I arose later, in the middle of the night kind
with a kind of a strange thought on my mind,
the kind I know, it was the very reason why,
I arose later, with that thought trailing behind-
in the middle of the night: "was it the coffee?"
I stared at the ceiling, eye on a speck,
Half-asleep wondering: "A bug? What the heck?"
I got out of bed, now obviously mad.
It landed right on me, invading my space,
Making me jump as I swatted my face,
Chasing the critter—then memory flashed—
I arose later in the middle of the night kind,
with a kind of a strange thought on my mind,
the kind I know, it was the very reason why,
I arose later, with that thought trailing behind-
in the middle of the night, I realized-
"No bug spray." My reason why.
Just a bit after midnight
The fridge hums in the background
An old clock quietly ticks
As she turns the pages
A quiet house exhales
Chapters still to write
Sorrow has found solace here
Laughter an echo chamber
Children a place to be children
Adults allowed to join them
She is scarred, this old house
Stories to go with each one
Hockey sticks, baseballs,
Jump ropes and roller skates
Her windows stick
The doors and floors squeak
Pencil marks tell of a family’s growth
Tape marks recall art exhibits
We will sleep well tonight
Listening to the gentle heartbeat
Of an old house whispering
Just a bit after midnight
It was midnight in Toledo,
With the airport all locked down.
Rats were screwing on the sidewalks.
Not a taxi could be found.
Then appears behind the headlights
A night shift cabbie found his fare.
Knew an after-hours dive bar
"Thank you pilgrim, drop us there!"
Morgan swirling in your Cola.
Three olives in my gin.
Jazz was mellow in The Scale House.
It's Tuesday morning, we're sleepin' in.
Engines snarl the quiet open. Our street forgets its name and becomes a dare. Headlights stitch the midnight dark too fast to hold, mailboxes flinch, trees lean back.
Tires scream first, then the sirens, blue red prayers bouncing off porches, windows waking like startled eyes. Someone laughs. Someone swears. Time skids sideways.
The cars vanish, but the echo keeps racing, heart still pinned to the redline, long after the law and the boys are gone.
Afterward, the street exhales. Oil hangs in the air like a secret. Dogs bark at nothing. A loose can rolls, applause with no hands. Tomorrow, chalk lines, rumors, scorch marks, proof that for seconds, speed owned us, and we let it.
© daniel miltz
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After midnight, the spider spins its silk between stars.
She sings the blues after midnight
with the moon hiding behind clouds,
her lost voice seems to know my plight,
whispers regret against my shrouds.
Her voice is a warm wrap and still
she sings the blues after midnight,
with perfect pitch she has the skill
to lead me on to other worlds.
Perhaps into eternity
where melody and stars unite;
she sings the blues after midnight,
to attend my soul perfectly .
The angels sing celestial hymn
while demons clash abysmally ,
and yet her voice does always brim~
she sings the blues after midnight.
Have to keep the door closed
(after that midnight treat)
The coyote or wolf far off
(too close)
Can’t remember the plot
(salsa has tightened its grip)
upon awakening
(not at all sure of that)
the widening of the dark
I open the door slowly
to the shadows
(a strange light and likeness)
The wild animal is scarier
enclosed, inhibited
(it tears at my throat, claws
my innards - from a distance)
The pillow next to me
has no face or hair
(hope he’s living
downstairs!)
I need his warmth, his touch
(I’m shivering cold)
ALL THE LIGHTS GO ON
the bathroom
the sink
the bedroom
the hallway
the living room
the stairs
He’s there, in his chair
I tell him I need him
He says he will be along
shortly, so
I remain, reading
in my recliner
shortly waiting
then the warming begins
side to side
his hand over mine
a warmer blanket
after midnight the wolf
will wait to attack
and with waiting
he satisfies his appetite
I’m still cold at midday
but my fears sleep
After Midnight
… starts the life
After one o’clock, the last train had gone
My window is open, listening the silent the silence
The distant, soft noise of the city…, so friendly
I love it, this is the best time for writing. Inspiring night
I love this life. Oh, the night. I am driven by the Dark
I drink
Oh night!
Cheers!
Shards of lambent moonlight drift across crumpled charcoal sky,
gleaming snow clad laneways flaunt ancient ghostly footprint,
dream world boisterous cabals lurk in blue ink shadows,
glow worm street lights peer o’er nocturnal hour hush,
swirling toll of dulcet midnight bells defrost black ice veil,
mud stained slush from madcap drivers spray giggling sweethearts
The house is quiet after midnight.
My mind is not.
The ghoul lathered a cadaver ~
with a dagger, the cops gathered
the day is done
time to dim the lights
and focus on my heart
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
When death sent out its calling card
the heavens came in view
Psalms to reach the Angel’s ears
one voice had broken through
Grace within her every word
each feeling soul infused
Patsy singing from above
—to bless the chosen few
(Remembering Patsy Cline: May, 2022)
People have the wrong impression of your life;
Seems you never liked your father’s second wife.
You let the prayers of childhood go unsaid;
Spent a humid adolescence in an unmade bed.
Your sisters always tended to their chores,
Then they’d have to find the time to finish yours.
While you would pick narcissus by the pond,
Thinking how you’d look much better as a platinum blonde.
All your fantasies of cartoon musketeers
Drape like curtains in the space between your ears,
As though to catch the echo of a thought
Before it can distract you from the shoes you’ve bought.
One should only wear glass slippers to a ball
If the dancing floor has carpet wall to wall.
Don’t tango down and down those darkened stairs,
Or take the clock for granted as if midnight cares.
Now the dirt that’s on the paving stone today
Ain’t the kind you take your broom and sweep away.
The Prince is busy looking for his Queen,
While you work hard to get your reputation clean.
In the early morning hours at the break of the new day
Is ‘The witching hour”, it’s a magical time, they say
A time where the veil between worlds becomes thin,
Allowing you the ability to go deeper within
Making it easier to connect with those on the other side
A time where the shadows come out from where they hide
A time when a witch performs her ceremonial rite
When the sky is dark and the full moon is shining bright
A time when strange magic can and will occur
Its a time that witches and warlocks prefer
To conjure and manifest the needed things
Creating a reality which came from their dreams
So within the wee hours, next time when you are lying awake
Remember that strange magic is what you could make.
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