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Tag: morning

Any Day Now: Sicilian sestet

Published on July 2, 2025

Beneath the whisper quiet rush of dawn
as the still sleeping earth begins to wake,
before the last vestige of dark is gone
and daylight gives its weary head a shake,
enjoying one more furtive stretch and yawn,
the chains of each new yesterday can break.

The morning of each now is always new,
its gentle glow scrubbed fresh from last night’s toil,
and with an inner light brings into view
a world not so besmirched with mud and soil,
where there is opportunity for you
to contemplate and shape this mortal coil.

Before you let such moments slip away,
examine what you plan to do, and why
the time you set aside for work, and play,
is more than hours and minutes passing by.
What’s here and now can no more simply stay
than what is born can hope to never die.

02 JUL 2025

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Untitled: tanka

Published on June 11, 2025

Have you seen the wind
as it kisses the ocean,
setting the salt free?
There at the edge of the world,
seagulls compose serenades.

Have you seen the dawn
as it sneaks up on the night,
its arms soft and warm?
There at the start of the day,
the grass tears are moist.

Have you heard the sound
of the trees in the sunshine,
stretching to the sky?
There in the warmest embrace,
the world is made whole again.

11 Jun 2025

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The Snow Breathes: choka

Published on June 10, 2025

Your first breath at dawn
is not the same as the next;
light and air seep in.
How does the eye gain focus?
All illusion is chaos.

The first thing you see
when you choose to close your eyes
is an exhaled breath.
How do you know it is there?
Each summer follows a spring.

A first impression
lasts longer than the last one;
time is relative.
How do you keep it captive?
Once snow melts, it is water.

10 Jun 2025

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The Wind’s Words: roundel

Published on May 12, 2017

Who can say what words the wind has spoken,
when cast out in the night, it has its say?
Its speech slips out in whispers, clipped and broken.
Who can say

what language that it speaks, to curse, or pray;
and what translation key exists, what token,
to know its words, first heard at break of day?

So many lonely years it speaks, heartbroken,
unanswered in misunderstood wordplay.
What conversation passes with the woken?
Who can say?

12 MAY 2017

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This is the Morning: gwawdodyn

Published on March 27, 2017

This is the morning of the first day;
nothing much remains of yesterday
except some dust in the clay on the wheel,
a flew flecks of shadow in the gray.

This is the morning of moving on;
what happens now is already gone,
chaff on today’s mown lawn blown by a breeze
that has no memory of the dawn.

This is the morning of here and now;
in past soil turned under by the plow
its seeds take hold, somehow, and make their way.
No pause for reminisce is allowed.

This is the morning of the new day;
what can remain of yesterday,
except the faint scent of decay that hangs
above fragrant, new blooms as they sway?

This is the morning of what will be;
let all yesterday’s visions go free.
What good their subtlety to you today?
Past boldness provides no guarantee.

27 MAR 2017

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