Between the clouds
and the ground
and the leafless trees
I see 12 different
shades of gray
As dusk begins
to settle
the daytime
folds in upon itself
Without sun
or moon
in sight
there are no shadows,
but the grays
blend and deepen
A coyote’s lonely call
hangs
unanswered
in the thick, dark air
This is for National Potery Month/ NaPoWriMo, and is linked to Verse Escape where the amazing Hedgewitch is doing extra duty with FF55 each week in April.
I am up before the birds.
Strange, when I used to sleep late,
loving the feel of my bed,
of sun streaming in the window.
I luxuriated in sleep,
resented waking.
But now I love
to be up before the sun
in the quite of the morning,
when it’s still more like night,
before the birds chorus
or the demands of the day.
This morning
last night’s the full moon
greets me.
It’s reflected
in the glass table top
next to my chair
and I set my coffee beside it.
The house is still, and chilled
but I am warm,
wrapped in my robe
with faithful Otis at my side.
This time, each day,
is like a secret I cherish.
Please don’t tell.
I love starting the day sitting with my dog, Otis, before the demands of the day. I hope you have an equally good start to your day. Cheers.
Another full moon
poses above us.
Gently, she lights the way
as we creep, or dance, or stumble
through another night.
And perhaps we pause
to admire her for a minute or two.
And when we go in
she beckons us
through the bedroom window:
Come out and play,
come out and live.
Do not sleep your life away
silly mortals!
You have such a short time…
What she doesn’t know
is that we are in love
with sleep
with dream
with death
Well, this didn’t go as planned. (Maybe because I didn’t really have a plan?) I feel like I should spend a lot more time with this one, and that the end result will be quite different. Maybe even a couple of pieces that are quite different. But for now… the day job beckons.
Early morning
stars,
so sharp
they cut through
the blue-black back drop
of icy air,
hang above
staccato yips and cries
of coyotes
so close,
as if I could
nearly
reach them
if I stretched – or
perhaps they could reach me, teach me
the desperate, wild
longing
in their cries
I sit with the moon
when everyone else
is tucked away, dreaming
I recite the stars
like a litany
rolling them
around my mouth
touching each tooth
one by one until I have
emptied the sky
I look
to the sky
as I draw the dark
around my shoulders
With a shiver
I contemplate
the cold, impossible light
of stars
so fair
so far
away
Here we go…
Photo from Public Domain Images
There is a time
closer to night than morning
when parties fall
into ruin
and the moon wearies
There is a time
when dreams are forgotten
and shades
lose their way
There is a time
when the clock
gives up its hands
and the hours pool
on the ground
running to regret
This is my time
This is for my friend Joy’s FF55 revival at Verse Escape, even though it’s not Friday, and if you’re counting, there aren’t 55 words.
In Other Words 