| POETRY |
| Autumn Morning The Autumn morning light seems brighter than Summer. Milk bottles with cream wait underneath their silvery foil. The clinking of the milk float moves away. The dying embers of the banked up coal fire, are like the morning light against the gray sky background. I empty the full ash pan into the metal bucket and gingerly place pieces of fresh coal on the embers. I place the piece of shield-like metal across the fireplace opening to catch the fire. The fire is alive and growing. The electric kettle clicks off. Hot water for strong tea is ready. The mug warms my hands. I pour Muesli into the bowl. Dashing milk in the tea and on the cereal, I put the milk in the fridge to keep it from freezing in the unheated kitchen. It will be time to get more coal soon. The leaves of the trees rise up the hill in back in bright hues. A few are scattered in the garden and on the road that runs between the gardens and the coal sheds at the back of the houses. I bring the tea and cereal back into the warmth of the front room and switch the radio on. The radio and the hissing of the fire keep me company. This is the time of day that I can call my own. Nobody expects me to be up. I count the change on top of the cupboard for a bus trip into town for shopping and a job interview. In the early morning light, the day is becoming a reality, the fire is gaining strength and I collect together the pieces of routine that strengthen me for the world outside. Copyright Cara E. Moore 2004 |
| This poem is available in anthology form the end of June from www.forwardpress.co.uk |
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| HORIZON'S PLACE AND TIME MEET |
| In my dreams, I'm a weighless crusader. I motion and move towards my desired destination. Soaring, I survey my own horizon - all the places I have been and would like to go. These moments are captured in the morning's quiet before the grounded world pulls me back. I carry my vision throughout the day, into my dreams, flowing over into early morning I move away again with the dawning light. This is where I exist. I step into the daylight still clothed in dream's glowing costume. Refusing to be contained within the mail; worn only in half days of nights before dawn, my dreams seep through the openings, creating a runway of light towards the place where horizon and time will meet. by Cara E. Moore Copyright 2004 |
| This poem is available at the Funky Craft Fayre www.funkycraftfayre.co.uk |
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