This year I'm participating in Writer's Digest's Poem A Day for National Poetry Month. That is exactly what it sounds like; writing a poem a day. I'm sharing them on the Writer's Digest Blog; Poetic Asides and here. So day one's poem is The Morning. The prompt for today was beginnings.
The Morning
Sunlight slants through half-closed blinds.
Pale light, barely there,
struggling past the clouds.
It creeps across the carpet;
an ugly green, she insisted
was jade.
The light climbs slowly
up her arm,
flickering over freckles.
And gaining intensity as it
reaches her shoulder.
Muffled protests precede
a great wave of motion.
Turning away from the window,
she pulls cast off covers
over tangled hair;
and hides from the cheery sun.
Her clock tic, tic, ticks
marking minutes until her alarm
will yank her from slumber.
But right now she hoards
every second of sleep.
The sun doesn't care
for her dreams.
It shines all the brighter
sending tendrils to the far corners
of her room.
Illuminating "robin egg blue"
walls
and a white dress
waiting to be worn.
The Morning
Sunlight slants through half-closed blinds.
Pale light, barely there,
struggling past the clouds.
It creeps across the carpet;
an ugly green, she insisted
was jade.
The light climbs slowly
up her arm,
flickering over freckles.
And gaining intensity as it
reaches her shoulder.
Muffled protests precede
a great wave of motion.
Turning away from the window,
she pulls cast off covers
over tangled hair;
and hides from the cheery sun.
Her clock tic, tic, ticks
marking minutes until her alarm
will yank her from slumber.
But right now she hoards
every second of sleep.
The sun doesn't care
for her dreams.
It shines all the brighter
sending tendrils to the far corners
of her room.
Illuminating "robin egg blue"
walls
and a white dress
waiting to be worn.
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