This new morning plays a still symphony.
A soft blue haze gives the sun its fresh start.
‘Kookaburra sings in the old gum tree’
Birds of the woodwind harmonise in part.
Sounds of colour, yellow-tipped greenery.
A black crow caws, disturbs the wafting lilt.
‘Morning has broken’ splits the scenery.
The shadow of a cat’s meow casts its tilt.
The full-bloomed sun begins its daily chores.
Instruments of song re-billed to forage;
to business; the sound-track of sliding doors,
‘Good morning’ and the day’s gone to porridge.
. The morning’s pleasure is to softly seize;
. so handled with care and treated with ease.

© Tim Grace, 5 October 2013

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To the reader: There are ‘good mornings’ … they come with suggestive pleasantry. The suggestive component provides for just a touch of the unexpected; ‘good mornings’ must be interesting affairs. And as for pleasantry, that’s a collective measure of surrounding comforts. Although simple, ‘good mornings’ are also very fragile events; easily damaged by the squawk of overt rudeness; the cat’s claw and the crow’s caw both shaft and cut in one fell-swoop.

To the poet: The creative zone is bound to time and place. For me, this temporal location is at its best in the couple of golden hours that launch the sun into its full ascent. That lifting can be strenuous if not approached in the right frame of mind; and made all the more difficult if disrupted by an intrusive influence. The frustration of a shattered morning is creatively crippling; truly the break of day!

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