Well this wraps up my week of future poets.
Yep, M-O-O-N that spells dun.
I’ve probably read close to 100 poems trying to find just the right one to end my Not Yet Notorious week of poetry.
I wanted something (I liked) to reflect the unsung working class by a humble individual who wasn’t tooting their own horn.
Don’t get me wrong, we must all toot every now and again. Oops, I just did. Excuse me.
I crammed in so many units and stanzas it all started running together like Scary Movie 3 so I took a break and looked at photographs like the one
that I stole you see here.
In case you didn’t know photography is a hobby that helps me to ‘not think’. There are a lot of attention-seeking characters living in my head. No, really! Sometimes I show them a pretty picture so they’ll shut up.
Photography is my yang to the yin of self-help.
So… I was scrolling along and low and behold it was one of those I never knew that or maybe I did and just forgot moments. That happens. Anyway there it was. Monday Morning Hike right there under my nose.
Did you know the anatomical position of the eyes prevents us from being able to see those things that are right under our nose? That’s my excuse. That’s also why I try to inform every self-confident male that he has a partially dried glob of mucus dangling from his moustache. I can’t believe they fall for it – even the clean shaven ones.
Alas to conclude (dear lord let me shut up) I’d like to share this poem by a fellow blogger and photo hobbyist. It has nothing to do with toots, noses or boogers so clear your mind.
Take a deep breath. Hummmmm….
Monday Morning Hike
When I park my car
the music stops.
I shuffle to the front door
of my brick purgatory
a little late,
watching my feet
go through the motions.
At the front steps
a pack is
put on my back–
every soldier’s companion;
my shoulders earthward;
a groan slips out
as I yank open
cumbrous glass doors.
With every step
down the stale hall,
my pack gets heavier.
I imagine the silent
figures I pass
loading me up
behind my back,
as I struggle along,
bound for my trench.
By the time I reach
my canteen is empty;
any weekend peace
it held drained away.
week has begun.
7 thoughts on “M-O-O-N (That Spells Dun)”
Thank you for featuring both of my hobbies in this post. 🙂 Sorry you haven’t gotten many likes for it…See the little black cloud over my head…now it drifted over to you! 😀
It was a downpour day for me when I wrote that poem…it’s been a lot sunnier these days.
Keep up your good work and your wonderful sense of humor!
You’re welcome Sue. I’m not worried about the black clouds – they usually bring needed rain and thank goodness “likes” aren’t calories ` cause I would starve to death. 😀
I know I don’t get poetry, but this made me sad. Was it suppose to? Even though, I liked it a lot. I don’t know what sued51 looks like, but I get a picture in my head from this. If I could I would ‘like’ it more. 🙂
Everyone gets poetry Gemma. Some hoity-toity snob or boring ass professor might lead others to believe ‘one must be of a certain intellect to understand’ and that is BS! Basically it rhymes or it doesn’t – you like it or you don’t. Sorry. I will step down from my soapbox now.
I think you are genius for liking it; for seeing the image Sue created. For “getting it”. It is a bit sad but there are so many people [I would venture to say the majority] who have a job that weighs/wears them down and literally sucks the life out of them. Sue expressed that well. You get poetry Gemma. You sooo get it.
I’d like to tell you why I am reading this over and over, but I’ll just say thanks – over and over.
You are totally welcome. 🙂