Listen, the dead calm silence of night is blinking awake.
You can hear the sky yawning, a new day is dawning.
Listen, a bird far away tweets a piecing but soft call.
An echo or a response is given, further away still, very soft and tentative in reply.
Listen, you can hear the sound of the silence which seeps into your being
like the coolness and dampness of dawn.
Listen, you can hear the rays of light kissing the scene into life with gentle taps and nustles, spreading gradually inland.
Listen as the gossamer breeze springs up, gently rattling the leaves awake.
Listen, you can hear a rustle of animals tip-toeing in slippers, bustling about.
Listen, you can hear dew drops falling from leaves glistening in red and yellow light.
Listen as dawn the conductor, with flips of the baton, calls each instrument gathered, to spring gently and softly into life.
Heralding a new performance by the gathered ensemble.
Yes, it's time for applause.
Categories:
yawning(a), day, morning,
Form: Free verse
Ability to face his fears, gone!
Bewitched by a demon for so long.
Could not conceive a positive thought.
Doom and dread was all he sought.
Echoing hallucinating voices in his mind.
Friendships meaningful, he could not find.
‘Go ahead, end it now!’….
He’d hear them say.
Interdict he should live to see another day.
Just then, he concluded what to do.
‘Kill myself undoubtedly, then I’ll stop feeling blue’.
Longing though to change his mind.
Moods flared up, of every kind.
Never had he felt this low.
Only solution is to merely let it go.
Pick a course; blade, gun or poison?
Quickest approach, without a reason!
Reflecting nothing, he simply acted.
Sanguinary wound, self-inflicted!
Thoughts of despair as he laid there bleeding.
Utter commotion, so very misleading.
Veils of black line the chapel floor.
Weeping eyes, dry no more.
Xylophonic gizmos the performers played.
Yawning a soft sweet serenade.
Zany acts could not be predicted, resulting in death, ‘self-inflicted!’
Categories:
yawning(a), confusion, death, sad, suicide,
Form: Abecedarian
As I finish my day
with a hot cup of chai,
eyes slightly heavy
and yawning a sigh,
I ponder my thoughts
hoping for a last write
before I give in
and I call it a night.
A brief sense of urgency
catches my breath.
What if tomorrow
is fated my death?
I still haven't written
that one masterpiece,
fulfilling my life
so to die with a peace.
I'm still wide awake
though I can't believe how.
This yearning consumes
every part of me now.
Even when working
I'm watching the time,
searching my mind
for a meaningful rhyme.
I have to give up now,
It's getting too late.
My coveted masterpiece
just has to wait.
I say to myself,
"There's always tomorrow"
but still I can't help
feeling whispers of sorrow.
Maybe someday,
if I sort them all out,
the words of my masterpiece
might come about,
one of these nights
as my day says goodbye,
while I sit and enjoy
one more hot cup of chai.
-Jeannie Minor
Categories:
yawning(a), anxiety, longing, poetry, writing,
Form: Rhyme
Yawning and sneezing a common,
At all men and women,
Yawning a devil,coming from Satan,
Take care,
Sneezing divined,
Praise God then and there!
Categories:
yawning(a), evil, identity, life,
Form: Free verse
AND ON THAT DAY…
(APROPOS MLK: PART 1)
And on that day we will rise
And raise the hued shades of ignorance
And let the light of truth shine on our souls
And purify our hearts with warm rays of hope.
And on that day we will rise
And see rumors of wars sucked into black holes of peace.
And the phoenix birds shall give birth to cooing doves.
And on that day we shall confront our humanity
And boldly say to it, you must become all we can be;
And seek forgiveness for the acts that trampled the will of God;
And hope for redemption for the shredded dreams deferred.
And on that day America shall awaken from her slumber
And stretch forth her weary arms yawning a Nicodemus yawn.
And that day shall be the dawning of new beginnings;
And the chameleon shall change its colors no more.
And each hued hope shall be woven into the fabric of common destiny.
And the wheels of time shall roll us over into the New Jerusalem…
And on that day America will sing a new song;
And it shall be: My country’s tears to thee…
And on that day God will say: Well Done!
Categories:
yawning(a), africa, appreciation, black african
Form: Prose Poetry