I’ve decided it’s time I shared some of my ‘actual’ writing with you. I’ve only written two poems as an adult, this is the second (I may share the first at some point). I’ve had lots of feedback from my wonderful writing group, and this is as close to finished as I can get it. I hope you enjoy. I’d love to hear what you think.

 Bird song announces the dawn.
 Blackbirds tell a story,
 a magpie clatters like a football rattle.
 Seagulls cry unseen in the blanket of soft grey.
 Morning is time for opening up
 of eyes,
 of body,
 of possibilities.
 Ideas, intentions, inspiration
 sneak up whilst showering 
 or making tea.
 Steam revealing potential.
 Dawn is a liminal place.
 Edge of the day,
 edge of the mind,
 edging into view.
 Winter mornings don’t break, they creep.
 Blurred colours; a painter’s palette,
 a water-wash of grey.
 Skeletons of trees, aerials, chimneys.
 Scarlet ink spills onto the horizon,
 bleeding upwards; blotting paper sky.
 A rosy blush kisses the clouds,
 like a sleeping infant’s cheek.
 A day draws its first breath, gilded with promise.
 We all sleep, 
 we all wake,
 we all dream of better days. 

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