Sunday Morning

Carrying a day
is like carrying a mountain,
Brooding over your own horizon
those endless small words
The silence at the end of sentences.
Come to the bank
Breathe the snow
Put your day down

Terrance Keenan, excerpted and edited from “Lullaby of Crossing the River” in St. Nadie in Winter


Notes: Poem via The Vale of Soul Making. Photo by Patty Maher (The Quiet Storm).

18 thoughts on “Sunday Morning

  1. This is really interesting. From the comments I gather a feeling of ‘let it be’, of letting go…. MY impression was one of saying: “David, and I just thought I had a really good Sunday, now you come and spoil it for me….”
    It’s all in our heads, isn’t it? (And probably a general non-understanding of the English language in my case). But as much as I like the photo (although it made me shiver…..), the poetry didn’t touch my heart or give me joy – the shivering continued! Happy Sunday, all the same – mine was really, really a good one! 😉

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  2. “The silence at the end of sentences”. if the end of sentences was verbal then one could be silenced due to a circular disagreement…or the silence at the end of sentences could be a good by as the phone is put down, in the cavernous old, cold house occupied by one…good night as the door is pulled partially shut after tucking a little one into bed and they are left in their own thoughts coming to grips in being alone…as they drift off to dream land….if “The silence at the end of sentences” is written I’d like to think that a reader now has time to digest, pondering the impact of the words…and if need be let the emotions flow along…
    “Put your day down” letting it rest and allowing the experience of that day, not matter how difficult, or normal everyday with bits of Joy, to be filtered into memories past… for tomorrow’s breaths are new…awaiting is a gift of opportunity

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