Prosody

good morning has the feel of miltonics

practice makes perfect the start of the day

light upraising the regular patterns

as if today were both norm and the new

soldiering on through another epoch

a complete address of all existence

or just today not precisely the last

nor exactly the first as nerve ends attest

wakefulness requires breath space and line

boundaries inspiring stop and flow

measure a life with the new present known

pressure only what is within range now

until the norm is exceeded again

the nerves early renaming sensation

a business we know all too well

but the sun not nor the world at a guess.

 

good afternoon thou art an ode

commanding responses and yet

receiving them relieving them

of their pent-up spent-up demands

oft midst the old hurly-burly

of thy full-on complexity

redolent of every cliché

thy charms burst to full fruition

circumambient fluttery

polychrome lacustrine restive

piebald crinolined roseate

gymnastic aerobic easeful

fulsome rendered pervasive fazed

substantial triple-decker vocal

serpentine smooth cacophonous

words cometh thick and fast full blast

quick and vast for thee afternoon

come-what-may month-in month-out mouth

open eyes wide feet fleet hands ballet

rain or shine incomparable

some would say inevitable

flawless in thine own fair terms

transcribéd by thy secretaries

chairpersons of quotidian

quote me as thou passeth next time

the hours of free composition

 

good evening too soon however you spin it

majestic in light these visions embody all

we know for now of flesh and thought small and tall

modified slightly into a handy sonnet

wanting all up-to-the-minute infinite hellos

beauty’s best earth’s hits up the lift and over the wall

whatever slog or jog afternoon rushes ready to fall

foreshadowed by shadows line-lengthening shadows

into the shadow of the form’s counterturn

where the glow goes out night’s lights come on again

majestic in dark these visions embody all

thought and flesh left wondering how the sun burns

that too soon however we spin it it’s plain

has gone our words mimicking its scale in recall

 

good night is this closing epigraph

what’s left of entire paragraphs

a lullaby like you

an unspoken haiku

snoozy song snatch an epitaph