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Fields of Words

In the middle of the night When I can’t get back to sleep, I gaze out at fields of words Just to see what I can reap. They are swaying in the wind In the moonlight so sublime, Waiting calmly to be gathered, Sorted out and set to rhyme. I write limericks, cinquains Or plain couplets from the crop And I glean and thresh and winnow ‘Til exhaustion makes me stop. Then I drift off back to dreams. When I wake I do not know Where my harvest’s gone; a wisp Of rhyme is all I have to show.

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Caren Krutsinger

Date: 3/27/2022 3:23:00 AM

"til exhaustion makes me stop" - this is me too! Me too Ilene! Me too!

Gershon Wolf

Date: 3/20/2022 7:36:00 PM

Gotta record those dreams, ilene!

Bill Baker

Date: 3/19/2022 8:16:00 AM

A good rhyme poem, Ilene. I really like the title because it is so true to my experience. Sometimes the poems come back later, but most just drift away. I'm following your poetry now. I've enjoyed reading a few this morning. A soup friend in the making, Bill

Andrea Dietrich

Date: 3/18/2022 7:30:00 AM

love it. It's always fun to see poems based on fresh crops of words!

Ann Foster

Date: 3/17/2022 2:17:00 PM

a wisp of rhyme... yes... this is so annoying. I try to keep paper and pen at hand, at all times. Even on my dressing table... as more than one story has been lost in the gloom. Well written... Ann

Rico Leffanta

Date: 3/17/2022 11:25:00 AM

I still keep pad & pen by my bedside to instantly jot down such inspirations, but find I can no longer read my writing . . . .Enjoyed, Ilene!

Tom Cunningham

Date: 3/16/2022 2:39:00 PM

How frustrating Ilene, it happens to us all, lying in bed and an idea comes into your head and boom when you finally get up it's gone. Tom

L Milton Hankins

Date: 3/16/2022 2:08:00 PM

Ah, but what beautiful rhymes you make of these words, Ilene. I, too, sometimes wake up with words, phrases, ideas, and jot them into my bedside phone. Some of them become the roots of a poem the next day or days later. Thanks for this lovely poem, my friend.