Our Readers
POSOWOCO Correspondent!
To Sender

Dear Readers

Here's a poem about a new day being handed out.The lines describe the start of the day as best.The poem reflects on my thoughts of a new beginning and a familiar ending.Is sunrise not the best time of day?

Yours Sincerely, POSOWOCO

Green 299410

Does anyone want to know what the best time of day is?

Anyone curious about why the start of the day can be a blank canvas?

Do you need you to hear the day beginning well and then not being yours?

Does it mean anything to have been given a new 24 hours of the currency called time?

Is it important to get to understand why the early morning could be best to start a new habit or ritual?

Can you at least image that there is a time and place for new things?

On a new day do you feel the expectations it brings and the feeling of loss as it fades into the afternoon?

The Day Is Not Mine The day is not mine, After quarter past nine, The morning gone now forever, And what started to lift me, Has slipped with silence away, With its loving giving glance, A window dawn drifting chance, Available to us all, But taken by perhaps same but few. The day is not mine Now the sunrise is fine, And the dew in the newish light, Once glistening dim low white, Has all but been goodly wiped, From the tender green carpet, Somewhere showing mull and walk, Barefoot to earth my soul, And ground me in new mothering spark. The day is not mine, When dawn leaves its old shrine, And shimmers away from the sun, Baked off by the daybreak light, It gives way to blank now space, For all and else to trace on, To write their daily daydreams, And conquer the lonely fears, That dance in fearful heads before dawn. The day is not mine, After the sunrise time, Soon to get messed up yet again, Until the tension of night, And the lonely early hours, Of wakened projected grief, Comes to a sudden ground end, And the sun seeps its same way, Into my rattling heartbeat again. The day is not mine, When the afternoon brine, Has been taken again aback, Giving me no earthly slack, Speeding my lone heart and thoughts, Towards the sleep and comfort, Of tomorrow's sunrise pride, And the hope of change but same, To repeat and repeat til I fail. 14th July 2023

I woke up suddenly one morning and had the recurring thought about a new day.

This time I had to get it down on paper to see if I could sum it up.

Using a syllable rule I constructed these verses to flow in rhythm.

I tell of how the morning is the best time in the world for me.

I am an early riser and always have done as a child because of an active mind.

I would jump out of bed and wonder what I could do for the world and vice versa.

It the used to affect me of how after the morning I would not be so pleased.

The afternoon could move into a more habitual phase.

The day is not mine means that it is just the mornings that are mine.

The Day Is Not Mine

the day is not mine --

after quarter past nine now

and what started lift