Monday, September 22, 2014

Expecting Miracles...





We’ve come to expect you
A routine array
Of never-before-ness
We simply call Day

On your skin of mercy
We tattoo our shame
Daring to expect you
None-the-less, all-the-same

Prostrate parenthesis,
Of east-sky elation
Yet ever your sameness
Deserves celebration

…but we’ve come to expect you
And always, you’re there
Running your whispers
Through night’s thinning air

…and every morning
Since God’s ‘let there be’
You fill earth’s awning
With His majesty

We’ve come to expect you;
God-granted gold-gray
Of grace-gilded miracle
We simply call Day

© Janet Martin

Rife with breath-stealing lines there was one line in the poem below that made me stop and re-read it slowly...'the miracle of day'...


Late September
by
Amy Lowell
Tang of fruitage in the air;
Red boughs bursting everywhere;
Shimmering of seeded grass;
Hooded gentians all a'mass.
Warmth of earth, and cloudless wind
Tearing off the husky rind,
Blowing feathered seeds to fall
By the sun-baked, sheltering wall.
Beech trees in a golden haze;
Hardy sumachs all ablaze,
Glowing through the silver birches.
How that pine tree shouts and lurches!
From the sunny door-jamb high,
Swings the shell of a butterfly.
Scrape of insect violins
Through the stubble shrilly dins.
Every blade's a minaret
Where a small muezzin's set,
Loudly calling us to pray
At the miracle of day.
Then the purple-lidded night
Westering comes, her footsteps light
Guided by the radiant boon
Of a sickle-shaped new moon.


This poem is in the public domain.

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