A GREAT DAY
Hour 6 (a haiku)
A GREAT DAY
Nothing scheduled
Endless possibilities
Or peace doing zilch
24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Hour 6 (a haiku)
A GREAT DAY
Nothing scheduled
Endless possibilities
Or peace doing zilch
Good morning moon, good morning sun today is a great day to run out and play. To play for the day and don’t worry about our last days and play on within the glow of the sun. To play in the moon’s light to play with the end of days. Thus, we sleep soundly for the next day to play. Or we should stay and see the birth of the new day and see the sunrise over the hills on the highway. Tomorrow will bring more horseplay but today we shall sit and stay and wait for the new day.
When the morning is conjured by a good witch
it’s full of green things seeking light
and me seeing photosynthesis as a miracle
and seeing miracles everywhere.
There’s endless cacao tea and the old dog
basking in my presence as though I’m her light.
Small things will be created on this kind of day:
with words, with colored thread,
with soap and water,
with vagabond thoughts that roam, refusing
to settle down, leaving gifts in their passing.
Breath is easy and at the end, sleep comes sweetly
and says ‘well done you.’
The silent, dark, untouched stillness of the country house.
Children sleeping safely in wooden framed bunk beds,
their bedroom door closed softly against the sound of percolating coffee.
Cool, summer mornings before dawn.
Wet earth and cut grass,
a warm ceramic mug in hand bringing
rich, hot syrup to lips, to mouth, swallow.
Calibrating caffeination
like a sunrise of the mind.
Clench of shoelaces pulled tight, securing the foot,
maximizing strength and performance
in the snug and pillowed embrace of running shoes.
The gentle toss of gravel underneath pacing strides,
rising heartbeat, and the warm circuitry of pumping blood.
Heavy breath, deep and alone, drawing sound amidst awakening nature.
Cows turn their heads, chewing cud, and slightly startled,
The redtail hawk gives lift, rising from the fence post
to glide upon growing solar winds.
Trickles of water, gliding over stones, falling short distances,
splashing and cascading as the runner crosses the creek,
the morning cold still hid in the lowest recesses of the earth
kisses his skin as he passes over the bridge.
Brownsnakes slither aside,
speckled Great Plains toads hop out of the way,
large grass spiders scamper from the path.
The sun’s first sliver breaks over the oak trees on the horizon
like a swelling lip of fire painting the purple morning
with a beauty that burns the eyes if you stare at it for too long.
The morning is always a navy blue
Neither bad nor good
Something to look forward to
But if it doesn’t go my way,
I’m still okay
The middle of the day is forest green
Growth and character are stored here
I can tread ahead, determined,
Or I can rest, a quick slumber
Behind the shade of my curtains
The evening is a gradient of orange and pink
My favorite time, filled with anticipation
Plans are designed and executed
Before venturing out, I admire my clothes,
Beneath the fluorescence of the bathroom light
The nighttime is a purple of various shades
Here, I preach resolution
I weigh my wishes against their consequences
And balance the books
To start the new day on a fair note
Friendship
1/2 marathon poem #6
Feeling friendship
Sensing love
Needing cuddles
Having fun
Feeding feelings
Laughing joy
Wanting friendship
Here today.
(C) Scott Coe 2020
By Sandy Lender
shirt-surfing conures
lavender-warm laughs, writing
music at sunset
Black in Sea of Red and White
White woman,
Black scarf covered head,
nose and mouth.
Singled out.
Told to leave the Trump party.
Sat alone on concrete.
Arrested for sitting in
black, I Can’t Breathe T-shirt.
Black man,
Hoodie-covered head,
mask covered nose and mouth.
Arrested for walking while black.
Black youth arrested for
crossing the street.
Black woman arrested for
driving her car.
Black man arrested for
breathing while black.
Seven hundred meters from the sea,
Under the red gold sun,
In the villa where we danced,
He sits quietly, sipping tea
With his white shirt undone.
Seven hundred meters from the sea
He is relaxed and does not notice me,
My life mate, my special one.
In the villa where we danced
After our honeymoon. His goatee
Is white, as age has won.
Seven hundred meters from the sea
I think of what we used to be
And all that we have overcome
In the villa where we danced.
We were young once but now we
Are old and soft as life is done.
Seven hundred meters from the sea
In the villa where we danced.