Early Morning

A Poem by Judy Ponceby

Tooo early.....

Celestial characters play across the bedroom ceiling
as the fire's last flickering coals lay dying in the ash.
I lie here, drowsy, covered with the quilted blanket.
The alarm having gone off an hour ago.
I remain huddled in the warmth of the bed
the cold air sharp against my face.
Dreading the launch from warm solace
to the biting cold of reality.
Wondering who in their right mind
decided wood burning heat was
a good idea?
Being ardently opposed to the use
of gas and oil I can only blame myself.
Deciding the trouble isn't worth it
to climb from this fortress of bliss,
I pull the quilt closer and close my eyes.
Then the telephone, ringing, ringing, ringing.
I wonder how many times it will ring until they give up.
Six, seven, ten times.
I really must get an answering machine someday.
Or maybe not, as I smile to myself and sink
further into my feather tick mattress,
putting off the day for as long as possible.

© 2011 Judy Ponceby

My Review

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Reviews

emmajoy

Laughed a little at the end, knowing that's just how i would feel, what i would think! What a great piece of writing, really setting a cold brrrrrr scene.. there's a relaxed air to this - not just cold air but a feeling of loved nostalgia. Love it!

Posted 14 Years Ago

FJ Davis

A vivid and charming description of what was--not long before--wood-burning coziness. But like every good thing in life, the coziness ends and the a*s-freezing begins. (I have, unfortunately, been stuck in the "a*s-freezing stage" for a good twenty years.)
I enjoyed this poem very much--partly, I suppose, because misery really does love company.

Posted 14 Years Ago

Samuel Dickens

Maybe you just need to get rid of the telephone, then you could have complete tranquility. Wood heat is a hassle, but it makes the house smell oh-so-good. A sweet moment in time, except for the bare feet on the cold floor and something called "work".