Monday, September 28, 2015


                    The sun is barely up, but hammers pound
                    On shiny nails a half a block away,
                    And in the morning stillness that sole sound
                    Begins to set a tempo for the day.

                    The next sound’s that of a descending plane,
                    Its runway a few miles south of here,
                    Aligning with its designated lane,
                    Receiving a transmission that all’s clear.

                    But now my tummy’s grumbling and though I’m
                    The only one to hear this soft appeal,
                    It offers me a prompt for my next rhyme,
                    The sooner found, the sooner my next meal.

                        The sky is brightening now, though birds stay still
                        Who soon will have the wide soundscape to fill.