THE MORNING QUIET
Thank you, God
for a morning quiet
with the rain in my ears,
but the sun set upon my eyes.
Mondays are mostly abhorred
at just the thought-
And early morning rises
with kicks and screams at the bell
but the scent,
is so fresh today.
The sun,
is so bright and clear
like hanging crystals strung
along stained glass
and the air,
is so sweet…
Oh, and the blades of grass!
Standing at attention,
green and grand,
full of spice and vigor!
Thank God for quiet mornings.
Inside the fullness in being,
of stillness,
a moment to breathe deeply,
to find oneness,
inside the oneness-
To witness,
the awe and wonder of pure,
unaltered,
living-breathing life,
giving breath,
alive inside and all around you.
Have you ever basked so intently
in silence that you could hear,
that you could be heard…?
I can hear my footsteps,
pound pavement.
Black birds swallow worms.
The rustles of wild scurrying,
buried in bushes behind houses.
My breath-breathing,
breathing-breath,
inside my belly,
my chest,
filling my face.
I am alive!
While all the cars sleep,
slipped,
into their spaces calm
while yellow dandelions await hope
outside neighboring doors
for white wishes to sail down,
across the sky-
How do wishes fall from the heavens
and hope stay so grounded?
Only God knows-
It’s a mystery within the quiet
that only the birds chat about
those boisterous little bellow fellows!
I hear them cracking open,
born inside clusters of branches
squeaking and squealing
summers song and I learned
that quiet,
is not the absence of sound.
No-
It’s simply the balance of all senses,
all at once and all at peace.
Finally, some peace...
- Tiny Poet, The Morning Quiet, 5.6.2019
for a morning quiet
with the rain in my ears,
but the sun set upon my eyes.
Mondays are mostly abhorred
at just the thought-
And early morning rises
with kicks and screams at the bell
but the scent,
is so fresh today.
The sun,
is so bright and clear
like hanging crystals strung
along stained glass
and the air,
is so sweet…
Oh, and the blades of grass!
Standing at attention,
green and grand,
full of spice and vigor!
Thank God for quiet mornings.
Inside the fullness in being,
of stillness,
a moment to breathe deeply,
to find oneness,
inside the oneness-
To witness,
the awe and wonder of pure,
unaltered,
living-breathing life,
giving breath,
alive inside and all around you.
Have you ever basked so intently
in silence that you could hear,
that you could be heard…?
I can hear my footsteps,
pound pavement.
Black birds swallow worms.
The rustles of wild scurrying,
buried in bushes behind houses.
My breath-breathing,
breathing-breath,
inside my belly,
my chest,
filling my face.
I am alive!
While all the cars sleep,
slipped,
into their spaces calm
while yellow dandelions await hope
outside neighboring doors
for white wishes to sail down,
across the sky-
How do wishes fall from the heavens
and hope stay so grounded?
Only God knows-
It’s a mystery within the quiet
that only the birds chat about
those boisterous little bellow fellows!
I hear them cracking open,
born inside clusters of branches
squeaking and squealing
summers song and I learned
that quiet,
is not the absence of sound.
No-
It’s simply the balance of all senses,
all at once and all at peace.
Finally, some peace...
- Tiny Poet, The Morning Quiet, 5.6.2019