~
I wake up with the house
at 5am, or thereabouts,
it exhales a good morning
from the back bedroom
with a yawning crack,
ten minutes later a reply
eases from an under stairs
cupboard, a languorous
haunted gentle creak,
at this cold time of year
the heating crackles into
a noisy cough at 6am,
my poetry brain tries to
rise to this early challenge
as words tumble out
from the darkness, taunting
me to let them fly uncaptured,
I scribble hurriedly, illegibly,
hoping my spidery hieroglyphs
are at least decipherable
come breakfast time,
who knows?
*
© GRS 3/25
grahamrichardsherwood.co.uk 