Ode to Sunday Morning
“When you arise in the morning, think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive — to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love.” Marcus Aurelius
The harvest moon hangs a button on the universe,
The silent mist lingers fleecing early essence of peaceful
Permutations while cows graze for later mastication;
Lassitude of nature hooted by an owl returned from the hunt;
Leaves of trees burnished shivering before frost’s revenge;
Quiet sensory reality fulfilling intelligence of being whole.
I close my eyes filled with images of yesterday’s dissolutions…
Profane ignomy goading a mocking crowd on violence,
An island burning its heritage to the foaming sea,
A country’s pride and youth destroyed by evil warmongers,
Respite bombing of children in hospitals with no escape,
And technocrats in the background hard wiring brainpower
To regenerate artificial history to resequence right or wrong.
Please open your eyes, normalize peace on the winds of love.
Annemarie Berukoff
About the Creator
Annemarie Berukoff
Experience begets Wisdom: teacher / author 4 e-books / activist re education, family, social media, ecology re eco-fiction, cultural values. Big Picture Lessons are best ways to learn re no missing details. HelpfulMindstreamforChanges.com
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More stories from Annemarie Berukoff and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Voyeur's Incandescent Reasoning
The woman sat nonplussed, in the Waiting Room. In a sort of daze, looking straight ahead patiently. She had already had three small breakfast's that morning and a nip of sherry, this was not unusual she would typically wait until an hour after she took her anti-depressant and was her morning routine. She was merely following instructions she assured herself, shifted slightly in her seat and feeling a little heart burn thought, maybe she should skip lunch. Dom had said to have the task done this week. She was well used to his methods and desired to get this over and done with soon. She glanced at her watch, smiled weakly at the Receptionist who was there for a moment and then gone.
By Canuck Scriber L.Lachapelle Author6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Thank you for reading. I retired from teaching 15 years ago. The practice has definitely changed.
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