My Words, My World

First drafts – A few pages in the large wilderness of the world of writing

Archive for the category “morning”

Essence

The view outside my window,

stark,

frozen in time.

The essence of the tree

suspended inside.

The view outside my window,

dark,

the lights shimmer,

captured in time.

The essence of the city

flickers outside.

The view outside my window,

mark,

the rising sun,

welcome in time.

The essence of my soul

warms me inside.

Breathe and look and listen

At 4 am when the world’s at rest and the only ones awake are those that should be and those that don’t want to be. I step out onto the balcony, breathe in the deep pine scent which flows down from the mountain. In the clear air the black sheet of night is bejewelled by a thousand diamonds and the planets are visible without the need for technology (except for my glasses). I sit and breathe and look and then I listen to a distant owl, in my usual waking hour before the hooligan cries of the crows begin.

Lungs

I woke up the next morning,

mouthful of strong cigarettes and bad whisky.

My lungs felt like lead weights.

I coughed;

it sounded like Tom Waits, singing in the gutter,

so I knew there was hope.

Time

The sun rises

            I sit

It rolls over me

            I sit

It goes down and disappears

            I sit

in the sultry, inert air

that moves not leaf nor hair

like the breath of the dead

or the sigh of angels.

The moon follows sun

            I sit

The planets align

            I sit

The stars wheel overhead

            I sit

In the night’s darkest hour

when time slows down

to the separation of continents

or to the beat of broken wings.

Good morning

The subtle scream of a distant ambulance

the harsh cry of a crow

the hum of the elevator

and her soft breathing beside me.

The fingers of dawn yet to creep through the blinds

the alien glow of the alarm clock

the annoying too-early church bells

disturb the darkness of the room.

I get up.

Good morning.

A Wednesday stream of consciousness

An on-off night and a mosquito in my ear and I fumble in the dark and then it disappeared but now the night has gone for good for me as I lay there and think of what I have to do, what I probably should do and what I’d like to do and all the while a soundtrack is playing in my head and it’s Manfred Mann’s version of The Mighty Quinn which is not a bad song at 5.30 in the morning, although I’m yawning but now I really want to hear it but that means getting up and using technology and 5.30’s far too early for technology, after all, I’d only check the news and see big, fat Mike Pompeo bully another sick and twisted little country with sanctions, sanctions and, ah! stick your sanctions up your ass, fatty, so it’s no technology for me, like a smoker avoiding his first cigarette to let his lungs breathe, you see, and now I’d love a coffee now I’m up with the birds but I guess putting on the kettle is still technology but I could really use that coffee while my pencil scrawls my morning scribble across an unwritten page.

And I, alone

4am and the world is unmoving,

until I step outside.

The air is warm and still and

the terracotta tiles are cool beneath my feet

Quietude absolute.

A half-moon headlight casts my shadow

A scattering of stars against a black velvet backdrop

Mars; loud, red and angry

and the owls compete for who can hoot the loudest

and I, alone, breathe the morning

and I, alone, feel the morning

and I, alone, become the morning

and I, alone, am the morning.

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