Archive for the ‘Morning’ Tag
Front Range Snow On the Catalinas — Image by kenne
Sun breaks over the Rincons,
throws gold sideways
onto Catalina snow.
Raven rides a thermal
rising from bare rock,
circle over circle—
energy borrowed
from sun,
stone,
air,
everything.
Nothing mystical—
just earth doing
what earth does.
And me,
lucky to stand in it.
— kenne
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A Tucson Morning — Image by kenne
Clouds shift with the wind—
what seems dark may hold the light,
wait and let it pass.
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A Sabino Canyon Morning — Panorama by kenne
what must it be like
to stand so firm, so sure?
in the desert even the saguaro
hold on as long as they can
twisting their arms in
protest or celebration.
you are like me,
understanding the surprise
of jesus, his rough feet
planted on the water
the water lapping
his toes and holding them.
you are like me, like him
perhaps, certain only that
the surest failure
is the unattempted walk.
— Lucille Clifton
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Tuichi River Morning in the Bolivian Amazon (August 22, 2019) — HDR Image by kenne
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A Sabino Canyon Morning — Image by kenne
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Lake Woodlands Sunrise (1990) Image by kenne
Morning
Why do we bother with the rest of the day,
the swale of the afternoon,
the sudden dip into evening,
then night with his notorious perfumes,
many-pointed stars?
This is the best—
throwing off the light covers,
feet on the cold floor,
and buzzing around the house on expresso—
maybe a slash of water on the face.
— from Morning by Billy Collins
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Desert Foggy Morning (January 14, 2015) Image by kenne
It is light made song
of romantic illusions.
It is soft yet firm,
full of sky and gentle.
It is mist and rose
of eternal morning.
— From ‘Morning’ by Federico Garcia Lorca
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A Jackson Square Morning — Photo-Artistry by kenne
The fog begins to lift
cobblestones still wet
from a passing shower —
the poet is sighing.
Cathedral bells ring
pigeons flying off
leaving their home —
the poet is sighing.
I can lose myself
in the French Quarter
in its endless embrace —
the poet is sighing.
Deep shadows in
alleys behind iron gates
guarding tropical courtyards —
the poet is sighing.
A lone musician
plays a jazz tune
not seen, but heard —
the poet is sighing.
Artists make their way
down to the square where
they hang their painting —
the poet is signing.
Morning life in the square
repeats again and again
the movement of generations —
the poet is signing.
A child of the mist
catches my attention
in my camera’s eye —
the poet is signing.
We bookmark each moment
looking at you again,
Renaissance and me —
the poet is signing.
— kenne
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“Another Cactus Blossom Morning” — Image by kenne
Cactus Flower
We flash victory signs in the darkness, so the darkness may glitter.
— Mahmoud Darwish
As the sun sets—we set our plan into motion.
Our sole purpose to overthrow
any assumptions, to change
the course of ordinary thinking.
Our work begins by speaking to darkness
and telling darkness soon:
we will demonstrate through the secrecy of stars,
earth’s magnetic embrace
how we can be many things at once.
So much of the work we do
is internal, goes unnoticed, uncompensated.
We get written off or not written at all,
labeled freakish, prickled,
rough around the edges.
We learn to thrive
in the dry humor of soil;
carry water in our bellies
to quench our own thirst.
We survive, over again.
Adapt. Even after being
carried in the beaks of birds,
dropped elsewhere,
far from our roots, we grow.
We flourish.
And when least expected, when histories
not told by us, for us, claims we are defeated,
we gather our tears as dew.
We release our anguish,
intoxicated by our own sexed pollen.
We burst,
displaying the luscious folds of our petals.
— Amir Rabiyah
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Water Lily Blossom Photo-Artistry by kenne
And the song of water
is a thing eternal.
— from the poem “Morning” by Federico Garcia Lorca
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Senna covesii, aka Desert Senna (September 25, 2014) In Molino Canyon — Image by kenne
Why do we bother with the rest of the day,
the swale of the afternoon,
the sudden dip into evening,
then night with his notorious perfumes,
his many-pointed stars.
from “Morning” by Billy Collins
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Barn In The Meadow — Image my kenne
Let It Shine
Morning awakens the light
Slowly stirring the heart
Revived from the sleeping night
By a singing meadowlark.
Accounting for the moment
Can we ever know
How age built a monument
From what it doesn’t show?
I don’t mind
As long as you know
I will make it shine
By allowing time to slow.
— kenne
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Morning Flowers — Image by kenne
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Image by kenne
Let It Shine
Morning awakens the light
Slowly stirring the heart
Revived from the sleeping night
By a singing meadowlark.
Accounting for the moment
Can we ever know
How age built a monument
From what it doesn’t show?
I don’t mind
As long as you know
I will make it shine
By allowing time to slow.
kenne
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“Morning In The Sonoran Desert II” — Image by kenne
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