In the swing of night,
train sounds horn several times, thoroughly.
Playground remaining parts and swings rest,
desiring to be finished and ready.
A car spins its wheels at the dead-ended-road, as an escape route must be made.
A bold cricket harps his steady pitch.
Literature lingers, as stacks of dusty papers in mind’s grazing munch.
There must be order in the court of unstoppable inspiration, surely?
Or, does it stay awake to all hours of the sounding night and past-seen-imagery of the day lived?
About the Creator
Rowan Finley
Father. Academic Advisor. Musician. Writer. My real name is Jesse Balogh.
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More stories from Rowan Finley and writers in Poets and other communities.
Let's Don't Do This
"I just can't do this anymore..." "Do what?" What can't you do? Put gas in your own car? I swear to God you make me take care of everything, don't you? You know I'm on my way to work right now but that never stops you from bothering me, does it?"
By Shirley Belk6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
Ooo, this is quietly powerful! Makes me feel like this was written in that exact moment when the world is asleep but your mind is throwing a creative house party. And you just… opened the door and let it happen.
I like the phrase “in the swing of night” it suggest a shift in atmosphere, which is nicely juxtaposed with the mind that continues to graze 🐄 🛤️ 📃
It's amazing how air moisture magnifies sounds exponentially... and some of those trains have such shrill horns- " train sounds horn several times, thoroughly" I can hear it from here lol 😬👀