A Poem for Wednesday

One of the things I’ve always enjoyed doing is writing poetry. I’ve never spent any time trying to have it published though, I just write it for myself. (Honestly, I love my magnetic poetry – I can stand and fiddle with that at the fridge for hours.) Anyway, if you think the world of fiction publishing is tough (and oh, it is!), it’s a walk in the park compared to the world of poetry publishing. (Ask yourself the last time you bought a book of poetry. More than likely it was some sort of text book that you never looked at again after the class was finished. Which is sad, because poetry is delightful.) But I digress.

Without further ado, a poem I wrote one day when I worked full time as a programmer and was mightily bored waiting on a co-worker to finish their part of the task that we were collaborating on.

The Quiet of the Evening

In the quiet of the evening
When the world winds down to sleep
And the crickets are all chirping
And the birds sing quiet peeps

Thoughts drift across the wavelets
With no seeming rhyme or reason
Except the doings of the past day
And the changing of the seasons.

Subtle fragrances abound now
As the trees are gently swaying
And the rustling leaves make music
Though you can’t hear what they’re saying.

The sky is neither blue nor black
But a starry darkened shade
With little wispy dancing clouds
That the moon can not evade.

And the peace that settles in your heart
Is the music of your soul
And the comfort of the quiet night
Is the balm that makes you whole.