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irinia Jan 15
each morning bird watching
is a silent meditation
I have pigeons sparrows seagulls
megpies in my gaze
their delight of falling
makes me smile
I watch them teaching their wings
for each day
picking up the debris of sleep
spinning around each other
they start cheerful conversations
about the taste of the air
steal crumbs of wonder
from each other
a woodpacker comes
from time to time
its red stain is fun
none of them travel to you
they get round and round
wayching out
their own flight
Kassan Jahmal Jan 14
A pitter-patter chorus in memory
plays a tune; yesterday's rain stuck
in the trees

A bird's whistle, a steaming cup
of rooibos watermelon & mint tea
waters both trapped in leaves

A dusty floor, swept and tucked under
a warm blanket- lost in the sounds
soundly sleeping I was

A sun peeps out of the corner cloud,
an after clearing of grey smoke, whispering mist
muddy water splash; split by passing cars

A creaking old door, swinging into the
mood of things- moving out of a dream,
I relocate into my very first step

A morning orchestra, as I yawn loudly as brass
instruments. The bells rings to wake me up
from this dream, and out of my bed

                        ...yet to face another morning
Mose Jan 13
My life pressed like those perfect folded sheets. Married in steam and good intentions of having life together.

Of course, that always starts with making your bed in the morning and filling the days with things you ought to do.

I'd spent my whole life trying to be this person....

I can't but help miss the stain on my coffee table and my linen sheets sprawled across my floor waiting for my return.

The chaos in my life felt like a harmony of bethovan's seventh symphony. A beautiful orchestrarted master piece I could only make the sense of.

I was an absolutist. Completely content with the messiness of it all. Entirely captivated by the beauty and desire with urge to succumb to it all.

The unequivocal grounding of not giving a **** at all if at least felt good.

I can't help but wonder if the person I'm unbecoming is the person I should be saving.
Nat Lipstadt Jan 3
my hidden shames

are an excellent source of moral fibre,
nurturing, but not nutritious.
we coexist in a quiet
 mutual acknowledgment,
coexisting but un-categorizable,
nonetheless,
among my oldest cohorts,
their singular coordinated characteristic,
they are mine alone,
not meant to be shared.

But they will someday
make an excellent poem.

Mon jan 2 2023
6:47am
@here

———————————————————-

the askew

are  my oldest companion,
dating back to my naissance,
faithful, eternal, but single-minded,
with a rueful sense of humor,
of course,
refer to my relatively plentiful hairs
inherited from my mother’ genetics.

a morning chore,
to return their antics
to an adult,
dignified pose,
plenty sufficient to be be brushed,
straight back,
the preferred orderly compose,
of older men
who cannot waste time
with foolishness,
the excessive vanities of
curls, parts and pompadours,

and yet,
every day they wake me with
ridicule, mockery,  by presenting
themselves.to me,
as if electrocuted,
each  
hair raising itself
pointing to the heaven,
whence
their true Creator resides.

no amount of product
persuasive,
they do what they must do,
akimbo, askew,
with inordinate amount of
malice aforethought and
a venomous sense of
hairy (and now hoary)
absurdity .

a splash of water,
a handful of rigorous brush strokes,
returns order
and the pretense of a serious mien,
an adult demeanor.

But their purpose accomplished,
they have reminded me of the
absurdity of human vanity,
to humble myself
before forces
more powerful
than human self-aggrandizement
by accentuating
our human foibles.

7:13am
same time & place
——————————————-

morning prayers are
always
a trilogy

the rounded evenness of three,
provides the necessary gravitas
of sufficiency,
three being
not too short,
not too long,
not too quick,
just three right,
to impart
the seriousness
of gratitude
for having gained
another day upon earth,
with it,
many multitudes of
chances to share
thankfulness,
kindness,
yes,
& love too,
and to write,
one more poem
encapsulating
all of the above.


7:35am
same day
same place,
same cup of coffee
Stan Gichuki Nov 2022
Dear Women,
If you’re wondering why he’s no longer texting you it’s probably because when he was, He felt like he was the one putting in all the effort he’s the one that sent the good morning and good night text first. He is the one that would ask you how your day was he would specifically check on that one thing you told him you were doing today. It is not because he has all the time in the world and he has nothing better to do he’s busy with his own things he made the conscious decision to make time for you only when he saw over and over again that his efforts were not being reciprocated that he decided to leave.

|
|
"I don't like texting" yet that is all they do when I am with them 😂

How hard is it to fully form a sentence.. 😂
monique ezeh Nov 2022
Twin glasses of orange juice, froth quietly fizzling out
A plate of turkey bacon piled overzealously high


I would cook you French toast every day, if you'd let me.

Fresh croissants from a bakery down the street
Halved strawberries drizzled with honey


I'll sprinkle cinnamon in our coffee, just like my grandmother used to.

I don't know much of love, but I know this:
When the sun breaks through my kitchen window,
I hope you'll be sitting at the table.
Zywa Nov 2022
Early morning mist,

hanging about in the buzz --


of the rising sun.
"Fiery Horizon" (2021, Peter-Jan Wagemans), for violin, keyboard with sound files an 4-track sound file, performed in the Organpark by Maria-Paula Majoor (violin), Maarten van Veen (keyboard), and Peter-Jan Wagemans (electronics) on November 6th, 2022

Collection "org anp ark" #246
Zywa Nov 2022
On the horizon

the sun is humming, turning --


the pink fingers pale.
"Fiery Horizon" (2021, Peter-Jan Wagemans), for violin, keyboard with sound files an 4-track sound file, performed in the Organpark by Maria-Paula Majoor (violin), Maarten van Veen (keyboard), and Peter-Jan Wagemans (electronics) on November 6th, 2022

Eos rhododáktylos (the rosy-fingered dawn, Homer)

Collection "org anp ark" #245
Zywa Nov 2022
The landscape awakes

in hesitant morning light --


still breathing silence.
"Fuga in C" (2022, Samuel Vriezen) for harmonium, performed by Samuel Vriezen in the Organpark on October 30th, 2022

Collection "org anp ark" #243
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