Wake-Up Mornings

May 4, 2019


The strong tincture of the
sun rolling out of bed,
the bird song
breaking to the east,
coffee growling on the stove,
I, eager to answer.


The world saturated in green,
cars moving to the sound of adventure,
the taste of dereliction in the air, 
the breath of uncommon good.


Lake smells,
Campfire smells,
the invitational pull of the garden
offering its rich scent of soil
and promise.


Summer dwells on the horizon of 
each new and uncertain day.
It lingers as it waits for us 
to embrace its beauty.


It shares its magic 
with the distressed,
the arrogant,
the rich and poor,
the embittered 
and hollow,
the distracted,


with those who watch 
and who choose 


Days glide by
but mornings
shake our hand,
and ask us to recall their 
name at day’s close-out.


The crow’s sharp cawing,
the eager moon waiting 
to extend its light to 
far-flung places, 
the staccato notes of  
the rain on the roof,

fresh sunlight,

are but small talk 
seeking a deeper friendship.


Mystery’s invitation 
to the Dance.


From:The Poetry of Life: Who's Watching Who?
50 original poems / John Bragstad

Available Soon / end of May, 2019



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