The Tiny Black Spot on the Sun

The Tiny Black Spot on the Sun

A Poem by Lionel Braud

"Theres a little black spot on the sun today (that is my soul up there) Its the same old thing as yesterday Theres a black hat caught in a high tree top Theres a flag-pole rag and the wind wont stop" Written by Sting


Harold carried his duties in a customary way, reading the newspaper and planning the duties of today
While the sun would begin to rise, the clouds would cascade in their usual array
The winds swayed the oak trees from east to west, and the blue jays hummed the usual tunes
And Harold feasted on his morning prunes
Every morning Mrs. Lark beckoned at Harold’s door with freshly baked pies
While crooning with her flirtatious eyes
Harold would then meander the rest of the morning with a cup of coffee and a shave, predicting how the NASDAQ numbers would pave
The afternoon sun then castled high in the sky, perfectly aligning to Harold’s house at ninety degrees
While Harold labored on the computer screen during his afternoon sprees
The clouds began to lax and wane into the lake
And Harold stretched and yawned from his work and prepared a supper at eight
Two hours dark, two hours before the closing of the day,
Harold read until his eyes were dressed by the shade
So were the typical days of Harold
The next day unfolded and the clouds unfurled, the sun enveloped the neighborhood in a haze
Harold woke up perturbed, somehow a little off, staring into the clock with a vacant gaze
Harold continued to carry off his duties in a conventional way
But the clouds in the east obstructed the view of the sun with the colors of gray
The winds swayed in turbulent directions, and the blue jays hummed a different tune,
‘Such a weird melody’ Harold thought, that he never had heard crooned
This morning an absence felt, Harold heard no knock from Mrs. Lark,
And not a sound occurred, ‘How strange’ he thought
Stanger still the afternoon sun eclipsed by an unfamiliar cloth
Harold puzzled a life he assumed he had wrought
Somehow by fates crossed, and mishaps chanced
Harold’s mind pierced by a two mirrored lance
Poured out did these shadows withdrew
From his head alien invaders went through
Familiar passings out of Pandora’s box crept monstrous things
Harold sighed in complete distress ‘How bizarre a world with unkempt wings’
Harold then knew no morning or afternoon delight
Nor had any evening born such a wonderful fright
‘Oh, how the blue jays feathers waft in the breeze
How penetrating the afternoon star must be!
My senses dilated,
That small black spot in the sun I now see’
Harold foresaw the world’s poetic agony
The routine of Harold’s days now performed in litany

© 2009 Lionel Braud

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Very nice. This was to me, was border line story. but I see the poetry in it. The day to day events then something throws it all off. Something not expected. I know how he feels. lol.
Thank you

Posted 11 Years Ago

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Added on April 25, 2009


Lionel Braud
Lionel Braud

Smyrna, GA

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