Bernard Quest

Wednesday Morning, End Of September

Waking after fly-blown sleep and wanting
Nothing so much as to drown, I detour
Across town the long way by the lake.
Yet I'm somehow cleansed and lifted by
That grim expanse of slate-blue lizard tongue
Which licks against the neatly pointed walls.
Oily breathed, with snorts and whinnies
Corralled commuters head to work.

The still damp grass is tracked to where we sat
Under the tulip tree you said
Was your mother's favourite kind.
This family trivia was,
Somehow, a small revelation
As are these leaves, now tobacco browned
In patches.
My fingers trace dry rivulets of cork
Wrapped around the slender cantaloupe trunk.

From the pop-up picture-book school, roofers
voices drift smoke-like in the morning air
(too early still for excited children) .
A practiced underarm pitches a tile
Directly upwards. Joy pricks me.
This neither one thing nor the other,
Balanced still and neutral. A hand
Reaches from the scaffold. Catch me.

Poem Submitted: Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Poem Edited: Friday, April 29, 2011

Add this poem to MyPoemList
5,0 out of 5
1 total ratings
rate this poem

Comments about Wednesday Morning, End Of September by Bernard Quest

  • Theodora Onken (12/12/2007 2:00:00 AM)

    Bernie, this has got to be you. Bernie Alain...NetFolk. I would recognize your style anywhere. You need to have a look at the new Starlitecafe. Has a new Owner. It is a bit different, but oh the new talent, and some of them, are trying very hard to write In netFolk style. Greatpoem
    Your poetry always makes me feel like i am right there inside in the scene, that you paint.
    Best wishes,

    Report Reply
    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?