Crimson clouds scrape
The sky like
Silky feather dusters
Or long thin
Fingers of socialites
Having just used
Their compact uplit
By an early
Dawn they beam
Chagrin in colors
Of red and
Orange making my
Early day glow
Category: Morning
AnotherMorningPoem
The sun hits
The tree tops
Like foamy crests
On ocean waves
All white and
Rolling as the
Sun moves higher
Into the sky
Tree trunks lean
Like firewood against
Each other and
Oh the smell
Of earth bathes
My nostrils there
A damp coolness
Like a refrigerator
Door opening in
July on the
Forest floor as
Dew streaks all
The car windows
ThisMorning
Cardinals sing from
Bushes and treetops
Calling their forever
Mate that’s bobbing
From line to
Post like a
Telegraph message morning
Hasn’t arrived though
You can see
It’s puffs of
Yellow like a
Steam locomotive just
Beyond the hill
As no more
Than a thousand
Crickets coming off
Third shift wish
A warm goodnight
Wetness
This morning I
Sat outside after
The rain suddenly
I felt a
Drop of water
Hit my sleeve
At first perplexed
I looked up
To see nothing
Eventually more drops
Arrived and I
Began to anger
But move I
Did not anger
Turned to acquiescence
Turned to acceptance
That I was
Meant to be
Wet that day
So goes love
So goes life
MorningRain
It is raining
A small puddle
Forms at my
Feet bubbles born
By drops like
Rising bread loaves
From mother’s oven
I imagine a
Marsh with frogs
Leaping as I
Listen to the
Tiny tat tat
Tat of raindrops
And see the
Water collecting on
Grass like a
Thousand distant galaxies
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 