Making the Bed

[novella]

I smooth the silky sheet with the flat of my hand,
Pull it taut across the slight sag where you sleep,
Repuff the pillows, four of them piled like fat sheep
The duvet renewed, relaid, evenly meeting the bedskirt’s edge.
These soft places will want new creases,
Invite your tired arms to fall, your hands and feet to rest,
Your mind to be still, while the white curtain sways
And your soft hair spreads easily against the blue.
Restoring order like this invites a new beginning,
New ways to breathe, every night a fresh start to new dreams
Smooth and clean and restful as the night air
Blowing through the open window, over our faces.

 

[Eugen]

It is quite a readable - poem? Or an excerpt of something more. Quite ordinary, yet beautifully written, Novella.

 

[honeydevil]

I smooth the silky sheet with the flat of my hand,
Pull it taut across the slight sag where you sleep,
Repuff the pillows, four of them piled like fat sheep
The duvet renewed, relaid, evenly meeting the bedskirt’s edge.
These soft places will want new creases,
Invite your tired arms to fall, your hands and feet to rest,
Your mind to be still, while the white curtain sways
And your soft hair spreads easily against the blue.
Restoring order like this invites a new beginning,
New ways to breathe, every night a fresh start to new dreams
Smooth and clean and restful as the night air
Blowing through the open window, over our faces.

hi novella, i like it! i hate to make the bed, i think it is one of the most senseless actions you do, to come over the day, but this poem kind of makes me watn to jump in my room and touch my pillows and puff them and then fall into them and ly like on clouds. thank you, you transformed one of the actions i hate into something different!

 

[novella]

It is quite a readable - poem? Or an excerpt of something more. Quite ordinary, yet beautifully written, Novella.

O Eu, I'd wondered where you'd gone, and here you were! Thanks for saying something about this. Well, it's intended as a poem, albeit not rhyming, though there are scanned rhymes within it.

 

[novella]

hi novella, i like it! i hate to make the bed, i think it is one of the most senseless actions you do, to come over the day, but this poem kind of makes me watn to jump in my room and touch my pillows and puff them and then fall into them and ly like on clouds. thank you, you transformed one of the actions i hate into something different!

honeydevil,
I so appreciate your comments! Thank you!

 

[Eugen]

O Eu, I'd wondered where you'd gone, and here you were!

Between two lands, novella.

You are very prolific in your writing, each well thought and tightly written (mostly!). Do you have a day job? Retired from mine to be a full time writer - hopefully! I'd better have inspiration and fast or I'm stuffed.

 

[bobbyburns]

novella, as always, your sexual innuendo is priceless.

 

[Crystal]

Ermm, this might be too critical. Then I am sorry.

Nothing was shining there, to be awefully honest. At its best, it was about a woman's lose herself for a second at the sense of a touch. At the moment, she was nothing more than a sense or a touch.

The silky feeling was flowing through her fingers, which was as if it pushed a button. Then she got electrified, and pages of pages of nights and mornings screening in front of her.

A minute's stop, a full attention to the silky sense/touch.

It was something like when someone sipped the first drop of juice and she wholeheartedly enjoy the taste of that drop, the sense that the drop left on tongue/throat.


I liked some of yours in that Bad Valentine poem thread more than this one.

 

[novella]

I'm glad you said that, watercrystal. I think reading poems is such a subjective, personal experience and requires not only trying to get into the poet's mind but also a subtle understanding of the language.

I'm one of those who truly believe that you can't understand a Japanese classic haiku unless either you are Japanese and into poetry or you are fully immersed in Japanese language and culture for some time. You can know the words and see the images, but you can still miss its meaning entirely.

There are so many so-called "great" poems that I just don't get. (Not saying my poem is anything great, either.) It's almost as if the way the poet is thinking is something that my brain just doesn't want to do.

To me, the internal workings of a poem should rely on each word, with no wasted words used in order to "make" a rhyme or rhythm. So words like places/creases/faces/sways, sheep/sleep, and all the Ws in 'while the white curtain sways' in my poem are supposed to sound in your mind's ear as a pattern, but without the strain and inverted sentence structure of old-fashioned structures like the sonnet. One of the reasons I like REM's lyrics is that Stipe does this trick really well.

Anyway, I guess my point is there are all different angles from which to read and write poetry, not all for every person, and, to me, you almost have to be in a good poem to get it.