From what was a hushed night

We have now, morning

The silence remnants,

Still enveloping creek and corner

Soon it will have competition

When with sunrise, comes the bustle

And with the bustle, comes the hustle

The hustle, bringing forth a new chapter

The living are readying

To attack the day

Such zeal, such motivation

Pot scoops of such, invaluable

A brand new day

For the lonesome, the nurturers

For the caretakers, the peacemakers

Even more brilliant of a day, for a dreamer

Empty, Full, Broken Glass


Empty glass, reflection of light,
A breath of fresh air, a fresh start,
At the very bottom, I commence.
Pour a little in, not quite full
A long way to the top, It’s a tough going.
Spills maybe, if pouring is done by the slapdash type.
Meticulosity, is a virtue I must cherish.
Chilled up glass, don’t sweat too much when left to stand,
Procrastinate not, time will not lend  you beyond what she designates.
Pour in warm? You won’t be fond of drinking.
Don’t compromise the best for second-rate.
Fill up, to the brim, Maslow would be proud,
Still be mindful, to keep full, you must spill not.
The real prize is in remaining at the top.
The gold rimming is wearing off, reminding of some maintenance.
You might be elevated but some self improvement is always an honorarium.
Empty glass, now full, not always a certainty.
However fragile forever, yes a demerit.
You are prone to negativity, stay sapient.
Empty glass, full glass, broken glass, a purchase is due.
You fall down, you pick yourself up, and start anew.