Morning MAG

January 16, 2011
By ern19 BRONZE, Winder, Georgia
ern19 BRONZE, Winder, Georgia
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Morning.
The days compose themselves

I'm greeted with piercing trills
From the plastic woodwind section
On my dresser.
I slap the snooze button. It feels good.
Reverberates like an 808 kick drum
I roll out of bed.
Slippers slide on like steel guitars.
Shuffling my feet in swing rhythm,
I amble about.
That is, until I realize I'm late

Mental adagio rhythms shift
To a frantic allegro!
I smack my coffee mug on the table.
The coffee pot tinkles like chimes
I wait in rapt anticipation,
All throughout the percolation.
My feet tap in rhythm to the falling drops,
(Vans slap ceramic in frustration)
Until completion.
Cream, coffee, sugar
Meet in divine harmony
As redolent smells tangle in midair.
(A singular bead of saliva forms at the side of my mouth)
Only a second to enjoy it before a new conductor urges me toward the door
Allegro blends into presto into vivace
And my keys clang in discord
As the lock cracks and turns at breakneck speed.
I burst into the hallway
(Bounding, like kettle drums)
Papers rustle, PL's yell!
A janitor guffaws as my jacket
(Hooked in one arm)
Floats behind me.
My feet slap the stairs in no particular rhythm,
And I swear I hear a cymbal crash as I
Burst into sunlight.


The author's comments:
This is a poem about an average morning that uses musical terms and language to give a certain atmosphere to the piece.

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