The Morning Porch

Dave Bonta November 23, 2018 2

Sunlight brightens as the thin clouds move off. Icicles begin to drop from the eaves, their shattering more elegant-sounding than any glass.

2 Comments

Bethany Reid
6 years ago Permalink

I love how these short poems always seem to touch on all five senses. A wake up call.
1. Dave Bonta
  6 years ago Permalink
  
  Thanks. The funny thing is, I’m not even trying to write poetry! It’s just that the present tense uses fewer syllables, plus I try to make them reasonably compelling.

Comments are closed.

Previous Post: Previous Post

Next Post: Next Post

March 19, 2024
Four hours before the equinox, the ground is white, with more snow swirling down. The miniature daffodils dangle from their stalks like deflated balloons.
March 19, 2023
A dozen dead leaves circle the yard as the clouds’ bellies turn orange. A phoebe calls once, sotto voce, from a branch above the creek.
March 19, 2022
Humid and cool. The sun keeps finding new holes in the clouds. The woodpeckers keep drumming.
March 19, 2021
A ray of sun strikes the lilac, setting its yellow buds aglow. The sound of water gurgling under my yard. The back-and-forth of nuthatches.
March 19, 2020
The rain eases off by midday but the cowbird at the top of a tall black locust tree continues to spill his single, liquid note.