Mornings are beautiful, brutal, tranquil, busy, slow and hectic, and much more, varying greatly day to day. This post is about one such a morning, described in prosaic, lyrical bent.
A breath… single breath… then another… and more, and more follow.
Now conscious. Mind’s present. Each moment is growing in awareness,
The feeling of air… deep breath.. pause. The air feels fresh and warm.
Through the eyelids shut tight, slight glimmer of light seeping through.
The light seems distant, as light from first day of new moon,
When the darkness set in, and the sky is entirely filled with thick clouds,
Thus what can be seen, is not the moon, but a hint of a moon being there.
The sounds are starting to shape…
Although window is open, I can’t hear the wind, it must still be early,
Since only the briefest of time in the mornings can bring such a stillness,
On this breezy patch of Caribbean Paradise.
The sound of bass from the waves, gently rolling onto the beach nearby,
Caresses the ear with symphony, chance notes of low octaves.
There! Listen, an E, now an A, heard a D?
The mid tones come in, with the waves lightly splashing the side of the boat
Magnificent, isn’t it?
Only the mightiest powers, could make such a music in nature.
The yacht creaks quietly and calmly, while rocking it’s crew in their sleep…
Should open my eyes?
Climb out of this bosom of happiness, and head up on deck,
I’ll brew a fresh pot of the famous Jamaican Blue Mountain
And sip it, vey slowly, breathe in it’s aroma…
enjoy the azure.. what a sight, stretching far to horizon
or should I lay here, aware of the moment, slowly doze off back to sleep..
I smell coffee!? Does that mean someone’s up?
Wait! Where is the sound of waves?
Where’s the music? Why it stopped? Where’s the light?
It’s pitch black, and the only disturbance I hear abound
Is the hideous noise commanding attention
The blast of an iPhone alarm assaulting the ambiance of night
With a vomit of sounds. Demanding immediate action!
Reach over. There! Stop! Off! $#@&*% ALREADY!
I am Up! … What a dream…
I scuff to facilities, to attend to basic of humanly functions
Then head downstairs, to pour freshly brewed cup of conscience
Thank You MR Coffee and your engineers
For great coffee makers with “Scheduled Brewing” invention
I head out back, where it’s quite and dark
I sit in back yard, I enjoy the first rays of the sun
And I sip very slowly, breath in the aroma
Of the famous Jamaican Blue Mountain
Writing prompt by Cecily Kellogg:
How Are Your Mornings?
Okay, maybe not a poem necessarily. It can be prose, but with a lyrical bent. I’d like to see you write about morning. Describe what your morning is like, but pay particular attenton to the sounds, smells, and sights of your morning. For instance, my morning usually begins with small cold feet pressed into my legs when my daughter climbs into bed with us each morning. Then there is a torrent of words as she realizes I’m awake, the family struggle of a single bathroom, the dog rolling around on her back on the rug to greet the morning, and the sun slanting golden through the blinds. So show me (don’t tell, show) me your morning. 🙂