A Title-less Poem: Its Tale

After indoctrinating myself with Relient K’s new album with “Don’t Blink” swirling around in my head, I am getting over soreness acquired from landscaping and roofing.  I admit it is fun to stand atop a roof, clad in tie-die and ratty shorts wielding a nail-gun that makes the gangster-looking people in the alley below observe with some trepidation, but my hands are stiff, and Debussy must, unfortunately, wait to be more discovered than it already has.

Meanwhile, I write, work, read, cook, and wait: Write poems, work with family, read Julie and Julia, O Pioneers!, and Sherlock, cook summer delicacies, and wait for my employers to finalize my schedule.

When we arrived home last Friday after our contracting escapades, having the family back together again was exquisite. The best activities we do together are a) working, and b) laughing; and in that order, too. Teasing is sometimes biased…but I digress. Our arrival had been late, and we wearily stumbled out of the extended 4x4 cab, into Mum’s arms, and up the stairs to bed.  I lay there, finishing up a chapter of Amos, and heard the best sound I had heard in a week: My parents laughing.

It made me smirk. I did not know what the goings on were (and upon asking, they don’t quite remember what it was they thought so funny), but the fact was that they were happy. We were home, together, and being the sometimes emotional-event-inspired goofball that I am, I got creative and wrote a poem. Not quite a sonnet, not quite metrical, but a poem all the same.

Working on the large, tin-roofed chicken coop the next morning before the clouds let loose their raindrops, I ran down the hill barefoot clasping a piece of paper and calling for Daddy to read it. He appeared from one end of the coop in his orange shirt and lopsided hat, and after making his way over, grasped the drafted poem scribbled on old school paper and began to read:

We are home again after much working.

Signature, joyful noise sounds from the hall;

Jubilee quite displayed through their laughing, 

Carrying itself; unable to fall.

Together again, at last we do find

Deep sleep for the brain; sweet rest for the mind.

The contracting conquered by bright fervor 

Gives satisfaction to those who serve her;

Though itchy arms and sun-burnt ears

Have witnessed noise and shingle shears; 

Though bodies wake early and so weary

And little eyes adapt when so bleary, 

The heart is happy, and content

  To complete a goal, to see the end.

 I this piece very much, as it encompasses the essence of what went on.  I muse a title will find its way here sooner rather than later.Until then, merci beaucoup for reading.