Tag Archives: aubades

A Confusion of Crows

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end. – Closing Time, by Semisonic   .. We talk a dark string from twilight to dawn, one last strand holding onto nothing and everything. And they (they three) just sit there … Continue reading

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aubade with a broken bloom

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) – E.E. Cummings ..   april … Continue reading

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Renovating Dawn

(an aubade) .. There weren’t quite enough clouds to stir up that crimson purple rose blush sort of sky cauldron, and the tangerine shine of rising yolk sun was acceptable, at best. Cue more birdsong. Cut the traffic din. Maybe … Continue reading

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.. long my waiting into morning hope, a hum of blossomed breeze   ..

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Specter Moon

(an Aubade)   .. Dawn breaks us open, unspoken and changed, rearranged. We say our goodbyes, our last gull cries, our vast pulled tides and ardent waves. Sun rises; moon falls, a balance like breathing. She’s nothing but a ghost … Continue reading

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Keeping the Dawn

… The day bullies us bid goodbye to the midnight spark -led blanket of hope, rope ourselves into some small semblance. Sky cracks open, broken. We bow and cow to clock, the tock of ticks until it dawns on us … Continue reading

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Bawdy Aubade

.. Saucy wench, that moon. Silk-slipping away with morning’s after -glow. She knows a thing or two about slinking away, sinking low when sun cracks open its egg-on-the-face stain. She’s danced all night and now it’s time to tuck in … Continue reading

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Slanted Aubade

{It Dawns on Her} .. Oh, that damn sun comes up again. And coffee fills her cup again and one day’s not enough again and it’s all kind of getting under her skin. The adieu of moon, the tilted sky. … Continue reading

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Broken-Winged Aubade

.. See the raven, black against night’s last indigo blush, one lone smudged note waiting on a wire. The sinking moon’s an echoed ache of loss and longing; the sky’s a broken song.     .. November PAD, day 5.  … Continue reading

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Aubade with a Broken Song

… The day’s got yolk on her face again, all orange yellow sun-splotched and watched by gossipy doves, first loves who wish they’d slipped away while the sky was still a scrim. There’s a slim chance she’ll voice herself in … Continue reading

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