Sunday, February 24, 2013

Gloaming Gustari

image borrowed from bing

Gloaming Gustari

The early morning has gold in its mouth.”
--Benjamin Franklin

For several years I rose bleary-eyed
and resolute to the eerie sounds
of soft silence being pierced by 
night birds squawking, flying
wing to wing with the bats,
and the lonesome barking of dogs;

struggling into the pre-twilight, wrapped
in striped muffler and navy-blue watch-cap,
having to wipe the steam from my spectacles
before hearing the evening’s freeze crackle
as I forced my car door open, the sonorous
screech of a blood-red ice scraper clearing
the windshield, the blinded rear-view mirrors,
and the driver’s window;

serenaded by classical music while shivering
in wait for the engine to percolate the radiator tea
and add purpose to the whoosh of defroster
on a windshield trying to re-form its icy mask;

sliding into gear, headlights on bright, breaking
the myriad of frozen sheets on puddles, emerging
at the head of the alley to make my familiar way
down quiet frosted streets, past dark houses
and slumbering occupants, out onto the wide
nearly empty stretch of freeway, allowing
me to drive faster, deep into the icy arms
of thick brown fog, past the district fenced lot
full of pencil-yellow school buses;

soon arriving at work, hiking 
from the empty parking stalls
across a wide stretch of tall firs 
throwing patchwork shadows 
for me to scurry through, 
past several buildings 
pale white from a harvest moon, 
it’s silver beams dancing on my breath
as I unlocked a side door and let myself
into a dimly-lit long hallway leading to
my office, where my government computer
hummed good morning, ready for
my exploration,
my excursions on line, 
my research, 
my poetry, 

spending several delicious hours 
before other employees
arrived at their duty stations, 
before sweet old blinded veterans 
would gather at my door needing 
my expertise, attention,
and compassion;

later even while mired in teaching, deep
in some technical explication, still
I savored the cached residue of joy
that remained within, the result
of being up before the dawn,

sailing like a solitary sailor 
on a sargasso cyber-sea
smiling leeward just before 
the new sun poked its fiery pate
above the awaiting fecund horizon-
greeting it boldly, more
than prepared for the

carpe diem,
quam minimum credula postero.

Glenn Buttkus

February 2013

Would you like to hear the author read this poem to you?


Brian Miller said...

there you had me wondering sir...smiles...

nice...i love being up early and hearing the world come to life around helps me surely prepare for the day and find that joy as well...really cool i can relate to...hope you had a good weekend...

Truedessa said...


Wow I really enjoyed reading this and listening as well. Really well done!

alan1704 said...

Soft silence being pierced by night birds - great lines and entrancing poem, very interesting

Anonymous said...

A treat as always, Glenn

Dave King said...

Thanks for another great read, as individual as always.

lucychili said...

it feels nice being at work after hours in a quiet time =)
well described.