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Poem: Morning

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A poem..by the Merchant of Rhetoric. It’s wonderful, and an example of how inspiration can take hold of you at any moment. -Dara

Merchant of Rhetoric

The result of an early morning walk and a recent desire
to play with form and style…

MORNING

Is earth’s collective ignition:
The kingcups are drinking their dew,
The grass breathes curls of mist—

And I am halted by the sounds of the birds…

When Darwin stood with his foot
At the top of the world
And eyed—
In every little finch,
In every
Drop
Of
Blood—
His mutative division,
His brow was in the steam of noon.

But for me,
Me, who lives in daybreak
The lifespan of a god—
When the hawk’s claw
Is
Not
Yet
Red—
I see the sportsmen same time nod,
I see all as a chorus:

The trees stretching their roots,
The colonies reaching their hum,
Cool brooked in banks across the world—

And I am thrilled to be one and the same…

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