My favourite time of the day.
That's easy for me to say.

First thing in the morning.
Just as day is dawning.

The only noise to reach my ears,
Is the chorus of birds, that brings me cheer.

I get up before the household wakes and read or write whatever the fancy takes.

I drink a cup of tea, that's green.
Relax and play in my mind a scene.

Reflecting on how the day ahead looks.
Then wait for the crowd to rise as I finish my book.

I have a routine that suits me fine.

I attend the gym around a quarter to nine.

Each morning as I walk through the doors.

My ears are assaulted by a long, loud roar.

“Step up, Step up, 1,2,3!”

“Up High! Down low! Bend those knees!”

The personal trainer is a young, excited fellow.

With a pair of lungs on him, comparable to a pair of old rusty bellows.

I sneak past the group, trying my hardest to not be seen.

As I make my way to the onsite canteen.

I fill my sports bottle with water to help keep me hydrated.

Then make my way past grunting bodies, lifting bars heavily weighted.

The gym smells of blood, sweat, and tears.

The air hung heavy with confidence and feelings of “no fear.”

I reach my destination, the yoga mat.

Forgotten, in the gym's corner, next to a stand for coats and hats.

Relaxing as I sink to the floor, I begin my workout with a languid stretch.

First my leg muscles, then my arms, slowly, one by one, I flex.

Downward dog and salutation to the sun, now my exercise has begun.

My warmup complete, I move on to the cardio machines.

My inspiration is to fit into a new pair of jeans.

My heart is beating fast now.

There are beads of perspiration flowing from my brows.

I look to the personal trainer, his class now ending.

His students, finishing with what looks like contortion and bending.

Maybe next week, I will begin my morning to the beat of a Sargeant Major.

For now, though, my mornings begin with a trip to the gym followed by my favourite ice cream flavour.

A perfect circle of white,
Hangs in the sky tonight,
Casting a luminous light.

Clouds pass by the front of the moon, moving slow,
Changing the moon's light to an ethereal glow.

Just as quickly the clouds are gone.
Perhaps, a moment of realisation, the moon can never be outshone.

The sound of the sea, a thunderous roar, as it crashes and breaks upon the shore.

The wave has travelled from afar, tossing and turning, gathering speed.
Unaware it will be the cause of a feeding frenzy.

Sat on the beach, enjoying the sun, children playing, having fun.
Above all other noise, a loud squawking can be heard, this, the sound of the Seagull bird.

High in numbers, flying high in the sky, they hover, occasionally they swoop and dive, excited for the crest of the wave, with each rise.

Within the foam, a treasure is found, small fishes are the feast of kings for this scavenging bird.

I sit on the beach enjoying the sun, and all around a feeding frenzy has begun.
The gulls feast on their fishes and children feast on ice cream, both meals considered fit for kings and queens.

Went through a spate
Of staying up particularly late
She said, she found peace at night
Peace was a girl with curly hair
Who lived in a shoe box under the stairs

Had a secret hiding place, at the bottom of a Glen
He would always say he found Zen in the bottom of the Glen.
Zen was a buddha made of stone
Who sat peacefully and all alone.