by Dawn Anderson

The sky is a decrepit indigo
half hidden in a web of stark tree branches
dark like shadows imposed upon the dead sky-
Sky in purgatory, between faded stars and waking sun
accompanied by the dissonant tumble of heavy raindrops
droning against the still lightless earth in its decent.
The incense of dampness, of rot, of moss and moldy leaves
wraps around the lingering night.

As indigo brightens to an eerie white-blue
there is hope for a new day,
the day indeed will dawn-
but will we?
Will we dawn to an old understanding
of earth and sun and rain?
Of syncing with their cycles?
Or will we pollute them into an abiding purgatory,
ceasing the dawn.

Morning Reflection
by Dawn Anderson

Scarlet autumn leaves reflecting in the glass of the china cabinet.
Dishes piled in the sink, bits of linguini and clams clinging to them.
Photos of friends and far away adventures clutter the refrigerator door.
A tiny forest of birthday and thank you cards stands on the table.
All is quiet save for the distance humm of traffic
sounding like the eerie howl of a dime store horror movie.
I am cozy warm under layers of down and cotton.
My pillowcase smelling pleasantly of faint bleach.
I think how truly lucky I am.

French Morning
Chastlenaud, France
Eric’s Birthday
by Dawn Anderson

The morning is bursting with birdsong
whistlers and tweeters,
soulful hooters
and occasionally the coo-coo like Mom’s living room clock.

The squeaky clicking of the frogs
join in the singing to the remnant moon
who is too bright for morning.

Moon and I both
with a scarf thrown over our shoulders
against the lingering chill
soak in the vibrant bird song
as we gaze at the medieval chateau, Chatelnaud,
its bright limestone imposing upon the waking sky
thrusting up out of the dark treed hill.

A buzzing motorcycle passes by
as the hooting bird calls to his lover.
Moon smiles at me and I wink back.

It is a mild French morning in the green countryside
the pink tiled roofs of the few country homes
almost glisten with a layer of dew
spread thinner than the fresh butter
on my morning perfect bread.

All is well on this day of my brother’s birth.

Bright Winter Morning
by Dawn Anderson

The dome roof of white
opened up this morning to reveal the tall blue sky.

The trees shed their charcoal-colored skins,
now every stick and trig is cast in a sun-yellow glow.

The half-dissolved moon lingers in the post-dawn
like a ghost not wanting to return to his crypt.

The Mourning Doves do not mourn
but dance in the crisp bright air
flashing their creamy underbellies
in a vertical aeronautical display.

The still, matte snow has changed
alternating in stripes of white bright as new socks
with long sharp shadows of periwinkle.

All is bright and alive in the deep sunny cold
even the surly crow gleams in his slick black coat
ceasing his obnoxious caw to listen to the chipper nuthatches.

Idaho Morning
by Dawn Anderson

Crickets haven’t worn out yet.
The hills have rolled over
pushing their faces
toward the dawning day –
Enjoying the coolness of morning.

The stream hushes nearby
in its relentless search for mother ocean.

Near me the grass is green-
A young green of recent good rain.

Here and there interrupting the steady creak of crickets
is the whistle of a bird.
It lives in the grasses and repeats its patterned song
in greeting for this beautiful day.

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.


About createthedawn

Dawn’s calling is for her poetry to “light the gloomy corners of the world.” She writes custom poems life events important to you. Dawn also facilitates writing workshops both online and face-to-face, is a dynamic speaker on inspiration, innovation, change, and healing. Dawn believes in the power of poetry to process, to focus, to align, and to find our way to happiness and fulfillment. Thus, her business and her blog are called: create the dawn.
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