Archive for September, 2023

The Sounds of midnight

September 22, 2023

What are the sounds of midnight?

are they keeping you awake?

Somewhere a dog barks

while children are asleep,

I hear an ambulance siren

screaming down the street,

Someone has an emergency

someone works the night shift,

traffic on the highway,

trucks roaring loudly,

insects add a lighter shrill constant calling sound,

my husband turns now in our bed,

I have a sniffly nose,

2am occasionally two owls may come to call,

hoot-hooting to one another,

this is their time to go,

The world is never silent,

Life is all around,

The Earth is ever-turning

day and night are full of sound.

cfblack 9-22-2023

It is Fall.

September 16, 2023

Nights are different now,

They are quiet.

The locust waves of cascading songs have gone,

A high shrill but quiet insect calls

for hours, “Is anyone still out there?”

A few others make staccato chirps

But all in all, it is Fall.

The sun still warms us on a walk,

But sunsets happen earlier,

and soon, the leaves will turn, and fall,

Good night all.

cfblack, 9-15-2023

morning haiku

September 10, 2023

Orange sunrise promise fades

as thunder rolls across the sky,

stopping morning walk.

6-8-5 (not 5-7-5 but I like it)

cfblack, 230910

Some nights

September 8, 2023

Some nights

when it is quiet

after a long, noisy day,

a busy, productive day,

or a relaxing day,

I don’t want to go to bed.

It is quiet now.

Earlier, thunder rolled, lightning flashed,

wind picked up,

but now, all is still.

My husband sleeps,

birds settle in their nests,

a few crickets chirp,

I can write a poem,

read a little,

take melatonin,

settle my thoughts.

But I remember I want to walk EARLY

before it’s very hot,

so I will retire, and go to bed,

dream some dreams I will forget.

cfblack, 9-7-2023

Southern pines

September 5, 2023

I like to walk at dusk or dawn,

hear the trees speak to my soul,

These southern pines rise to the skies,

majestically, stand tall,

Offer shelter to the birds

to safely raise their young,

Oh, the stories they could tell!

They weep and whisper to themselves,

but lift their branches to the Sun

and hope for better days.

cfblack, 230905