Opening the Window

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I had a brief moment in college
when I thought,
"I am going to write poetry."
and so I did.

I bought a journal
and I sat down to write
and out came a voice
I had never heard before.

It was the voice
which was always there
in my times of joy
and of sorrow.

It was the voice
of the morning mist
and the caress
of the afternoon breeze.

When I stopped
to listen
I could so clearly hear
the beauty of life.

Heartbreakingly
simple really
all I needed to do
was ask.

We all have
a poet within
waiting for us
to give it permission
to speak.

This is one of the few pieces
I wrote back in 1985
when I let the window open
and gave myself the opportunity
to sing with my heart.

I read it
25 years later
and it is as if
I wrote it yesterday.

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the day has come
Robert Montgomery

a private morning
I rise to starlight
flecks of light
clinging to the last moments
of night.

Air renewed
cool. crisp
lying ready
for the use of new day.

Where is the sun?
this yellow giant
who fires the world
in ageless splendor.

Mighty ruler
sleeping still
I set out,
in anticipation
of his glorious assent.

Innocence,
purity
simple solitude
the street so barren
yet soon to be trodden
by foot and bike
its cargo now slumbering
behind shades of gray

and I alone
sharing silence
a private time

orange, yellow
the coloring of dawn
spread quickly behind mountains
hiding

it reaches outwards
brighter, brighter
until all is drenched
golden, glowing

the day has come...


Nov 1985

Footnote: I wrote this piece after a morning run. It was a glorious run indeed.