Apr '12
24
It's day number 24 in this poem-a-day project and I'm surprised again by where my head went with this one.
There was a prompt on the Writers' Digest Poetic Asides blog to write about 'morning'.
What popped into my head (who knows why) was 'Morning has broken', a Christian hymn that was first published in 1931 with lyrics written by English author Eleanor Farjeon. Of course it was a mega hit for Cat Stevens/Yusuf Islam in 1972.
Here are the first four lines of 'Morning has broken' - then see what happened with my poem.
As usual, today's poem could do with recovering quietly before being finished off.
A wake
I mourn a broken morning
like the very first one
the one that without warning
just broke before I woke
so
I didn’t hear the blackbird speak
nor did I hear the first one
the blackbird with a yellow beak
whose words remained unheard
on that broken morning
that morning I am mourning
which meant
I couldn’t praise the singing
of the very first bird
on that fateful morning
whose melody eluded me
on that broken morning
that morning I am mourning
so
I couldn’t praise the morning
that broken, much-mourned morning
like the very first one
with a blackbird singing
whose words remain unheard
so in my ears is ringing
s     i     l     e     n     c     e
therefore
I take it on faith.
There was a prompt on the Writers' Digest Poetic Asides blog to write about 'morning'.
What popped into my head (who knows why) was 'Morning has broken', a Christian hymn that was first published in 1931 with lyrics written by English author Eleanor Farjeon. Of course it was a mega hit for Cat Stevens/Yusuf Islam in 1972.
Here are the first four lines of 'Morning has broken' - then see what happened with my poem.
Morning has broken, like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for them springing fresh from the Word.
As usual, today's poem could do with recovering quietly before being finished off.
A wake
I mourn a broken morning
like the very first one
the one that without warning
just broke before I woke
so
I didn’t hear the blackbird speak
nor did I hear the first one
the blackbird with a yellow beak
whose words remained unheard
on that broken morning
that morning I am mourning
which meant
I couldn’t praise the singing
of the very first bird
on that fateful morning
whose melody eluded me
on that broken morning
that morning I am mourning
so
I couldn’t praise the morning
that broken, much-mourned morning
like the very first one
with a blackbird singing
whose words remain unheard
so in my ears is ringing
s     i     l     e     n     c     e
therefore
I take it on faith.
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