Conversations in Poetry

Conversations in Poetry


At four in the morning I am at it again
Waiting for the coffee to brew
I wish all could see my fingers sail
Across the keyboard, as I type quite well
The very story that I am intending to sell

My husband walks in, “I can’t believe you are at it again”
He pours the coffee while watching me so intently
As I type until my coffee is so very cold
Then his posture is very smug as he turns to say
“Did you really intend to type it that way?”

What way is that if you don’t mind that I ask.
I sit here in the dark, and type with all my heart
Waiting for the glorious day, that you will know
My writing in not just a lark
“Can’t you do anything except bark?”

Love of my life, I married you too
Along with all the strange things that you do
I support your struggle with all of these revisions
Your version of life with which you are never quite done
That it keeps you writing through most of every night

I just thought that I should mention
Since it surely seems to be your intention
To eventually print your rendition
Of the latest addition to the chapters
You have already written

Type away! Type away! Type away all!
I just wanted to tell you that I noticed
There is no green light indicating any power at all
Your screen is not lit its’ usually shade of blue-green
Just thought I would be the one to tell you just to hear you scream

The keys were singing their daily quiet click clack
As your fingers really do their tricks
But today dear, there is not the usual glare
Reflecting on your glasses and gray hair
As you sit there with your distant stare

No pens to drop, no papers to fling
Good Lord tell me this is just a dream
No glare at all from this days' black screen
Gives me great pause for this lost cause
Praying this is just the ugliest nightmare of them all