Tuesday, March 15, 2011

it is like that

morning has broken
a traditional song
lyrics by eleanor farjeon
(made popular by cat stevens)

morning has broken,
like the first morning

blackbird has spoken,
like the first bird

praise for the singing,
praise for the morning

praise for the springing
fresh from the world

sweet the rain's new fall,
sunlit from heaven

like the first dewfall,
on the first grass

praise for the sweetness
of the wet garden

sprung in completeness
where our feet pass

mine is the sunlight,
mine is the morning

born of the one light,
eden saw play

praise with elation,
praise every morning

god's recreation
of the new day.

every morning ...
~ when it isn't snowing ~
i go to the roof top
with every stitch of
all my every bit of clothes on..
and sit..
it is about 5 am..
still mostly dark..

a hint of what's to come
strewn across the eastern sky..
baby girl pink streamers,
mauve grey-bleu strips of any clouds
left over from the night's play..

stillness at first..
just the moon whisper and the morning star peep..
in the beginning was the word
it arrives with one lone rooster call..
long interval of pause, pause, pause..

and again..
the herald beckoning the day..
without even registering..
somehow two or three or more roosters crow..
the mourning doves start to flutter,
then the goat bells ring a ling
ting ting ting ting
like a lama's damaru..

more horns and cymbals bust out..
the ravens, the seabirds, the wee tweeters ..
down under deep bowels of water pumps burbling-
yesterday's laundry thweeps crisp in the early aire..

the sky begins to circumnambulate
every colour on its daybreak palette..
splashing, dipping, circling, sloshing..
all the while the sea reflecting a clear mirror
for the yawning, sleepy-eyed heaven..

at first just a sliver, a slice, a slush of the ruby to come..
let there be light
slowly ascending the throne each cloud has prepared..
more.. now.. of the sphere arrives on the scene..
rising in red elegance, ennobling the trailing robes..
aha! i am that i am..
the sovereign sun declares..
i bow..
and begin my morning prayers.

it is like that

1 comment:

Carol said...


This is no longer blog, but very
Dunja Whytish POETRY!!

I was thrilled to see and feel what you are writing. Got a good cry first thing this morning as I read.
THaaaaank you.
Carol Huntley