Counterpoint

Dull days cascade like rising organ notes.
Sunday starts muted, drowned like a hummed hymn,
Monday tries swimming, Tuesday almost floats,
And Wednesday is when it learns to swim.

By Thursday, Friday it has crossed the rim
But Saturday a bit of peace is found.
The calm and quaint before the storming grim.
Though here sharp ears can catch another sound:

An anxious counter point beneath the ground
On which the cascade runs and rages rough
Over ridges causing what waves abound
That could turn dullness to “I’ve had enough”

Any day. The motion’s a centrifuge .
Dullness cascades but really is a fugue.




Poetry by Sameen The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 13 times
Written on 2026-09-04 at 19:53

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text


Clara Mae Gregory The PoetBay support member heart!
This poem is EXCELLENT, like on genius level. Strange as it may be, it first evoked my memory of what a fugue is and my favorite thing to sing when I was young- "Row, Row Your Boat" in fugue style, at least three voices. You cleverly fuse water and fugue metaphors and the passage of days from dullness layering into an anxious counterpoint and a swirling centrifuge. It is a unique and creative description of the mounting tension hidden beneath a monotonous weekly routine.
It is a reflection of your recent reality in your country. Beneath the surface rhythm, an anxious counterpoint hints at a brewing chaos ready to shatter the routine at any moment....and it did.
2026-09-04