Broken Is Morning….

12 November -14

It’s “O’Light-Thirty”…

And my House in the Trees

is frighteningly Chilly!

Should’ve roused so more Earlier

to keep ‘The Flame of my Well-Being’

Well-tended & yet, Still Alive!

033 Begrudged but Grateful to the Little, white, fur-ball One

that woke me with Her grinding edged crankiness

(reminiscent of my Ol’ Gran, They once called ‘Betty’)

for She used me as Her trampoline,

Her Steppe, from Her Plateau,

Her soft place to dismount Her Aerie on my bed’s Rail.

The Voice of All Nature’s Mother

calling Her to Duty!

“O, Yes!  My Children!” 003

Then Her Squawks turn to raucous cries:

Urgent- then Desperate- to Frantic clucks, that Remembered-

“My Child- My poor, Lost Child!”

She races thru the Dimness for Her bucket

by The View

where She Lay, each Day.

Most like the Kookaburra, now, takes on the sound of Her Wail!

I, myself, have now risen

and layered myself against my new Companion of Arctic Cold,

with pullover- hooded and ‘moccs’ that are calf-high: WoodNymph & Her Duck

kept under the warm mound of fleece and wool, with me

that is my nest, in the dry, walled-in perch in the Sky.

My Second-skin, they are

from a Good & Kind deer-Friend, Long Ago.

A Friend of my Family, It once came to feed.

Now, with me, It stays, the Warmest of Friendly Companions, I ever could need!

Then, Her piercing “Caw-caw-caw!” rises to crescendo-

charging Life into to my Young Master Roo,

that is now Wake, Alert & Ready for His Day.

Join in Her cries of Despair

with His ‘Trumpetuous’ blare

“O, gods, how my solar alarm can be deafening!

A shame, tho, that it was I that woke Them!”

I pull the curtain back, that hangs from Our collective View,

and settling briefly in, on His Young Majesty’s throne-y perch

Somewhere- for Friends 005 with Master Duck, now in tow,

lighting a fag, and looking down into the Far Below.

And then, what does my monocular, I call “Little Eye”, spy? DUCK POND   48 HRS RAIN and TREE SEX 001

“What’s this, on ‘Abbi’s Pond’ that isn’t Abbi?”

“What’s fishing there, that isn’t me?”

Hmmm…. apparently a fat-assed neighbor Coon,

has decided to beat me to This Day’s Catch!

Well-played, Sir Coon!  And you can keep your bloody prey-

for lifting mine (ass) from this chair, I must leave this Moment’s Reverie and stolen slice of Silent Time,

to return once more to my Duties of the Present:

to bring Life to ‘Fyre’, for in the many long, cold, Dark months ahead

will be the Heart of Mine!

*A Note from a certain Island poet:

from the moment I woke –it was then 0530 hours- by the Dawning Light, til the actual Arrival of the Day’s Sun, o’r the Trees that hide All, on my Island –0830 hours by the clock on the TreeHouse wall!!!  Gads!  I’m behind already!  Argued by Ignorant Mainlanders, my Day truly ends at 1600 hours here, Inside the Ravine, at the Edge of The FaeriWood, Under the Ever-Canopy, on My (In)side of this little Isle!

Until we meet next, My Dear & Faithful Friends- most-likely by lighted wick, no doubts, when that will happen again!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Broken Is Morning 1(Double’Selfi’!!)

Broken Is the Morn’!! Broken Is Morning 2

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The Groovi-est, Purple-Beaded, Ever-Laughin', Dukk-Lovin', Barefoot, Dirt-Farmin', Hippi Chikki that you'll ever have the Sublime Pleasure to get to know!

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Posted in Adventures of a Wild Island VIOLET!
2 comments on “Broken Is Morning….
  1. InfiniteZip says:

    Awesome post of the life in the trees 🙂 stay warm my beaded friend…..

    Liked by 1 person

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