ManicDDaily

Doorbell Rings Some Time Very Late 

Fear upstarts–
quake awake shaking, bleared night silent

but for bell that should not be ringing,
dark but for lights that I’ve fallen 

asleep on, torn jagged– “Who’s there?”
my voice 
ragged
this side of door, which, shit, is not locked–
Fear tumble-rs through brain
paralyzed against making noticeable click

addresses

chain, a pretense
of metal, that shaking fingers slip

silently into slot.

I call back “No,”
taking hold now of true

lock as eye scope

smudges blurred guy blanking to greenish hall–

A mistake, all 
safe, still shaking–no,
there’s stillness
on skin itself,  the quiver
inner, as twist

in  chest/plexus

refuses to let go of 
fisted alarm, armed

against beating flow

of all other tisssued self,

scared stalwart.

**********************************
I’m back from brief blog break!  Not exactly rested – especially after being woken up in the middle of the night last night –but really missing my blogging buddies (especially all those great guys at dVerse.)  One lingering problem is, of course, that I’m not a poet!  If I am any kind of writer at all, it is of novels, but the kindness of the online poetry community is really hard to beat, and that kindess tends to inspire poetry even in prosaic types.

All that said, I am linking the above to Emily Wierenga’s Imperfect Prose.  Emily, another kind soul, has posted a poem of mine, “Thin Birthday,” on her other blog, Chasing Silhouettes, with a wonderful painting (by Emily.)  Check it out!