Tag Archives: morning

this morning’s lesson

clouds like a gray shroud
swaddle the blue sky dawning…
leaves stir in silence

*    *    *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2017

poem found at daybreak

sunbeams   leaf-filtered
shine on tile    leaves’ shadows dance
quite at peace my soul

*    *   *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2015

haiku

jetés   pirouettes
in the brightened window pane
morning snowflakes dance

*    *   *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2013

Tanka

full moon’s pale visage
in morning’s blue sky:  her Self:
each day less distinct
till one morning she’ll awake,
stare at him, say Who are you?

*    *   *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2012

delirium

through passages of neurons and synapses
storms of pain like caravans shift

in my aching eyes  reds  yellows  blues
plunge  narcotically
through chop-holes of frozen iris

weasles and rats gambol lewdly
behind eyelash brakes on retinas

tire, light!  oh let the locust trees
the amaranths   weave roots and wiry wood
across my sight   their black skein

shall stuff my ebbing mind
with rising dunes of rest   sands of balm

my body’s self shall lie
exposed upon the shores of night
until the morning’s crimson surge

*    *   *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2012

tanka

dew of love’s doing
gems that glimmer on your skin
a pink lotus song
sighing you stir in my arms
sweet glory of the morning!

*    *   *

Gregory V Driscoll  2011

Seeing the light

On the bus to the ferry, one winter morning:
the two blind men who ran a business
in the little mall
across from the One-Two-O Precinct house –
they joke with the driver just before their stop
about how he didn’t see the red light
near the station house;  they knew this,
I surmised, from the suddenness
of the bus’s stopping;
the younger of the two offers
the driver his dark glasses;
how their banter, their laughter wasn’t
tentative, wasn’t self-conscious, restrained
while the driver’s and ours was –
because blindness for them was no longer
an object of fear,
but something known, a given:
it was theirs, completely
– from the inside.

After their exit, the bus continued on
to the terminus.  I recalled the first morning
I’d seen them exiting the bus.  I’d thought then:
the blind leading the blind.
And now? – What an erroneous cliché!

*     *    *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2011