1. the experience, as a free-write dictation in December 2015
5 am sunrise in Napier:
The horizon flips to keep the night sky in the ocean. The sorbet lining between shades of blue. Birds chattering like 50 alarm clocks sounding at once, overlapped and enthusiastic. Dawn is so far underway that only one star/planet is visible despite my strained search of the clear sky. Two. I thought the first was an airplane. One in the east, one directly opposite in the west. The east star looks like two linked together, which I vaguely remember from either the Sydney observatory or my friend’s telescope.
The dark red amber transitions to gold, revealing a ship in the distance. It’s just the birds, ocean, trees and pathway, and myself. This is my morning ice cream, crisp to the touch. A bicyclist chirps “Morning!” as he passes in a whip of wind.
An enormous log lay beached on the sand. Did the ocean toil all night to birth you there? The waves gently lap and kiss you, to bid farewell after a tumultuous separation.
Gold brightens further to yellow. The clouded horizon softens and blurs, the cloud wisps above sharpen in contrast, cotton candy striped in orange-pink-blue. Impatiently patient. The log is a prehistoric jaw curved upward with a great warthog tooth.
The west planet now barely detected; the eastward sisters shine through bubblegum candy floss. Another greeter of dawn walks the footpath. My form is further exposed in the light: bare feet shoved into untied shoes, baggy pajama pants, ski coat, haphazard scarf. My wild nest of hair untouched by smoothing eyes or fingers after the pillow worked her night shift.
Bubblegum taffy evolves to neon orange, soft cotton of the baby blue blanket further beyond. The horizon light pales, stripping itself of depth and character. The whiteness/witness of the pastel yellow bores. Yawn. How ordinary.
I am a mountain on these black pebbles. Firmly planted and aligned, growing every breath. Tall with light and energy, casting shadows around my periphery. The she-ocean crashed along my toes, tickling to entice me away from my foothold. The foamy sirens eager and clambering for their mother to take me for herself.
A red belly grows behind the skirt of smog, the glowing orb pushing its way up from the golden-lit water at the extreme edge of the earth’s end. Then it’s lost again in thick congestion. The neon cotton bleached white in the wake of approaching sun, paled and perhaps by fear or apprehension, or cowering in reverence.
Ah, this is the bulbous glow that stretches now beyond the reflected windows, over the deco rooftops. A concentrated light forms backstage, ready for the 5-minute call.
The clouds deceived. Morning glow emerges as a surprise, catching the earthly circle off guard. The radiance is all colors at once, so intense only short glances will keep your irises intact. What a grand entrance. Swift and steadily, as if the pulleys were freshly tested and mended for this grand spectacle. Hello, Sun. Good morning. Your rays push blush to my face, carve contours on my outer layers. It won’t be long now, for you to suspend for another seven hours, leaping higher across the convex arch. I’ll see you then. Now I go, return to the woven blankets and threadbare bedding. Tell your night’s journeys to the ocean; she’s eager for company.
2. shaped into poetry or lyrics in April 2020
NAPIER’S FIVE A.M.
Multitudinous avian alarms chime and peal. The main holds the night sky in a flipped horizon.
Sorbet slices between shades of blue. This is my morning ice cream, crisp to the touch.
Deep red amber kneads to gold.
An enormous log lay in the surf. Did the sea toil all night to birth you there?
Her waves gently lap and kiss you, to bid farewell after a tumultuous separation, your prehistoric drift jaw curved into a giant warthog tooth.
Gold brightens to pale yellow.
The clouded skyline softens, blurs while wisps sharpen, cotton candy stripes canary-orange-pink.
Impatiently patient, shining on my wild nest of hair untouched by smoothing eyes following the pillow’s night shift.
Neon orange shifts to bubblegum taffy.
Shadow mountains cast on beach pebbles, firmly planted and aligned.
Skyline pales and strips its depth and character.
Soft baby blues beyond.
She-ocean crashes toward my toes, tickling, enticing me from this foothold; foamy sirens eager and clambering for their mother to take me for her own.
A red belly grows from within smog’s skirt, the glowing orb pushing its way up out of the earth’s extreme edge.
Ah, this is the bulbous irradiance stretching now beyond reflections, over the deco rooftops. What a grand entrance.
Swiftly and steadily, rising true, as if his roped pulleys were freshly tested and mended for this canorous spectacle.
Hello, Sun; good morning. Your rays blush my apples, carve contours in my creases.
Your suspense will expire, leaping higher across the convex arch.
Sing your night’s journey to the sea; she welcomes your camaraderie.