Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

Bay Morning in Stereo

to my left
the sound
of birdsong
to my right
the voice
of a child

i open my eyes
to the warm breath
of the rising sun

in the distance
a dark speck
upon the water
becomes a
creature
seeking
sustenance
in the depths
captured
by starfire
upon the
waves

Posted in Prayers

The Warm Embrace of the Son

when i greet patron star
i acknowledge that i could
not live here without
her eternal fire

when i meet brother son
i embrace the knowledge
that i am loved by
an unquenchable flame

when i am present
to the morning
this gift of another day
the rising sun
and the risen one
created and creator
i bow into the warm
embrace of the holy
and begin this day
with his name
on my tongue

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

The Coming Day

cocooned in gray
the grayness of dawn
i await the coming day

marooned to lay
lay nested upon
the wings of the coming day

risen to play
a play best put on
in the embrace of the coming day

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

When I Am Only A Morning Shadow

flickering leaves upon the wall
where the light of morning sun doth fall
and the wind of the dawn seeks to call
me from a shadow into light

i move with a sluggish grace
reluctant to reengage with the race
running towards an unseen place
before the coming of the night

so here by the window the sun’s kiss on my cheek
some solace as to my path i seek
the voice inside me begins to speak
as i rise from shade to bright

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

A Celestial Intrusion

in a moment
i will throw wide
these silken walls
that have left
my sleeping room
in shadow

yet it is
so tempting
to leave them thus
stay here
within my cocoon
and try in vain
to keep the sun
at bay

it is a ludicrous
thought i know
as if one can
shut out
or turn off
a star

the decision
is taken from me
my lover enters
throws back a
curtain
gives me a kiss
of sunlight
and leaves the
house for the day

here
where i write
in a once darkened
room
it is time
i let the
light of the morning
light my way

Posted in Finding Frost's Road: Encounters with the Culture

Walking home on a Saturday morning

I walk through the town in the quiet of an early Saturday morning.

I listen to the loud greetings of the alcoholic men who wait for the liquor store to open.

I walk past discarded clothes where the homeless slept.

On the street that was crammed with rush hour traffic yesterday, now there is only the occasional wind of a passing car.

Here is the place where I spoke to the proprietor about playing music in the evenings. She has yet to respond. I think of my concert hat that still hangs from the hook in a dark closet and my guitar lying lonely in its case in the corner.

I share a smile with the old woman beneath her magnolia tree which reminds me of my boyhood home.

Then I am at the hill and climbing toward my house, wondering what awaits me there today.

Behind me the sun rises.

I feel the heat on my back and before me my shadow stretches out, leading the way, pointing me towards home.

Posted in The Sunday Driver: Life in the Slow Lane

Disconcertation

In the early morning shadows of a curtained room, I hear the dawning of another day.

The rumbling of the waking furnace and the groaning of hot water pipes beneath my feet mixes with the noise of a blue jay outside crying, “Thief! Thief!”

Within the shuttered room of my heart, there is a sense that something precious has been stolen from me in the night while I slept and that I am destined to wander this day wondering what if anything was lost and whether I will find it again.

I can choose to spend my day in such aimless seeking.

Or I can come truly awake, open up the curtains to the gray day, and let the night go.

The thermostat clicks. I feel the rush of hot air through the ducts of the house.

Outside it is quiet. The blue jay has disappeared.

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

Mourning Sun

outside my window the sun is shining
filtered by fabric
casting shadows of flickering trees upon the wall
this night has been so long
I awake from deep sleep
but I have not rested
it is as if something has visited me in the night and sucked my energy away

I could throw back the curtains and let the light more fully in
but my arms are so heavy
logs lying frozen on a winter lake
waiting for the thaw

returning home from another silent drive in crowded streets
I find the curtains have been cast aside
The room is bathed in morning light

I lay my cold body down against the carress of the warm sun

Posted in Prayers

On The Piece Before This

(a glimpse into my process)

I awoke in the darkness. I walked down the stairs in the darkness. I fed the bunny, put her in her cage, let the dogs out of their room, fed them, let them outside, let them back in and went to my writing chair, all in the darkness.

My original title was “the shadows of the predawn.” I began to write. The words flowed out of my angst, ending with unexpected hope and the line “the regular sun.”  So I changed the title to those last three words and posted the piece with the photo below.

image

As the morning continued, I went through my routine still somewhat lethargic, but moving within the turning on of lights. Then it was time to take the dogs on their morning walk. This is what I saw:

image

a remarkable morning sky and the dawning of the regular sun. So I switched the photos.

Is it too much to believe that in our insignificance, the universe responds to our honest cry?

As a former pastor once said, and probably still says every Sunday morning, “Life is hard but grace abounds.”