Morning is such a welcome time. It doesn't demand
much from the pocket- Some coffee, a cigarette,
and the day starts, full of optimism & clarity of hope
While the Muse holds her head, and the crazy Elementals
hold down their wrath
lightly under the earth's surface.
Some vague attention
of wind stirs the golden oats
and Ita Siamese drags her breakfast rabbit over
the roof three
times into the house and escorted out
the door. While Aram Saroyan & W.S. Merwin
debate the paucity of their fathers' feelings
in New York Times reviews,
the deer
coming down the pathway still
are my startled guests as this morning proceeds normally
I love morning wake up about four and breath the air in, it is so fresh and clean no environmental pollutants from cars or machines running. Morning yes a beautiful time. Sometimes I wish all of life could be like that waking up in the arms of love
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I also love the morning, although I settle for coffee and toast. If I partook of Joanne's cigarette I fear I would get nothing done, seems like wacky backy sprinkled with angel dust and my muse is so fleet of foot, I must forgo the distraction.