I rose early today and after reading for awhile and watching morning rise outside my window I began to write whatever came to mind. Purging my consciousness of stray thoughts that have been curled up tight in its corners dark and hidden. I scribbled six pages of what most would probably consider contradictory nonsense. That's inconsequential to me, however, because when words and thoughts seem to flow out like that I feel so alive and it causes my consciousness to greet the day with appreciation and wonder. I hold my kids that much longer, drink in their beauty that much deeper.
After dropping my daughter off at school I thought I'd try to take what I wrote and make a philosophical kind of poem with it which would attempt to reveal a snapshot of some of the ideas that took form during my moments of contemplation this morning. But it just didn't happen that way. Instead I wrote down what preceded that time altogether.
This is a poem which had a spontaneous birth. I hope you enjoy it. I'd love your thoughts. Thank you!
Morning spills her secrets outside my window.
The narrow branches splitting off like fingers
from the thick outstretched arms of trees
are laced with the brilliant translucence
of newly birthed frost. They take in with glee
what her loose tongue has to share-
jewels of miraculous vibration.
And shine their remnants right back out at the world.
To the old man, shuffling with intention up the sidewalk,
bent over and stooped, bundled in warm wool,
breath preceding his figure in vaporous clouds.
To the woman driving by, too distracted to look out and wonder,
her windshield slowly melting away the beauty of the morn.
And below my steady hand, poised with anticipation,
Is a blank sheet of copy paper the children use to draw on,
Inviting me to spill my own secrets.