To have forgotten
a thousand mornings of blaring sun

here, with April on the horizon
and a flit of transitional snow

my heart pulsing in my hands
my soul pulsing in my heart

here, with a new day on the horizon
here, with new places to go

to have remembered
a thousand evenings, a thousand endings

Waving sails in red and white
catch the breeze and early light,
shiny rich men's toys of the ocean
dance in lazy undular motion

After the rain
during the silence that follows
in that cool calm moment
when sodden the earth retreats
and all is still around your feet
where there is no time,
just space
a thinking place to listen
the cicadas of memory start to sing

9-2-24   9:07pm

why are mornings
the worst part of the day

when your mind begins to trace
the quiet echoes of their absence

even at night
before drifting to sleep
while lying awake
with your thoughts going
a mile a minute


it's because the crickets remind me
of you
the still air
your books
your scent
your smile
your laugh
your lips

sliding, slid into darkness
cracks of light run hither
smiles and sweetness turn bitter
winter blues, anguish and Solitaire
morning... dragging me by my scruff of neck
warm human breathe in frosty
morning air

Walk then,
touch the silent acres
dew pond wet
and shining grass unbroken,
a day still new
wrapped in promise newly woken

A diuretic’s the best juice
To glug before those long commutes.  
If coffee makes you ***
That is a paltry fee
For the elation it’s produced.

(a disastrous morning Sonnet)

I am the very model of a girl who’s late for morning meal,
my charger failed, the printer jammed, the morning’s start has been surreal
I lost a scrunchy and a shoe, I had to use some dry shampoo
my Keurig had no k-cups too, I’m feeling like a total shrew!

Our pre-dawn jog went really well, but now the morning's gone to hell
I couldn’t find clean underwear, I’m desperate to charge my cell,
I got some soap in my left eye, I stubbed my toe and nearly cried
While brushing teeth and hair in haste, I wonder why I even try.

Anna’s got an attitude, she’s not someone who’s normally rude
her hookup so ‘experimental’ has an irregular sleep-in schedule
how’s she going to get to class if she’s babysitting sleeping-lass
I guess I’m not the only one, who’s schedules simply come undone.

I woke her with a gentle voice and soothed her out—we had no choice
My morning happened to sideways go—but it fueled this grandiloquent tale of woe!
.
.
A song for this:
Something Stupid by Michael Bublé and Reese Witherspoon

Silent days, delicate rains,
clip clopping like marching horse,
on thin, steel roofs, and nylon umbrellas.

Drenched, sweating foreheads in summer climates,
consistent, cool winds like drooling  ice,
drying sopping skin, a rough cloth to an oily pan.

Starved road trip bellies, after intermittent rests and games of eye-spy,
salivating at laminated menus, and passerby plates,
pre-meal hot fries, fulling deep guts with salty chips and fizzing raspberry.

Waking hours before blaring alarms,
knocking parents, a whistling kettle, and the popping toaster;
an hour to lay restless head into the deep world of snug pillows and warm blankets;
as if your whole universe is one big cushion.

Finishing a chapter and curling rough page with soft finger,
placing floral bookmark into the straight crease,
placing it back into its spot on the shelf or bedside table.

Dawn coffee.
Friday afternoon.
Saturday morning.
Kind encounters.
Meeting deadlines.
A finished poem.