the sounds from outside mix with the
hammer in my head, mix with the rain
on the roof, tap, tap, drip, drop,
so much noise the robin can’t be heard
and I’ve got a nail in my head for the hammer
a song in my head for the rain but no
place for the silence, no place for that
robin, no place for anything of color
so I pace the floor, lie up late restless in
my bed with a spring in my back with
a broken string in the rains orchestra
and I make up for it, tap my feet on the floor
until the foot grows tired but not tired enough
for sleep, not tired enough for the robin song
I lay awake with an open ear pressed to
the pillow, inside another string snaps
Very powerful and compelling. The rain is a very effective companion to your creative loneliness. Kindest regards, Sandra
I really enjoyed this poem the way every line flowed together so perfectly :) thanks
This is extremely well written Ben, a clever extraction of rhyme inter-stanza with a almost casually concealed rhythm. ''...but no place for the silence...'' eerie, but too true. Great poem. Rgds, Ivan
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good write, Ben... an impressive 'musical' depiction of both insomnia and lonliness. Well done! Brian