Poetry Friday: The Word is MORNING

I’ve been earning my dollah-no-hollah this week, to the detriment of blog posting and blog reading. Some days are like that…even in Australia.

Today’s Poetry Friday Word came about because of Frank Sinatra. His voice ran through my head at 5 a.m. as I pulled my sleeping bones to the bathroom, in the dark, contemplating calling in sick just because I could, just because work has been hell and my body felt like a heavy, heavy sack of wet cement. What was I doing up? Geezy-creezy, mornings are ridiculous. Then somehow Frank’s voice interrupted, “In the wee small hours of the morning, when the whole wide world is fast asleep….” Such a pretty song, so mournful, so perfect.

I am expecting another hellish day of work today, and I’m rushing to get this in before all the guys descend upon me. Got 2 things...one script-ish thang (because I think in she-said-he-said conversations) and Frank's song.

"Morning”…please feel free to sprinkle this word liberally in your blog posts today, however it opens your oyster…poem, story, photo, audio, recipe for world domination….

Have a good weekend, y’all!


Act II, Scene 1

Scene: Early morning, bedroom. Cut to:


Woman: (sitting up suddenly in bed): William H. Macy!

Man: (stirring beside woman): Hmmm?

Woman: Macy.

Man: Yeah?

Woman: Oh. William H. Macy.

Man: What about him?

Woman: In my dream. Wow. (checking bed) Wait. Uh. Oh. Hi.

Man: Hi.

Woman: You’re in my bed.

Man: Last I checked, yeah.

Woman: Huh. We weren’t drunk, were we?

Man: No.

Woman: That’s good. Did you seduce me, or…?

Man: Oh, it was definitely you who did the seducing.

Woman: Mmm…I don’t think so.

Man: I’d like to think so.

Woman: We have a show today.

Man: Mm-hmm.

Woman: Crap. I didn’t get those scene changes to Brad. He was pretty drunk last night, wasn’t he?

Man: Let’s see…he kissed Alec Baldwin on the mouth. He mooned a group of nuns. Fell in the lobby fountain…I’d say, yeah, pretty drunk. Sara got pictures.

Woman: Oh yeah? God I love that girl.

Man: It’s not blackmail if you’re not asking for anything.

Woman: It’s…journalism.

Man: It’s sketch comedy writing itself. “Inebriated Network Executive Man.”

Woman: Don’t tell him that, he’ll open next week’s show with it.

Man: You okay?

Woman: What? Yeah. Okay. You?

Man: Okay.

Woman: Is this supposed to be the awkward ‘morning after’?

Man: Not so awkward.

Woman: No. Not so.

Man: It’s still early, ya know.

Woman: We could sleep some more.

Man: Or you could put those boots back on.

Woman: See, this is all the boots’ fault.

Man: Dirty little things.

Woman: Mm-hmmm…dirty, nasty, sexy little things.

(Fade out.)


In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning

In the wee small hours of the morning,
While the whole wide world is fast asleep,
You lie awake and think about the girl
And never, ever think of counting sheep.

When your lonely heart has learned its lesson,
You'd be hers if only she would call,
In the wee small hours of the morning,
That's the time you miss her most of all.

(Musical interlude)

When your lonely heart has learned its lesson,
You'd be hers if only she would call,
In the wee small hours of the morning,
That's the time you miss her most of all.