this morning

this morning
I saw the sun filtered through trees
in the hour before its light touched
the white walls of my house

this morning
I heard helicopters rattling in the distance
war games had begun once more defending
death’s pretence at protection

this morning
the sea was clear
wrack in the the high tide
a shivered refraction of later sun
in a cloudless sky

this morning
only passenger jets could escape
too high for the sea to snare them
or feverish defenders of the mad ideal
of a sceptred isle bring them back
to earth again

this morning
I moored my boat out in the ebbing tide
safe enough for now from heavy weather

this morning
as ships brought their guns to bear
and platoons raced across beaches
for callous sport
the sky was too full of cloud for missiles
too blue for battleship grey to hide in
too perfect for stupid arguments to escalate

this morning
I saw the river empty itself in the bay
the white yachts turn their bows into the wind
different weather arriving from the south-west
and despite the unplumbed future I knew
was relentlessly descending I too
turned away and headed home

© BH, 2019

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Just a small contribution for Notional Poetry Day. Heard it was today on the radio. Travelling home, I thought, maybe, a versification was in order. This was today, this morning, as it happened.

And, yes, the image is that very wrack shivering in the morning sun.