Friday, April 10, 2015


            Above the distance ambience of cars
            That wafts in from the west-side Interstate,
            The morning song of amorous blue jays spars
            For my attention in this dawn’s debate,

            But now construction noise from down the street,
            The beeps of trucks or tractors backing up,
            Intrudes and nearly guarantees defeat,
            Despite the inspiring fragrance from my cup.

            The day’s too far into its busyness
            For me to hear the whispers of the Muse
            Or hope this poem might achieve success
            Except to sing the stymied poet’s blues.

                 But suddenly the ambient noise has paused—
                 So maybe my long labors won’t be lost.