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From the Notebooks

Wow, there is simply a dearth of bloggable stuff out there today . . . that, or my muses have gone on strike. I'm being forced to reach into my bag of notebooks. I found this poem in my Poems folder. I don't remember writing it, but apparently I did (based simply on its location in my C drive).


"The Alternative Calm"

Silent night;
mind afright.
Scattered there;
shattered here.

Holy night;
soul aflight.
Scattered there;
shattered here.

All is calm;
prayer embalmed.
Scattered there;
shattered here.

All is bright;
heart is night.
Scattered there;
shattered here.

Too, too much;
For one day.
Booze, friends, gifts;
Mental fray.

I should stop.
So I stay
with the fray.

Then it stops.
The numbing,
the fraying,
the dumbing.

In others
I can find
the calmness
left behind.

Babe in them,
Babe in me.

Mind is calm,
Soul is bright,
Silent night,
Holy night.

If I wrote it, I did so many years ago, bringing to mind this Mencken quote that I coincidentally ran across earlier this morning:

A poet more than thirty years old is simply an overgrown child.
— HL Mencken (@HLMenckenBot) December 17, 2016