I’m not a morning person,
And I’ve never liked birds,
But today I sat outside
With my coffee in hand.

Yeah, it was hot,
But the heat felt good on my skin,
Like the sun was embracing me
As he rose from his slumber,
Like I was the first thing he reached for
When he woke up.

The breeze swayed the grass gently,
Carrying quiet secrets in its sigh,
And for a moment I wondered
If mornings had always felt this kind,
Or if today was just different,
Because I finally let myself enjoy it.

It was a good morning,
My thoughts finally at ease.
I’ve always loved the sunset,
But watching the sky fade
From cool blues to warm hues
Felt special in a way I didn’t expect.

sleep-heavy eyes, my hand reaches for you
then flinches – you’re nowhere in view.
the imagined shape only a breath ago
fled like a bandit
into dawn’s dissolving glow.
now my waking mind falters,
disappointment finds the door
through which you chose to leave –
once more.

Mornings are a sacred time
For me.
It's the time I'm most vulnerable
Raw and rare.
It’s the time I seek God,
And speak to Him face-to-face.
It's the time when I hold His hand
And He leads me back
To the Garden,
Free to be seen.

A day escaped,
released from the sticky womb of night
held firm in the arms of midwife morning
listen to its infant cries,
the wails of a newborn child unfed
demanding of your bed and sleepy scant attention,
it matters not that you turn your back and try to block your ears
to tears of open-window traffic rage
and screaming gulls that dance on bins with shoes of lead
invade your head and work themselves within
to violate your peace with a surgeons skill,
phone alarm vibrating shrill and shaking
leaking decibels that penetrate each waking fibre of your skin
you know you must begin, attend that fractious babe
fill its hungry mouth to stop the bawling
lured as ever by the bathroom light
Thursday screams, and you her faithful moth come crawling

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