..... poetry .....



"Still In Dreamland"

Still in Dreamland,
   I stumble out of bed
   and with eyes half open, 
   spot my new kettle for tea.
Brighter than a Gravenstein apple, 
   just shy of AstroTurf,
   it was eager to make a good impression.  
I set the kettle to boil and expect
   a polite whistle, 
   a demure signal
   that water is transformed by fire.  

From another room I wait,
   patiently, and 
   still in Dreamland,
   I hear a strange invocation
   percolating in my kettle.

It starts as quietly as zebras
   grazing in Kenya.
A lone drum calling  
   Spirit to assist in living,

The call grows, 
   a great meshing of 
   bass, tone, and slap,
fanning out like zebras
racing across the savannah.

From the other room 
   I am still waiting, still wondering 
   which world 
   I am in . . .


August 2016



©2016, Michael Smolens