A year's worth of poems, every week for 52 weeks, spanning 2023 and 2024, plus the years following, from August 2024 to August 2025, 2025 to 2026 (provided I live that long, of course).
Thank you, Charles's Cauldron ๐. I've contested the Charlie Chaplin thing a couple of times, won once, if I remember correctly. But it's the kind of thing I try when bored and have nothing better to do - just doesn't seem to have happened lately.
Daybreak is a quieter thing than evening
when gathering night is spilt upon the ragged skies
and chattering rooks go jostling to their trees
while homeward plods the ploughman and his horse.
Thereโs drama in that last kiss of sun to earth
and nightly prowlers slipping from the shadows.
Not so the silent coming of the dawn
with hint of colour in the looming heavens.
Itโs hush that greets the growing light
and subtle changes in the tones of dark;
in deepest sleep the dayshift still abed
clings yet to dreams of the risen day.
The day may tear itself away with painted passion
but the morn does gentle announce return.
Line count: 14
Free verse
For Promptly Poetry Challenge 6, Week 2
Prompt: Use these words on your poem: Kiss, daybreak, tear (or tears).
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