There are days

by Kevin T McEneaney

When sun is out walking above white clouds

and obviously in a genial mood

with plentiful, bounteous rays spilling

over hills, streams, lakes, trees, fields, and my cap

in transcendence, I prefer to be still

as gray granite boulders burbling upward  

from gurgling creek that runs to the vast sea

where sunshine glistens on ocean blue.


While I’m often in a blue funk at dawn,

wondering about preposterous dreams

while drinking milky cups of coffee to

open my eyes for sundry tasks ahead,

some mornings can be so spectacular

that they seem to approach oracular.