“An Evening at Home” by Edward John Poynter‘Writer’s Clock’ by Monty Med The Society December 21, 2017 Poetry 9 Comments I should be asleep! But try as I might, I can’t help but keep Wanting to write. Not only deep Into the night, But till birds cheep . . And it’s all but light. Monty Med is a 54 year-old driver who grew up in England, but he’s been living in Provence (France) for the last 17-18 years; and also spends 3 months every year in Nepal. NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who disrespects you. Simply send an email to email@example.com. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Please see our Comments Policy here. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 9 Responses Fr. Richard Libby December 21, 2017 I’m familiar with this subject matter! Well done! Reply Monty January 16, 2018 It wasn’t till last night, Chris, that I learnt my poem had been put on this page (and that was only ‘cos a chum noticed it: and called me on the spot). What an exquisite surprise it was to actually see it on the screen; that’s never happened before. Anyway, cheers for yer remarks. It sounds as if yer familiar with those impossible moments when one’s trying to juggle two opposites: The all-consuming physical need, at 5am, to shut one’s eyes (just stop writing, and get into bed) . . Pitched against the uncanny mental stimulation which can be attained when one’s on a deep train-of-thought with pen in hand; utterly indifferent to time. I’ve always found it fascinating how these two combatants can battle it out with each other for hours; while the hapless human, over whom they’re fighting, somehow rides the storm and stays on that ‘train’. The things we do for love, a! Reply Monty January 16, 2018 Sorry, I should’ve put Rich, not Chris. I dunno how that occured. Michael Dashiell December 22, 2017 A clever little poem. I wrote one on the same theme as a teenager in 2 quatrains as your own. Reply Paul January 15, 2018 Very creative great words Monty Reply Rupert January 19, 2018 Brilliant Monty , You are clever Reply Melissa May 15, 2018 Simply beautiful Reply Kim Cherub October 21, 2018 Monty, I like the poem. You should post more! I think the meter might be better with “But till the birds cheep …” Reply Monty April 14, 2020 . Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.