Here are my morning poems.
Such a Day!
Ahhhh!
Awe!
What a morning!
A crescent moon beamed,
yes, beamed, in the sky.
Just that, enough excitement for all of my days.
We see what we are trained by our environment to see.
Native forest people when taken out of the forest
can’t see the hill or the plain.
They see blues and greens differently.
Could you find 30 words for snow?
Could each of us describe our dreams,
our morning coffee,
the way the spoon leans,
from air to liquid,
and stirs in cream?
Sometimes, The Moon Is Made of Green Cheese
of the needles of the redwood tree,
striking a new green,
never before seen.
Never before
has the sun touched the tree in just this way,
and it won’t happen again.
My eyes take in this new green.
My brain registers.
It is bright,
like the morning moon,
reflecting.
Now I see why the moon
was thought to be made
of green cheese.
“Say cheese,” said the moon
to the tree,
and the tree
reflected back green,
and the smile of the cheese.
The moon,
reflectively
wiggled its nose,
both enchanted and dismayed,
at a curious new smell,
inflating and coloring its cheeks,
now vibrant in reflecting the sheen,
from the smile,
of a tree,
saying cheese.
