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neth jones May 16

i wake before the others                                                     
                                          betraying the family bed
conduct domestic procedure                                 
         (the sun has yet to rise and punish)
the rooms are illuminated       with the city dim
   projected from streetlight in
a dossing grain of orange                        
                   wiltered by the sheets          
 we use to cower our windows
in this near light i go to spread a morning meal
a tray of fruit, yogurt and breakfast biscuits
i bring it too our low living room table
but Abrupt !                                                            
   ­    there is a form   occupying the table

i scout for a spot to place my wares                            
put the tray / direct contact / the floor
                         and make a closer examination
on the table                                                            ­        
it is a soldier boy       simple      life spent out

this warrants artificial light                                      
i pull the cord on the corner lamp                      
   in a glimpse of eyes the bulb pops dead
               i know i won't meet result this way
its a brain pattern going on  i determine        
   and remove shrouding from a street view
orange wash lends  to the olive uniform
both hands hitched                                                
to his webbing   in the middle of his chest
helmet discomforts  his head turned to a side
eyes yelling a relaxed nothing                  
no surprise to his ****** features
boots that haven't even made mud yet
this is clean    but   for the blood reduction
a syrup for his presentation
no fooling  and there is.. the gun                          

the child in me and the child in him want it
he makes seventeen at most
and it is now i feel
when i see the device

war oversees
makes international the weather
Mrs Timetable Mar 19
The sun was so blind
Can't see in front
Of me
Good thing
I missed my turn
And still you made it
Into my heart
I made a new word. Daydreaming while driving  in the early morning
neth jones Mar 3
scupper the dawn
   with curtains   redrawn
a self made mourning
anti haiku
anthony Feb 24
watch the owls take their
last flight,
say goodbye to the
night time;
morning’s begun.
fog hangs
a little longer on
the window pane,
chicks are chirping with
their hunger pangs;
here comes the sun.
Early morning fingers
clutching at the sill
as I lay quiet, warm and still
half awake yet wrapped in night
not ready for the coming light
which filters softly through the blind
to **** my peaceful state of mind
Dylan Feb 18
Splotches of sky,
daubs of fuschia and white idle above.
A cottage near the stream, our soft painted dream,
and ripples of blue.

silver mist blurs the mountainside.
Rows of emerald pine, our hidden divine,
and beads of limpid dew.

Echoes of dawn,
a cool gale of the nearing spring.
Awash in teal blooms, our calm wooded womb,
and memories of you.
Zywa Feb 9
Dawn: the world takes on

colours, becomes lifelike, but --

remains elusive.
Personal transmission-composition "Occam ocean" for orchestra (2015, Éliane Radigue), performed in the Organpark on February 3rd, 2024, by ensemble ONCEIM (L'Orchestre de Nouvelles Créations, Expérimentations, et Improvisations Musicales) and others - @orchestra

Collection "org anp ark" #359
Sipping on these moments, like you could never get enough,
Let me whisper in your ear, I'll be your morning cup,
Brewing a smile on your face before your eyes are open,
Add a pinch of sugar, though the sweetness not important.
Malia Jan 20
Bathed in the amber light
I watch these fields in slumber
Resting beneath scattered snow
As the music crescendos.

The mountains gleam in the distance
But every crevice and branch
Is coated in gold
Like a remnant of Midas’ touch.

Peace washes over me
A purifying, gentle force.
The sky’s tender blue
Kisses the horizon.
a shimmering lightness
of white rolls playfully
across the tips of
slender bladed greenery
the delicate dancing of
that yet-to-be-mown grass
grown long beyond
what building aesthetics
          should permit
a gentle play of
low-lying sun
glanced upon frosted
and thawed alike
the cold breath of wind
ruminating between
a delicate breeze or
          those chilling gusts
harsh yet homely
while blanketed in
the warmth of
this merino wool
even the bitterest of
winter mornings will
feel nothing but
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