Lights Out

by Don Thompson

Now the moth can stop
beating his head
hopelessly against the lampshade,
and I can forget about words that won’t come.

The frogs have broken their drums
and gone to bed;
an owl has finally put away
his precious old bassoon.

Only the insects stay up all night
to compose their haiku,
crumpling thousands of sheets of paper
before they get it right.

—from Everything Barren Will Be Blessed (used by permission of Don Thompson)

Poem of the Month: June 2015

Leave a Reply