A bit of morning (Monday)

What day is this that seeks to find

A thought left out hanging in the dew,

I had put it somewhere safe, 

Stuck it with a post it flag

To mark the passing of the days,

That flit by soundlessly

Like butterfly wings

Carried on a sweet scented jasmine breeze.

I think it’s Monday,

Yet it doesn’t seem to be

Like every other Monday that came to find me,

For it is filled with a peace sublime

And dew drips down with a humid sigh,

Sliding down the glass into the tray

Where I thought I had left yesterday.

As the sun awakes I see it there,

All the days stacked like thoughts without a care,

So I dust them off and set them free

And smile as they fly away from me,

Like white origami birds into the sky,

Leaving me with a sense of love

Hanging high as I get up to rise,

A day fresh and new has just begun

And I look beyond at the petite yellow bloom

And sense this moment is just so right

This waking tune,

This Sweet Monday delight.

Oh how I dread Monday’s, or at least I used to dread Monday’s. But I awake this morning before the sun to find grey clouds above, looking quite rainish….my word….but it’s okay, a new day to live and explore and create. A new cool dewy day to be alive as I drink my morning coffee. All is right, all is good and happy Monday to all. Peace and love, K

Plumeria pass

Past shell imbedded streets still cool

Comes the time before the sun begins

And the feet move along at a happy jaunty gait,

We reach the curve where the old fence guards

Empty yards as it decays into rusty tentacles,

The scent of plumeria rich on the air

Waving in a simple gulf breeze

Welcoming us to come and inhale

The seasons of this life.

Pale flopping flowers

Petals at our feet like the waiting

Of kings and queens to tread upon the blanket

Of pale pink silken bits

That fall like confetti

To the ground.

The season of slowness comes to bear

Warmth we find nothing to compare

And the blooming plants on this quiet morning walk

Fill yards and the magnificent spiked plants that reach out 

Waving their arms to the sky

There is no sound but for the birds,

The flocks wandering on grasses searching

Keeping wary eyes on the hounds as we travel by

And the legs that carry us

Still waking from slumber becoming loose

Muscles stretching keeping pace

In the morning place

Of home.

A beautiful morning walk as the sun was just beginning to rise up and the plumeria on the corner curve waiting, rich scents filling a moist air, a life to explore each waking morn. Photo found on Internet.


The only certainty
Is in the quiet calm of morning
Of the day after
The sun will rise
Perhaps unseen
Hidden behind the darkest cloud
Falling like mist
Smothering the light
It still remains
The rising sun
Carrier of the lost thought
Scattered and unfocused
Wandering the surface
Searching for salvation,
Moving through the darkness
Into the faint coming of a new day
Leaving the sadness behind
Of the humanity of all as one
United as the red spills to the floor
From the cup once toasted
In joy and now dripping down
Into the cracks of history.
Everywhere a moment,
A place where for but an hour
Time stopped and souls stood
Open mouth gaping
At the carnage of horror,
Never grasping the hate
As the hearts of those so pure
Unable to understand
That some are not the same,
That the numbers adding up
Everywhere that hate grows,
Dark dank holes leading down.
Adding machine clicks off
The tape spitting a stream totaling
One more
Then another,
And I long for the tape to run dry,
For the battery to expire
For the machine to become
Still somewhere as the sun rises
Beyond the quiet fields,
Beyond the sea,
I imagine