I walked five miles this morning, briskly.
At the fitness center I did one hundred crunches
and four sets with weights — mainly forearms,
biceps, and shoulders.

Once home I picked up periwinkle blossoms
on the patio, fallen from the planters overnight,
pink and white, five petals. I placed them in
the birdbaths, stems down, blooms up.
I do this every morning after my exercise.
The always-playful mockingbirds
appreciate splashing in the flowered water.
At least that is what I prefer to believe.

After a shower I ate breakfast, cereal with
mixed nuts, raisins, and blueberries, a big helping —
also raspberry yogurt and a toasted bagel.

Relaxed on the sofa with my fifteen-year-old
chihuahua, Rita, at my side, I’m reading Ray Carver
poems. Most are straight from his life. I like the
plainspoken reality of his writing, the believability.
He is one of my favorite poets. One has to admire
the creativity of someone who can make
a powerful poem out of a cobweb.

Later today I may work on a poem. Hell,
if Carver can make a poem out of something
as unlikely as a spider web maybe I could try
a Carver-like poem about something equally
mundane — maybe minnows, old steak knives,
or the parsley in my wife’s herb garden.

Making a poem out of such topics
could be a fun challenge. If I struggle in the process
my practice is to take a break, clear my mind,
settle my thinking. I can fish the lagoon.
The bass have been active. Sometimes ideas
solidify when I’m fishing, my mind running free,
seeking its own desires. So yes,
I could end the day waterside.
Finish the poem later.
After all, life is about choices.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem

This Poems Story

Dithering on writing a poem.