Thursday November 15th, 2012

The exercise:

Today we're writing about: the man in white.

Halfway through November already, though I'm not sure I can fully account for the last eight days. I suspect Max has something to do with this recent blurring together of night and day and night and... what day is it again?

Though I must say I'm starting to feel a little more normal these days. Certainly it is a new normal, but I feel like things are shifting in a positive direction.

Also: there appears to be something powerfully soothing about having a sleeping baby on your chest. Or maybe I'm just really tired this late in the day.

Either way: another night, another backdated post.

Mine:

Dressed all in white
He's curled up on my chest,
Convinced he's found
The perfect little nest.

His warmth, his breaths,
Are lulling me to sleep.
The door opens
And in the Sandman creeps.

I can't fight it,
Try as hard as I might.
He's pure magic,
This tiny man in white.

4 Comments:

Cathryn Leigh said...

@Marc – babies are like that and the pictures of moms and dads and relatives asleep with the baby are the most precious...

I still love the photo of my husband, who took the ‘Back to Sleep’ thing so seriously that our new born daughter was on his chest, on her back, sleeping soundly with him under the Christmas lights. (We informed him later that that was only when babies went to sleep not on somebody. If they are against you the chances of SIDS are reduced, probably because you’re body’s breaths and heart beat remind them to do the same.)

Sadly I’m not thinking of that sort of man in white... no it’s something my mom said that some to mind, Something about being taken away to the funny farm, which then reminds me of a poem she wrote in high school, and then, because she had a crush on him, recited to her art teacher, while standing on the table, I think she said... very hard to picture my mom doing such things, probably because I would never have dared myself as a teen. :}

Now as to the...


Man in White

His uniform glistens under the sun.
Bright white, freshly starched,
Pristine whit no spec of dirt,
Accented only by the black of his belt
And the sword by his side.

Before him, beyond the roof,
The road awaits him.
Clouds gathering for a storm,
Gather before him.

His companion dressed in black snickers.

But only one will come back,
The way they sallied forth.

morganna said...

Definitely a rough first draft -- there may be something more to come out of this later
-----------------
Lurking in the corners of your mind
He was never there until the day you weren't
Now he won't leave you alone
In a moment of inattention
He springs and brings the memories flooding back.

Greg said...

@Cathryn: that's a great story about your mother! And your husband as well :) And the poem feels like a start rather a completion, it describes a road I'd like to follow.

@Morganna: Well, I'm not sure I'd say rough, but it does feel a little unfinished, and it would definitely be good to see the final poem. I like the second line a lot.

@Marc: so Max is better than sleeping pills? And all-natural too! ;-)
(Oh, and I get to spot all your back-dated posts because I'm usually checking your blog at 8am, which is midnight your time again :-P )
Heh, that's a lovely poem, did you write that before or after he lulled you to sleep?

The man in white
"Mavis? Mavis!"
"..."
"Please, Mavis! I'm scared."
"Oh George, what is it this time? You know I'm not talking to you."
"There's a man outside the door, Mavis. He's just standing there."
"Did he ring the bell, George?"
"Yes."
"Then let him in. He's probably a customer."
"Can't you let him in, Mavis?"
"No George, I'm in the warehouse supervising while Terry's on holiday. If anyone messes up and drops one of these cannisters we won't have a warehouse."
"...Mavis? Are you still there Mavis?"
"Yes George. Please excuse the sigh, I'm... tired."
"Mavis, the man's wearing white. All white."
"George. That's the milkman. Pay him the money in the white envelope on the desk, and then disconnect your phone."

Marc said...

Cathryn - reciting a poem to a teacher while standing on a desk sounds totally epic :D

Great imagery in your poem. I'm seeing the start of a grand adventure there.

Morganna - I hope there is more, as I'm quite intrigued by what you've got there!

Greg - definitely after. I woke up and thought 'oh man, I haven't even picked a prompt yet! What am I... hmm.'

Ah, Mavis and George :D