Sunday, 14 April 2019

End of the Jest

Sunday night is an imposter,
The kind that writers wearing bandanas foster.
Taking notes on how the sugary sweet sodas he sips,
Is a metaphor for nourishment escaping our collective lips.

Sunday night's when writers don't work,
So they try poetry for a quirk.
On Monday you wake up early ,
To chase your horses in the mist, ever so unclearly.

Tuesday was blue, Thursday was push and shove,
Then came Friday and you still weren't in love.

Sunday night and emotions, just don't go hand in glove.

Sunday nights are not to be trusted for emotions,
There are so many places you would rather be,
So many people you would rather be and be with.
Yet you find yourself blinded by the blue light,
Of your computer screen, bandana on nightstand,
Writing this poem.


  1. Yes, aliens would wonder about the human race, each of us in our rooms tinted by blue light from the screen, typing furiously. Smiles.

  2. Ah yes, there is something about Sunday nights! And the blue light of the computer screen.

  3. Sometimes Sunday night can have a sad feel to it. Back to work on Monday and the weekend off is almost over.

  4. Definitely a Sunday emotion, not quite one nor the other.

  5. Sunday night is an imposter .. oh I agree! That blue night of the computer screen is like a magnet.

  6. I am all for poetry taking control of my life, far better in fact than to be glued the the screens playing stupid games numbing the brain; or is that in fact what we do too!

  7. I love the image for Monday, 'To chase your horses in the mist, ever so unclearly'.

    And of course am with you on the computer screen (not only on Sundays.