Morning

And outwards curl in air so many colours

The trees, or those spring petals one at a time.

Ovals green with frost sheen, lawns wet lime.

Birds out and about chirping charming weathers.

Last night, the exploration of silence,

Fear first overcome, then desire for truth.

Others at the opera of high-decibel couth

Italians wrote lustily in open defiance.

This morning the unending maze of sealed roads

Proud houses in cold light waking in lines

Return us to the teeter of words, the terms of work.

Extinction takes column inches lonely murk,

Peroxide heads rule the world by crime,

Brutal facts we tease out according to modes.

Morning (November)

Nine things on an early November morning. The quiet appearance of trees at sunrise. Reconditioned bricks make a new wall friendly and purposeful. Sawn timber, stacked and stored out of the weather, waits. Dogs chase each other over moist oval as strap-holding owners make small talk. Lines and arcs of orderly traffic, perfectly repetitive, at a major intersection. One hot air balloon, a second and third, free of question. Sky, blue at zenith becoming lighter blue at horizons. Sweet coming-to of first sip of latte, first bite of buttery croissant. Proof of existence elsewhere in the universe: vast indescribable bougainvillea.

Morning (March)

[Symphony] First Movement: O what a lovely morning! O what a lovely morning! O what a lovely morning! The person next to me is lost in thought from which, will they ever return? Second Movement: The sky is elevated out of all proportion to the surrounding countryside. The earth is the sky’s only visible means of support. Third Movement: All the texts in the world cannot explain how you are you. Texts are immaterial when I am with you. All the texts in the world clap their hands for joy. Fourth Movement: March again, and with March slowly autumn commences…

Morning (January)

However, in the morning there is light on little leaves high above where we walk. A bicyclist strays by and turns a corner. The mournful cars, symbol of where we have got to, stand pleasantly silent in driveways and gutters. The noise is lorikeets high above, scarlet gumflowers scattered on pavement where we walk. Children have sleep-in, in anticipation of next week, when they won’t sleep in. On cool slopes there are the hundred shapes of gardens and their corresponding greens. Bedraggled agapanthus lean every which way when it’s end of January. A topical cat sits at a typical gate.