Cold Front

the morning has not broken
but cracks like thin ice
emerging day, refracted night
in shattered patterns
to release the light

Dawn

terracotta dawn
a new morning bold as Rome
broken like its stones

Four Lines at Five

with fingers gold the morning light
the forest wakes from formless night
and casts its blessings to incite
the day and all its promise bright

Reversible Haiku

this light is silence
a morning painted in mist
soft focus daybreak

Morningsing

the song I sing
the bluetits bring
upon a morn
like every dawn
when light aways
night’s long malaise
with hope renewed
like freshened dew
upon the golden grass.

5-7-5 (take four-hundred-and-ninety-one : chorus)

this forest’s chorus
a thousand singing voices
the song is the wind

5-7-5 (take three-hundred-and-ninety-four : bus stop)

the dandelions sing
in sun coloured harmonies
between the kerb stones

Daybreak

and here I hold the sunrise fast
that time so fleeting lost
it lives but for a moment’s breath
the start of every dawn
but painted in my memory
this masterpiece of reverie
will hold my senses calm
until once more the morn

5-7-5 (take one-hundred-and-ten : dawn)

bronze is the dawn’s edge
clashing with silver moon glow
to promise us gold

Magpie

winged sentinel
supposedly
of sorrows
sits alone
upon
the gatepost
and not
that I
hold stock
with such
old wives
but…
I salute him
just to be
on his safe side
until he
finds a mate
at least.