morning
My Poem “The Time is Now”
It's 3 A.M. again... it's the time of after and before... it's quiet - which means it is the perfect time to listen... it is now when people like me awaken in the dark after being awoken to think more upon what our inner-self wishes to explore. It is not a time suited for everybody... it is not a time when that many might wish to converse; however, in my experience, it is a fertile time to walk through the garden of poetry and inspiration - because it is a time when the mind of everyone, especially a poet, is open to more than they might think... it is time to let your thoughts wander clearly without the expectation that you might find yourself leap from one extreme scenario to another like you might during a dream. It is before the sun has risen when I have repeatedly found myself considering where I am, why, and how? It is while the moon is still in the sky when I have ventured to answer the question: where do I go from here? It is after leaving behind the fog of the dream-world that I try and recapture something that I may have discovered while traversing my own internal ocean - that is both of my own making but is also connected to something a great deal more vast and deep... It is now when I have always been more aware of who and what surrounds me and defines me - and I believe that for the rest of my life it will always be this time when multiple realities will continue to meet, and whether consciously, or not, decide that the time is now to reveal themselves to me.
A Poem A Day #397: The Fox
A Poem A Day #254: Morning
My Poem “The Great Outdoors”
8:17 AM was when the power went out,
and it was a minute later –
at exactly 8:18 AM –
that I heard the call, the alarm:
this distinct and loud voice
beckoning me to put on my walking boots
and take a look around at the wonders
of life and nature to be found
on any given morning when you
just choose to let go
of whatever is holding you back –
and when you have on your doorstep
a snapshot of life that is as unparalleled and unbounded
as that of the Centre of England
you simply have got to put one foot
in front of the other and explore
the Great Outdoors.
My Poem “A Murder of Crows”
Every morning when I look outside
my bedroom window I see a Murder –
however the “Murder” that I speak of
is nothing to be concerned over,
because what I see is merely
an assemblance of crows
all gathered together,
all cawing to one another –
which occurs like clockwork every morning
and all throughout the day,
and it is to the caws of crows
that I have heard and awoken to for years;
because for some reason
where I live is like Crow central for
a large number of nests in tall trees
that are home to the jet-black,
majestic, mysterious, captivating,
soaring, distinctive, supernatural
spirits of the sky who are considered
to be among the most intelligent
of all the birds of the world,
who are capable of doing things
that no other bird would even
think of doing, and who definitely
like to be heard whenever there is
a gathering of them, that is as if
they acting out a scene from a play
for all to hear that is called:
“A Murder of Crows”.
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