Open Your Eyes

 Open your eyes, wipe the night away.
Open your eyes. It is morning,
the eastern sky awash with the sun and its many colors of light.
Slowly the world arises to do its daily dance.
The lonely and the loved gather themselves up for the new day.
Some waltz easily through the early hours;
for some, it is a difficult march
to be walked only after several cups of coffee.
Early runners dash onto city streets
where they run their morning runs.
Their sneakers pound a steady beat.
From the houses, from the homes that the runners pass,
breakfast aromas seep out to them,
voices rise and fall in a chorus of conversations.
“Up and at ‘em,” they chant,
some with a slight tone of the resignation that is Monday,
many accompanied by the sound of running water
as they shower, they shave, they brush their teeth and comb their hair.
In a suburban backyard,
butterflies flitter from roses to wisteria to crape myrtle.
A squirrel scampers from tree to ground and goes foraging for breakfast.
Two robins touch down on the birdbath, scoop the water into their beaks and drink.
Blue jays chatter while the bluebirds come singing,
their best songs sung for they who give an ear.
With its air cooling the skin, a breeze
eases through the oak, the mimosa, the loquat tree,
all standing near the tall metal fence at the property’s edge.
Leaves rustle. Wind chimes tinkle. Occasionally a dog barks.
A clarinet and piano jazz duet drifts in from two neighbors away.
Three cats appear at the kitchen door, a gray, a tabby, a black-and-white
meowing, scratching the wood, hungry from a night of out-and-about.
The door opens. The cats rush inside,
each heading for a bowl of Purina,
each chomping the dry brown pebbles of chow.
The black-and-white looks up. His big round eyes whisper,
“The day is such a joy, such a wonder,
if you open your eyes. Just open your eyes.
See and taste this day. Chew it well
and let its season pass in God’s good time. Soon
the butterflies will be gone.”

micropoem for the day: paying attention

Sometimes I wonder if Mother Nature isn’t showing off just for me. Yesterday, as I drove back and forth to work, I got to glance at some of her works in progress. There was that bird singing out her birdsong blues. There were those ants marching back and forth, working like there was no tomorrow. There were some flowers of various colors lifting their buds up in praise of the sun. Sometimes I wonder if they are not dancing and their feet are going around in such slow motion, I can’t see the motion. And that moon over yonder ain’t no slacker. This gig on Planet Earth can be such a delight.

trees line the street
their branches arch
shadows fall like leaves
in autumn

micropoem for the day: spring

Spring is here. You heard me. Spring is here. After this last winter, it’s about time. Just about everything and everyone is happy to see it coming. After the chilly con carne days of winter, spring is a pleasant way to begin the year. We crawl out of our hibernation. We store our winter clothes away. We stretch our arms and take in a big breath of fresh air. And we think. It’s great to be alive and well, kicking and screaming. Soon the opening day of baseball will be here, Life is just peachy keen.

nothing like a spring morning
the trees greet the sun
the birds sing and chirp