Morning Blank Pages

I woke up, misty morning and rain fogging

the porch view.

A blank page rests on my table and my vision

gets foggy too.

So I settle and put the kettle to warm and fire-open

the stove;

When I realized something,

I'm broke.

Not sure if it is the stove still off or that I'm about to choke.

I guess I will need more coffee to refill my cup, to accompany me on my

soliloquy

So I cleared up my throat and swallowed those

empty hopes.

I tuned in to a humming bird resonating a minuet and hymn

about flying;

at least something in my morning is on key.

The kettle started whistling, joining the humming bird who rests

on the tree

in front of me. Then above me, are clouds hugging

each other,

pouring pellets of tears from the sky created

by their union.

Shading the already dim lit morning which painted gray

my visions;

at least something in this morning feels romantic and not alone.

The humming bird goes on his lullaby, surprised that the tune awakes

me instead.

Trying to lead me back to bed is a silent alarm returning

me to slumber

but I refuse to give back an answer.

Quite unsure , my view and my vision are not aligning. I just opened my blank pages anticipating.

Though the visions seemed crippled and too slow coming;

at least something this morning is ready to begin.

Finally, I just flipped the blank pages from a little black book with only

white spaces.

The slate in front of me is clean, tempted to soak a black ink from the pen I had used for years;

Either to stir the black coffee or the blank visions in my mind - I still

have to find.

Now a crooked line began as I attempt to mark a spot, finishing with more than just a dot;

at last one of the pages is not blank anymore.

It was supposed to be a novel which I'm trying

to compose,

but what I had were only dots, and crooked lines affixed

on the dots.

When I read them I realized that what I had written

wasn't that bad.

It turns out my blank pages had jotted down notes, whole and half notes forming a tune,

a melody I'm not sure I heard before, but sounded familiar when I started humming the notes.

Now the humming bird on the tree at the front porch finished his song

with a slur.

HE promised me that the next morning

He'll come back;

so that something every morning will remind me:

"at least one of your senses is not broken,  ready to take down another lullaby

as you choose to leave those blank pages open ."

                                                             ---oOo---

______________________________________________________________________________________

Has anyone tried "Morning Blank Pages"? This is a poem telling an experience with morning blank pages. It is a routine I learned doing to help cope with brain fog in the morning.