The morning, lit with tones of black and white,
has yet to finish last night’s dream;
which, for the moment is smack-bang right
in the wake of a somnambulant’s scream.
The dawning, there at daybreak’s edge,
takes delight in stretching time’s dimension
beyond the border and over the hedge
into a suspended realm of comprehension.
The warning, with powers of sharp alarm,
resists the urgent clang of thund’rous bolts,
renders a response that’s measured and calm;
favouring the whisper that gently jolts.
The best of days begin without surprise;
preparing greener pastures for bluer skies.
© Tim Grace, 12 December 2023
About the Creator
Tim Grace
A first impression has a lasting effect - it makes a notable difference. In a subtle way that’s who I am as a poet. A ‘first impression’ looking for the gentle ‘twist’ that draws attention to a novel observation.
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The Seventh Step
“It’s a different room every time. Sometimes it’s my grandma’s house from when I was little. Sometimes it’s my college apartment. Sometimes it’s somewhere unfamiliar, but always there are the stairs. I know I have to go up, but I’m afraid. I can feel my heart pounding and I feel sick, but I don’t know why. It’s like my body isn’t mine anymore, and I start up the stairs, and I’m thinking ‘No, stop!’ but I just keep going. When I get a ways up, I try to take another step but, instead, I fall backwards. I can feel myself in the air, just in a panic, nothing to hold on to and no way to stop, just falling, falling, falling until THUMP! And then I wake up.”
By Megan Malcolm7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
This was so divine. Beautiful poem!