Tickets Please

Time for another ride already? Goodness, how the days fly. Here are the details of the depot from which the Poetry Bus trundled this week. It's destination? Early morning, in various disguises, so I've manufactured two for the price of one... 

Sunday Morning, 1st Edition
  
I Like It

As dream turned to reality at sunrise yesterday,
which song was it, do you suppose, that I heard start to play?
Was it music of the spheres, melodious or merry?
No - it was a pop song by some fellow name of Gerry!
Gerry and the Pacemakers were singing in my mind,
complete with memory of words I thought I'd left behind.

"I like it, I like it!

I like the way you run
your fingers through my hair,
and I like the way you tickle my chin
and I like the way you let me come in
when your Mother ain't there,
your Mother ain't there!

So I had to go to YouTube and watch an ancient clip
of Gerry's actual pop group who'd made my mem'ry flip
by infiltrating through my dreams the instant I awoke -
I never would have guessed a 'lectric guitar playing bloke
would choose to haunt someone like me, a blogger, (name of Napple)
who's fond of many silly words with which she likes to grapple.

Sunday Morning, 2nd Edition

Thoughts On An An Empty Inbox

Once, morning smiled with messages;
now, it creeps into day, its face solemn.
Once, joy would illuminate my mind
as beloved's name greeted my eyes,
the bold black characters forging
a ferrous bond with my emotions.

But the screen remains silent too often.
No longer amongst the favoured few,
I wait for any chance snippet of comfort,
perhaps a sentence, to be tossed to me.
How do I explain the loss I feel
to one who gives it not a second thought?