fragments will be worked into poems later or perhaps not. Perhaps they will lay in a fallow field, compost for a while until something productive sprouts. For now, you birthed a few ideas. Maybe someone else will take inspiration from them.
Your work is finished here for the night. You pull in your twitter line. Somehow, you know that you’ve reached out. You touched someone. You may even feel a little touched – and not just in the head, and somehow you sleep now.
Yes, sweet sleep — like the baby, in the tree top.
Writing Tip – Pen something based on a quote that you enjoy. Or use the looning line above. Try writing in cursive in a journal of some sort. One of the main purposes in this blog is to encourage the preservation of cursive handwriting.