DAWN'S FIRST LIGHT
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
silence at daybreak.
sacred encounter with the Divine,
a conference of heart and soul.
beyond form, beyond language
heart beats, an echo,
a pulse vibrating through the silence.
wordless intent,
unvoiced
yet profoundly clear~
a stirring,
a flicker of grace
captures the dawn.
my soul meets God's pulse
I am led
I am unbound.
soul ascends
Poem written for Prior to Intent Poetry Content, Unseeking Seeker, sponsor, July 30, 2025
across jade dew grass...
quick barefoot numbing stumbles -
warm lips bid heart thaw
~~~~~~~~~~~
first light
Golden rays,
spilling through the blinds,
a gentle caress.
A symphony of birdsong,
a crescendo of dawn.
Warmth,
embracing the skin,
a whisper of a new day.
Eyes open,
stretch and breathe,
a sigh of contentment.
The world awakens,
a canvas of possibility,
untouched, vibrant,
fresh.
Heart alight,
spirit soaring,
a sense of possibility
in every beat.
A perfect morning.
A promise
of joy to be embraced,
a masterpiece
to be created.
Light seeps as First Light
learns to dance again -
Imagine a blind maiden upon suddenly seeing
how lovely her legs were,
imagine her surprise and wonder!
First Light is like that.
Light must seep out of darkness,
there can be nothing sudden
about the dawns awakening.
It is a birth, the light must bleed
out of that dark womb,
must become young and fresh.
That light has to learn the steps
upon every dawning
that all of life on Earth must follow
as that young maiden learns
her new dance.
Big Sur aperture
pacific soul coast highway
picture perfect pause
An enchanting blood red sunrise is slowly dawning in the east,
our morning premier glimpse, of this fire breathing beast.
Its crimson wave envelops the darkness of our land,
an hourglass revealed that drops each grain of sand.
Nefarious nightly creatures quickly scurry out towards the west,
the moon and stars now fade and claim their mundane rest.
Harmonious birds now sing, they’re natures unyielding band.
Morning sunlight reveals a world, that God has made so grand.
Ironically a fire, allows life on Earth to live.
It is hard to understand, how death can also give.
The first light now gives chase to the slumber that brings us rest,
it’s time to rise and shine and give this world our best!
11/26/22
The pond is brackish
a smear of lichen,
a low haze.
Water birds dabble in their sleep.
Soon the sun
will dash across a drop of dew
to burst dams of light.
Wings will shake off
dwindling shadows,
slap the wet air
until the water awakes.
how bright the dew
in the sunlight
each drop
a picture of a world remade
down by the dock herons watch
rainbows riding over silver fish
time shows-up as a water road
journeying to just here
this place where dawn dew
mirrors a million first lights
gleaming out
of a million suns
my dog sniffs at the prismatic air
the light
the new fledged green
she sweeps her furry tail
back and forth
scattering a bespangled sky
behind her
Happy birthday, dear Marjorie,
The new morn replaces the night;
The dawn and beacon both agree,
As you wake up at the first light.
Topic: Birthday of Marjorie Isidro (March 14)
The eminent breeze slips through the trees,
multitudes of scrawny fingers guided by stout limbs,
conducts the aria.
the trill of daybreak
whilst the morning star shines bright
the moon on the wane
Oh! Sweet Merle your irrepressible melody defies all that is logic,
one understands these balmy mornings of summer, yet deepest frost
wailing winds from the Southern Ocean does not discourage your
daily performance.
each ceaseless morning
nature succour from her sleep
stands the lone bugler
© Harry J Horsman 2020
Skyline amber rays,
emergent luster array.
Polished aqua gleams.
sun strokes my brow
I reach but she's not there
morning settles in
Walked out into dawn's first light
Yet ensconced in fears of night
Would the golden sun's rays shine
Would sky and sea be yours and mine
to stroll beside pure waves of pleasure
as blue waters lap the shore in leisure...
You touched my hand and thrilled my heart
Horizon's Glory smiled ~ Nature's Work of Art
A stone in the backyard,
roughly cratered like the moon,
a black stone
heavy with ancient cinders –
fire chipped.
Could it be a meteorite
or maybe a bit of cold star-fire?
It’s so very old,
utterly lost
even though
it is now placed here in my hand -
placed for an iota of time.
Lots of rocks in the black
pock-marked yonder-
in the star quarry,
Then there is this blind pebble
between my fingers.
The stars are mad.
They glare down upon me
as night lets go of Ohio.
Perhaps the stars miss
this piece of endless night
in my hand?
Dawn is racing
over hedgerows.
A lingering starlight
glints on the hard ground,
the blanching gleams
seem angry,
even psychotic.
A boy on a pedal bike
throws a morning newspaper.
The daylight rattles
as if shaking off a dream.
Sol rolls the earth over
its violent core, rekindles
our eyes.
I take the stone back indoors.
I’m not sure why,
maybe I’ll write a poem about it.
The first cut sharp and burning red,
don’t edit away its fire
Keep the wound both fresh and raw,
never cauterize your ire
The horizon breaks just once each day,
a new dawn—cold hearts aspire
Rays burning deep, first light to keep
—old ashes to inspire
(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)
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