Written over twenty years ago and appearing in ‘Almost Home’ and ‘Deadly Sensitive’ this poem seems to prefigure some of my recent sonnet-making.  It’s about Spring but it is also about new beginnings so it feels appropriate for the beginning of a new year.

The morning has broken

The morning has broken

A great red, jagged piece of it hangs in the sky,

the sound of its breaking

striking a thousand different notes

and bringing me out of the house to stare

at its destruction.

Sitting and watching those other lovers

In their youth and beauty,

Night and illusions are over,

As outside the sky is charged with change;

The green and yellow of new growth

Have become the colours of mourning.

The morning has broken

A great red, jagged piece of it hangs in the sky,

the sound of its breaking

striking a thousand different notes

and bringing me out of the house to stare

at its destruction.