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Mornings Shrill With Skylarks Singing

Keith Bickerstaffe Avatar  Send Soup Mail  Block poet from commenting on your poetry

Below is the poem entitled Mornings Shrill With Skylarks Singing which was written by poet Keith Bickerstaffe. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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Mornings Shrill With Skylarks Singing



Mornings shrill with skylarks singing 
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture, 
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer. 
A sudden shower would see me running 
fancy free between the rain drops, 
I cried 'Excelsior!' and set the hills alive; 
I skittered, happy crisp and clear, 
like God's first measure of a holy hymn. 

The air alive with songs of praise, 
the gentle winds a sacred message, 
His grand prescription like a dream 
that streamed out from the pillows of the heavens. 
I liked to wander by the sea shore 
skipping stones, disobeying laws of gravity, 
as a lamb on shaky legs, and tumbling freely without care, 
'til gasping, I would stop to catch my breath. 

The halcyon days of youth came true, 
when I would race forever 'neath the tawny sun, 
bedaubed in Autumn's blood, the flame 
a blend of hues the likes of which 
would make a young boy doubly blind, 
and lead him into kingdoms where the battlefields 
would blister scarlet, happy times 
that made me see my childhood clearly. 

The weather turned again, and shanties 
high atop the hillside loomed like castles drifting 
in the sea-blown mist, the noise of boats, 
their nets pulled, nudging at the jetty. 
From the sand the village was a hazy spectre, 
the chapel steeple peeking like Rapunzel's lair, 
her hair a daydream falling soft, 
O fanciful imagination! 

I thought to when my mother took my hand. 
We skipped the cobblestones and shopped for wishes, 
(toys which we could ill-afford; 
a Batman cape, a red fire engine.) 
The lanes were thick with merchants and the joy of life, 
haggling, chattering like crazy seabirds, 
loud, and mouthing their wants and wares, 
and then we wandered home exhausted. 

I never lost my youthfulness, 
my joy at seeing herons preening, eagles floating 
high on zephyr'd breezes free as spring; 
hallowed times, in Jesus' presence. 
I measure now my moments as the hours shift by, 
thirty years and blissful, regrets are slight and few, 
I count my blessings, feel content 
that tribulation never came to trouble me. 

A birthday cake is waiting for me, 
candles flicker, frosting beckons, hope eternal; 
my wish the same, for peace on earth 
to all men, greetings and goodwill! 
I lie down in the close and holy quiet 
while the village sleeps, and slips toward a new adventure, 
safe in His keeping, perfect day 
with promise of a bright tomorrow! 

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  1. Date: 12/25/2013 6:50:00 PM
    It sounds like you grew up in a wonderful place Keith..a little seaside village somewhere...how awesome..running in the rain...skipping stones...a mother who loved you so...the birthday cake and presents...loved this poem....:-) :-) :-)

  1. Date: 11/11/2013 7:33:00 AM
    What a tremendous piece here! Quite a lovely read. I like your imagery--your imagination. Very vibrant and warm. Enjoyed once again. Thanks. Always, Laura

  1. Date: 11/5/2013 4:59:00 PM
    I like the imagination of childhood that you described here. This is another epic poem from you, Keith. It was a very interesting and entertaining read! Really good work!...I have a poem about childhood that you might enjoy. It is titled, "A Kid At Heart"...Thank you very much for taking the time to read and comment on my work!