Ilene Bauer Poet Rhyme

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 March 27, 2022 at 3:23 AM "til exhaustion makes me stop" - this is me too! Me too Ilene! Me too!

Gershon Wolf March 20, 2022 at 7:36 PM Gotta record those dreams, ilene!

Bill Baker March 19, 2022 at 8:16 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 March 18, 2022 at 7:30 AM love it. It's always fun to see poems based on fresh crops of words!

Ann Foster March 17, 2022 at 2:17 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 March 17, 2022 at 11:25 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 March 16, 2022 at 2:39 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 March 16, 2022 at 2:08 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.