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At the crack of dawn by Anderson, John
At The Crack Of Dawn by Project, The Brooklyn Six
At The Crack Of Dawn by Schumacker, Earl
At The Crack Of Dawn by Ellison, Jack
At the Crack of Dawn by Golden, Gregory

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The Best At The Crack Of Dawn Poems

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Housecats

I reckon some folks prefer a hound dog lyin' at their feet,
While others might enjoy a twitterin' parakeet.
But be it a mogul's mansion or a humble flat,
A house just ain't a home without an inscrutable cat!

Thankfully, my cat doesn't bark or scourge my pristine lawn,
Nor does he wake me for outside relief at the crack of dawn!
Furthermore, my dear old pal I seldom have to holler at;
A house just ain't a home without an inscrutable cat!

My cat is content to have me stroke and brush his hair,
And happier yet if he can snooze upon my favorite chair.
A master of his realm, why should he ever want to roam?
Without an inscrutable cat, a house just ain't a home!

While he reposes upon my lap and I stroke his silky fur,
Ain't nothin' more relaxin' than to hear his soothin' purr.
He won't condone a walk, I'll certainly grant  you that.
A house just ain't a home without an inscrutable cat!

His independent airs and a few stray hairs I can tolerate;
Even my chair nigh the glowin' fire to him I will abnegate.
I 'spose you could enjoy a snake, pot-bellied pig or hybrid rat,
But a house just ain't a home without an inscrutable cat!

Entry for Tania Kitchin's "Cat Poem Poetry" Contest


Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2017


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Cowboys

A man named Ben stood on a slope looking at the gates of hell,
He swore they’d never turn back, him and his best friend Del.
They knew the bandits came this way, they’d left a sloppy trail,
Sheriff and posse had given up but they, would never fail.

He reached into his saddle where he pulled some paper out,
Posters of the bandits, who had brought them on this route
There was Crooked Jake a killer who was merciless and drear,
He shot you if you looked at him, his colleges were full of fear.

Then came Baba Barber as hairy as a lamb,
But nothing gentle about this one, he head-butt’s like a ram.
The third was Festus Farlow a man with just one eye,
Yet the fastest gun in Texas causen many a widow to cry. 

Ben turned to Del and with a sigh he mounted his beige mare,
Said, “guessen we’d better git started, Del ma frind tek care.”
The two had ridden hours with bandanas on their face,
Which only helped a little, for sand was all they could taste.

Both saw many carcasses and bones, bleached white from sun,
But also knew these badlands are not a place for fun.
All at once Del’s stallion, stood with hoofs boxing empty air,
Sent him flying to the ground, and in a rattlers face did stare.

Now when he fell he’d landed on a hard and rocky bed,
So he grabbed a stone and in a flash, crushed that rattlers head.
Ben had reached for his riffle ready to take a shot,
Knowing the sound of gunfire would give away their spot.

Six days later found cowboys, with cracked lips and weary bones,
Now huddled by the campfire listening to familiar tones.
High up on the rocky hill, a wolf sang to the skies,
His silhouette rare beauty, appeasing to their eyes.

Still sleeping at the crack of dawn, a voice woke them abrupt,
Crooked Jake stood before them, his hand his gun did cup.
He started laughing at the two still lying there in bed,
And Ben and Del were certain, that they would soon be dead.

Now Festus and old Baba, were going through their sacks
Finding pictures of two women, they had just shot in their backs,
Then they took their horses, saddles, hats and boots, sayen
‘’You’s ain’t gunna need these, when Festus Farlow shoots.”

Two good friends were shaking now as a dozen shots rang out,
And when loud echoes finally ceased, dead bandits lay about.
Ben and Del stood in a daze, and checked for bullet holes,
The sheriff and posse had come back, God, bless their souls.

10.03.2014
For Isaiah Zerbst Contest:
Cowboys in the Badlands 2nd


Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014


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EMPTY PROMISES

You time my heart
Day and night
you see my innocent heart
Night and day
you think of me 
Day and night
You fill my heart
Day by day
With empty promises
You fake a smile
At night fall
When I need you the most
You fill my heart
with empty promises
I thought I was wise
Days will make me wise
you lofty empty promises
Haunt my soul not
from that lips of you
I thought you were an angel
But it was just a dream
You left at the crack of dawn
Filled my bed with empty promises
Time wont pass me by
Leave me and I will be free
Your heart owes me nothing 
But just empty promises
Go in peace and love
I need to have an everlasting promise
you empty promise
I send you away
Send you away in light
my soul is free
The freedom I deserve
Go in peace and love


Copyright © john ngugi | Year Posted 2014


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Android

I can’t remember everything, I can’t recall my birth
Aimlessly I wonder what my goal is here on earth
The prospects here are wide and vast, I seek my very cause
I’m switched on at the crack of dawn and dusk is when I pause
Deflated and depleted, I ponder then I do
Believe what I was programmed to, replaced by versions new
Existing just for mere research, experiment I am
My life “To let”, “for sale”, “for rent”; in shambles or a sham
Emotions first uploaded or rebooted and erased
Remote controlled with batteries recharged at every phase
Mirrored in an image, then observed through looking glass
My Father and Creator notes down everything that’s passed
Today I conquered obstacles according to the plan
One virus might turn bad to worst within outdated brand
If circuits fry a terminating prospect is abrupt
A live or die for me could mean abort or self-destruct
When all the data’s gathered and my purpose here is lost
The switch will flip, I’ll power down, repaired at extra cost
Core of bone covered with flesh, diverting all suspicion
That I was cloned and molded to a Master’s rendition


Copyright © Brandon Basson | Year Posted 2005


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NIGHTTIME DREAMER

NIGHTTIME DREAMER
I closed my eyes to catch the wind,
Murmur its way through the green of the field
Hoping somehow in it I'd hear,
You sigh sweetly as you oft do
For your heart on a sleeve you always wore
Even when life taught you to know better.

I hoped to catch you softly whisper
The wind, your harbinger in this silent night
Spreading your tales to the drowsy larks,
Who'll sing them to me at the crack of dawn
Of how another held your golden heart,
And was shallow enough to let it break

How gold thus break?, I wonder,
How a heart like yours can be led astray
For sitting by my window this eerie night,
I think up a thousand feverish words I'd say
To melt a golden treasure, thine heart,
But still I know words don't measure up

So I'll love you through the quiet night,
Daydreaming through the dead of night
As the wind sings to me your flawless name,
The leaves quivering with its every touch
For in this world I can love you free
And be the guardian of your golden heart.


Copyright © Aristide Kofi | Year Posted 2017


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The Ugly Girl

 
She sat in her room through her Prom quite late
unfondly recalling she did not have a date
There's no one special nor had there ever been
this pretty sweet girl was born ugly as sin. 

"Pretty girls are lucky, she spoke aloud 
If only he'd ask, I know he'd be proud
I can smile and dance and sing him a song
I'd sure  never cheat or do my man wrong!"

At the crack of dawn her phone didn't ring
Nothing to do, no not one single thing
but hope that some guy would give her a chance
To buy a Prom dress for the upcoming dance!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
All you ladies out there, you probably never had
this problem. Count your blessings....


Copyright © Judy Konos | Year Posted 2011


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Do You Listen

When you woke them up, at the crack of dawn
Did you smile at them today?
Did you pour a cup, with cream and love
Then send them on their way?

Did you drive with ease, 
Not honk and squeeze
On the road to work today?

Did you offer space, in your place in line
at the crowded store today?
Did you keep your grace, when the others raced
To crowd in front of you?

Quite often through our day
We will say the worn out line
"How are you, today?"
While, they answer ..."I am fine."

But do we really listen
With a heart that opens wide?
For a heart may need some tending,
behind a lonely mask of pride

Next time you ask this question
Just watch before you start
Their eyes may be revealing
So listen with your heart


_______________________________
12/7/14  For Regina Riddle's Contest "Didactic"


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014


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The Crack of Dawn

I get up early at the crack of dawn
Gotta see my babe ‘fore she’s dressed and gone
Daylight peekin thru the window blind
Me and that gal get to feeling fine

The crack of dawn, nothin’s wrong
My baby starts shakin when I sing her that song

The crack of dawn is my favorite thing
I get inspire-ation and it makes me sing
Makes me want to sing my favorite song
About stuffin that muffin at the crack of dawn

The crack of dawn is the finest way
For shakin, up wakin, up every day
Pushin that cushion at the crack of dawn
Wake it up, shake it up, all day long

It’s Mabel on the table in the afternoon
Chiquita finds pita by the early moon
Shagin in the wagon don’t turn me on
We got to get up early at the crack of dawn

Two legs over, three eggs up
Mix it up, fix it, in a coffee cup
Shake that bacon up, shake that pan
Shake my belly up, man oh man

Baby said daddy you’re a big old jerk
She’s still shakin and late for work
Keep it to the right and hold on tight
I wanta see my shake-it-up home tonight

Gotta get outa town ‘fore the days is done
Gotta get more chicken, oughta to get it done
Gonna see my bade at the crack of dawn
Gonna get more shakin, gonna get it done 

Dawn-der-deen won’t you be my queen
I like it when you shake it like a wash machine
Be my queen, be my rose
Shake it like a chicken, when the rooster crows

Rooster crows at the crack of dawn
Got to see my babe ‘fore she’s up and gone
Up and gone, she’s up and gone
Choke that chicken, she’s up and gone
Copyright © Mike Martin 2015
Dedicated to Sheldon and his Girlfriend Dawn


Copyright © Mike Martin | Year Posted 2015


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So It Was

So it was that the night transcended peacefully over my head
Taking me through thick clouds,landing me upon parched land
Spilling  tranquil moments into daylight complexity.
So it was that I found myself among a crowd of unfamiliar people
People who I have perhaps seen in the city or on TV 
So it was that an influential woman hosted a dinner in a sizable hall in town
A gloomy  dinner with little food just to wet the appetite of the starving crowd.
So it was  that  the courageously dressed host gave a short speech to amuse the
hungry lot, while her husband stood silently summarizing the plot.

So it was that she gave a short speech when everyone was expecting her to preach but the starved guests devoured the tiny portion and scrambled through the door. Hundreds of them instantly streamed through the hallway leaving the host to deeply ponder.So it was that the host came running to me pouring out her heartfelt misery."The people did not interacted",  she said, "they just swallowed the food and fled". I told her not to worry they came for dinner because they were hungry.

The night still had me bounded taking me from town to town,
Propelling me into another space, showing me Saudi riyals all over the place.
So it was that I entered this remarkable place and an official man came through a little gate. He handed me a stash of Saudi rial, piled up with one hundred notes with three one riyal notes to keep afloat.I separated the 100 notes from the one riyal notes and muse deeply over such astounding happenings hoping to find some plausible answers. So it was that as I stood there, the woman and her husband that hosted the dinner appeared.The authoritative man  tenderly placed some riyal in their empty hands.The husband seemed very pleased but his wife was intensely displeased. And so it was that she walked away and uttered these words in dismay,"I will see to It".

The nights mystery kept me drifting and  wandering all over the city
forcing me to submit to its rigorous rules.With nothing to say I drift with the night all the way. So it was that I ended up in a beautiful church in the center of town and walked silently in the church hoping to get some encouraging words.But the entire right section of the pews was blocked off and covered with a tall screen from the back leaving  just the front row vacant.Whats the meaning in all of this I tried so hard to understand but nothing seemed to fit.

Three women dressed in white sat composedly towards the back on the left side of the pews.Two of them sat on the very last rows while the other sat further up leaning her back against the corner  praying. And so it was that I walked through the pews praying a powerful prayer. I held the hands of the women sitting in the back rows and prayed ''Luke 12: 22-30 from the scriptures with them.

 "Then He said to His disciples,Therefore I say to you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; nor about the body, what you will put on. Life is more than food, and the body is more than clothing. Consider the ravens, for they neither sow nor reap, which have neither storehouse nor barn; and God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds? 25 And which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature? If you then are not able to do the least, why are you anxious for the rest? Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; and yet I say to you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. If then God so clothes the grass, which today is in the field and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will He clothe you, O you of little faith? “And do not seek what you should eat or what you should drink, nor have an anxious mind.For all these things the nations of the world seek after, and your Father knows that you need these things. But seek the kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added to you."

So it was that I walked up to the third woman and prayed with her when suddenly the man and woman that was hosting the dinner walked towards the right of the church straight up to the front row.And so it was that as I walked towards them to pray, the night grabbed me vigorously and tossed me back into my bed. I woke up at three fifty eight am at the crack of dawn and mulled over the strange nights adventure.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  ©2014 Christine Phillips



Copyright © Christine Phillips | Year Posted 2014


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Gypsy Wandering Soul

The spirit of the gypsy
free as the wind upon the open road
Horse driven home on wheels
taking them where they decide
to rest their soul.

Families huddled by the camp fire
Story and tales shared from old
Hedgehog stew
simmering in the cauldron 
Leftovers of grizzle and sinew
thrown to the pack of dogs to chew.

Musicians strike up an ancient tune
underneath the stars 
with fiddles clicking castanets and guitars,

Young Gypsy girls dance and twirl
arms raised to the sky
With teasing flirting eyes 
Dark skin long flowing black hair
showing off their wares.

Next morn at the crack of dawn
o the piece of green no gypsy can be found
the only sign they had ever been there 
os the scorch marks left upon the ground.


'' Inspired by the wonderful poems of Gypsy's
by Cherl Dunn''

Peter Dome.copyright.2014. Jan.


Copyright © Peter Dome | Year Posted 2014


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The rose that grew from concrete

Many a mind hurries past
the gripping splendour
in search of beauty, not to last,
while continuing in rejection of grandeur.

I look as the moments pass
at the wounded walkway.
The sand flows through the hourglass
and time conforms to seconds and seconds to day.

There, in the heart of pain,
at the crack of dawn
grows through the mundane,
purity, life’s mystery in an image drawn

Red bursts open in colours array
but expectation it defied
as time had not intended bloom ‘till the following day
and still nature’s scarlet tears are cried.

Dusk was meant to encompass
the brooding gem in the snows
but the bud unfolded in its stubbornness
and yet not its pedals froze.

I suppose the dark of night
and the bitterness of day
could not smite 
what would have its own way.

The bud grew beautifully in strength
and blossomed in wisdom,
knowledgeable in great length,
yet its leaves forbade a future grim.

Somehow it lacked endurance
and what blind humanity refused to meet
became the trampling of our innocence:
the rose that grew from concrete.


Copyright © Robyn Thomas | Year Posted 2013


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CHRISTMAS

 What is Christmas about anyway?
What does it all mean this happy holiday?
Some guy up North is laughing at us,
Ho Ho Ho!
Oh by jingle, bring out old Chris Kringle,
To light up every lawn on the block.
Put aside those Christmas blues,
Instead lets decorate,
 Keeping our spirits lite,
With decorations delights.
Don't you remember cold winter
Nights?
Hanging a hundred strains, of 
Decorative multicolored lights.
After all your hard work,
One bulb, just flickers,
Then without warning,
It goes out completely.
Deck those halls, drag out the, 
Holly, put up the mistletoe by golly.
Let us welcoming a new tradition,
Started by the baby boom generation.
Black Friday's shopping extravaganza,
 Which begins at the crack of dawn.
Brave souls camping out, huddled together,
Just to save a dollar.
Frozen gnomes, with coffee cups held tightly,
Standing in a everlasting line,
Patiently, waiting for the doors to finally open.
After arriving home, grateful it's all over.
Then realizing it's time, to do all the
 Joyous wrapping.
 So open the eggnog, pour me a glass,
I'll drink it down in celebrations repast.
Bring on the turkey with sides galore,
Shall we not feast until theirs no room for more.
But really to me it's all about a time long ago,
In a manger far away, beneath a shinning star,
Here a tiny baby was born,
And he smiled at mankind's world.
Family, loved ones gathered near,
Hearts in hand.
 Embracing each other with happiness,
Love and good cheer.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2013


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The Eye of the Sea - part 1

(note: The site restrictions don't allow long epic poems, so I have split this into 6 segments, each should run straight on from the previous one.)

THE EYE OF THE SEA

Or
The Rime of the Ancient Kubla Kahn on the Road to Mandalay

There washed ashore a devil’s whore
Who claimed he’d never been paid,
Near dead from Sin, or weatherin’
Yet feared to loose his blade.

We did our best to ease his rest,
But our experts all were vexed:
The Old Wives College exhausted their knowledge;
The doctors cursed their texts.

Wracked with pain his life had waned
His eyes were growing dim,
His final words were barely heard:
Everything looked grim.

With chicken pills we cured his chills,
For strength we gave him broth,
His brow was mopped, his temperature watched,
We swaddled him in sailcloth.

Then from afar with strengthened heart
As if ‘twere heaven’s game
His mien changed, he had regained
The pilot to his flame.

In heartened mood we gave him food,
And bade his tale be told;
And so he spoke for the price of a toke
And a butcher’s bag of gold.

“ ‘Twas in the port of Herringford, 
Where all the cows lie down,
A skipper talked, he claimed he sought
A crew of great renown.

The wind was high in a sunless sky,
The waves were barreling in,
And word got round of men to be found
That night at The Mortal’s inn.

At eight o’clock the bolts were shot
And all were locked within,
With muttered words of rumours heard
And lubricant of Gin.

The Captain coughed and glanced around
For conversations shed,
With laser gaze and aged malaise,
In a darkened voice he said:

‘Into the storm at the crack of dawn
We sail on the morning tide,
Let no man here betray his fear,
His passion or his pride!’

The aim of the endeavour was legend’ry treasure,
The fabled crystal ship of the Prince,
Lost years before off the Straits of Nepal,
And famously quested for since.

Our boat, ‘The Eye,’ was a Barquentine,
Just a quarter league in length,
She sailed as sweet as a sackful of eight,
With grace and speed and strength.

Twelve good men without pretence
Agreed to the journey ahead,
But the cheery tales of places sailed
Belied their inner dread.

The crew we got were a hardy lot,
Experienced one and all,
But none were fools and caution ruled 
When it came to signing aboard.

Continued on The Eye of the Sea part 2


Copyright © simon cooper | Year Posted 2014


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My Daily Jog


Up with the birds at the crack of dawn
On with the tracksuit now slightly worn
Where is my ipod, I had it last night
On with the headphones, the volumes just right
I’ve got everything, I think I’m now ready
I start off quite slow, nice and steady
Remember the plan, I set the pace
It’s only a jog, you’re not in a race
I’m starting to sweat, my heart starts to pound
My legs turn to jelly as they hit the ground
My mind starts to work, thoughts in my head
Why do you do this? You could be in bed!
I cross the road, without out a good look
A car blasts its horn, he takes me to book
I turn the last corner, my home is in sight
My time gets no better, try as i might!


Copyright © Roger Page | Year Posted 2010


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Freedom's Quest

At the crack of dawn
Dog biting on the linked fence
Freedom on its mind



Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2006


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Farm Animal Speech Lessons

          Farm Animal Speech Lessons

Early morning at the crack of dawn
Farm animals were gathered in the barn
The linguist began his lesson
I know old McDonald taught you “E” “I” “E” “I” “O”
Now let’s move on to consonants 
Cows, let’s start with you and your moo…. “Moo!” ... That’s great
Tomorrow we’ll have you say “ve” at the end of that
And after we’re complete
It will be illegal to repeat moo in here or on the street
Moo is obsolete to speak
“Move” is more appropriate and sweet
If you don’t comply
There is this thing called meat
We will find something else for you if you say moo
Did you ever hear of hamburger?
I've heard it’s good to chew and quite tasty too



Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014


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Good Ole Days

My Grandma once told me about the Good Ole Days.
How they had to do things - about the many ways.
Having to wake up at the crack of dawn.
Just thinking about it - makes me want to yawn.

Breakfast for the family, then cleaning happens next.
In those days - they'd be no time to text.
Feeding the chickens, gathering eggs - time to plow the field.
But we can't relax yet - though my body wants to yield.

Slopping the pigs, milking cows, and tending the horses too.
Someone please tell me - when is this day going to be through?
Going to the market could really be quite the chore.
And still I'm told there's oh - so much more.

Traveling to the nearest creek to get the laundry done.
When do we get to enjoy the warmth and sheer beauty of the afternoon sun?
Finally -  we get to sit down to dinner with our family.
Grateful of our accomplishments and each other's company.

Among the many blessings I count is being in the modern age.
From their many lessons and sacrifices we can take a page.
Their wisdom and knowledge to us they did bestow.
Do not take for granted all that we now know!


Copyright © Tamara M. Kohlstaedt | Year Posted 2016


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Dream of a proper Pyrate

A wishful tale of man's potential taken (with great liberty) from the story of Samuel Bellamy

A frigid blast of the nor'westerly breeze,
the coldest wind upon these seas
ripples the leathery skin of his cheeks 
as he scans the horizon for what they seek

Their quest's not one for the faint of heart
yet they know the risks from the very start,
pain and death are always nigh
as they chase their prey 'neath a starry sky 

He stands steadier yet, on one old peg
than most men do on two strong legs,
upon the bridge; down in the hold,
his strength's a legend that's often been told

The sailcloth's flapping, the cold wind's howl
the waves that crash across the bow,
are his company as he stands watch this night
and readies his heart for a bloody fight

Though it's still dark, his eagle eyes
are quick to spot their chosen prize
he plots the course to set upon,
their quarry at the crack of dawn

His life has taken a circuitous route
from a privateer to this noble pursuit
he'd robbed the rich of silver and gold
but never before had he been so bold

He's wanted this for many a year
to liberate those facing the auctioneer,
the Whyda 's cargo was a shameful one,
Sultana would free them at the rise of the sun  

The quartermaster roused the sleeping crew
as the sky did pale, their courage grew
no treasure this time, no golden plunder
their plan is one of human wonder

To free those seized by evil hands
to be men's chattel in a far off land
'twas sin against God in all of their eyes,
liberty for others then, would be their prize


Copyright © David Brown | Year Posted 2014


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MORNING GLORY

At the crack of dawn, silently slipping out of the silky night Angelic faces wearing dreamy smiles, my day's first sight The crowing rooster just rubbing his sleepy red eyes The sun, on the other side of east, snoring loud and nice As I saunter into kitchen- "Mum's cafe, twenty four hours open" To begin nourishing my motherly duty with tender devotion Goddess Venus in a clear sky inspiring me, shining bright Blessing me with her vision, may the rest of day be alright Slowly as wakefulness dawns upon God's creatures on Earth I pack delicious bounties cooked on my ever faithful hearth Peering out I feast my eyes on a pair of frolicking proud peacocks Doves preening by the window sill, I wake lil one with sweet talks The skies still a bit dark and the breeze blowing soft and cool I pack off my first born, bag n all, with a hug and a kiss to school Prayers in a distant temple, chants and the sonorous bell ringing Aroma of hot chocolate, ginger tea fills home, I work softly singing When the rising crimson sphere bursts the splendor of his glory Feeding breakfast to a robust toddler, each bite, a new story! He'd bounce off soon to his playing den, cuddle his teddy and lie Sipping some refreshing tea, my hand at writing poetry I shall try. Yesha Shah 8/8/2012 For: A Couplet morning contest by Francine Roberts


Copyright © Yesha Shah | Year Posted 2012


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Both Barrels - Shooting Widows

My husband is a shooter,
Which isn't always fun,
As every weekend 
He's out somewhere with his gun.
So quality time together 
Can sometimes be quite sparse,
"But I have to have a hobby."
He tells me with a laugh.

Our daughters getting married
To a super guy called Tom,
Has he any faults?
I've discovered just the one.
He also is a shooter,
His hobby is the same,
He can't wait to get out 
And with his gun take aim.

So this week we decided 
To be a shooters WAG
And go along with them,
Maybe hold their bag.
So Lu and I rose early,
Up at the crack of dawn,
To go and watch them shoot 
On this early Sunday morn.

It was then that we discovered,
She's marrying her Dad!
Just a fairer version,
Oh dear could this be bad?
They speak the same language,
Of floppy stuff and rabbits,
They have the same mannerisms,
The very same habits.

They pull out their guns
From gun sleeves in time.
Pick up their bags together 
And up the hill they climb.
They put on identical glasses,
Taken from identical tins,
From behind they could be,
The dark and fair haired twins.

They stand and measure clays,
Arms up in the air,
Give each other
The very same stare.
Their heads move in unison 
As they watch the others shoot,
They both rest their guns
Upon their right boot.

They congratulate each other 
On a job well done,
Share a bit of banter,
Have a lot of fun.
Discuss with other shooters 
The angle of the clay,
"What is your score card
Looking like today?"

So my darling daughter 
Your weekends could be a bore.
When he gets back home again 
He'll sit and analyse the score.
We'll have to get a hobby 
That is just for us two,
'Cause Dad and Tom jointly 
Will stick together like glue!


Copyright © Elizabeth Kinch | Year Posted 2017


Details | At The Crack Of Dawn Poem | Create an image from this poem.

trucker coffee

though you may not be a trucker
never have driven a semi with your CDL
never 
ever
even thought of coasting up above the open road
putting thousands of miles beneath your cap
to the tune of
“east bound and down”---
you may have, in your short time on this planet, 
walked into a diner &
ordered yourself up a deep cup of
trucker’s coffee.

strong & without ulterior motive,
the trucker’s coffee will stare you right in the eye
and tell you
“look man, you can either add milk & sugar to me,
or you can take me straight, but either way---
we gonna be waking your *** up!”

trucker’s coffee is not made by truckers,
its not brewed only in trucks,
and it certainly doesn’t come from some island that
only truckers can get to---
but it is an honest
drink---
you know it when you see it &
you see it when you smell it.

it doesn’t offer up the slightly bitter mystique of your
french roasted arabica or the pleasant aromas of 
any of those classic 
coffeehouse
concoctions,
it doesn’t even qualify as quality colombian, 
but it may very well kick you like
kona.

mind you,
this coffee is not for the weak stomached---
it is not the light brown water that you get offered politely by your
neighbor, 
when you come over to discuss the fact that their kids are
too damn loud
when they are playing in their backyard at the crack of dawn on
any given 
work day.

it is brewed with the crappy water that only 
diners can muster,
where no matter what tap it is poured from,
it still tastes thicker & harder than any water you
have ever sipped from another---
there may or may not be grounds still floating in it,
and it’s overall warmth may range anywhere from
scalding hot to luke warm,
but the fact remains,
at one, seldom changing price,
regularly falling below $2.00 &
free refills,
you can’t go wrong &
you will be awake
very soon.


Copyright © andrew delapruch | Year Posted 2011


Details | At The Crack Of Dawn Poem | Create an image from this poem.

CHILD OF THE SUN

Born to this world in sixty-one
Another child of the sun
I entered in the dead of night
To breathe the air and see the light

Though rooted in the Netherlands
Together we would make a stand
The first son and the third of five
How good it was to be alive

From May until say Labor Day
The sun would call me out to play
So I begin to drink it in
And let it penetrate my skin

I' d climb the tallest tree in sight
Pretending I was taking flight
I'd skin my knee and lick the blood 
And rub the pain away with mud

Referred to as the middle class
Though what it meant I didn't ask
But one thing that was not in doubt
We never had to do without

So it was off to school for me
A place void of fond memories
No Ritalin for remedy
The classroom was like jail to me

The bell meant I had been paroled
My chair the first one getting cold
The clock was now my friend at last
With freedom just beyond the glass

Now entering the junior high
I learned of Lucy In The Sky
While Dylan spoke of rolling stones
My hair grew to my collar bone

The girls were filling out so nice
My studies had to sacrifice
Was told i saw through bedroom eyes
A trait that must be utilized 

The party scene would suit me fine
Preferring whiskey over wine
While using every pick-up line
I broke some hearts as they did mine

My adolescence came and went
I'd say that it was time well spent
But when I think of what should be
I hear the highway calling me

While standing on the overpass
My Chevy Novas' low on gas
I'm always looking to the west
A yearning burning in my chest

As Robert Plant sang "Ramble On"
I couldn't help but sing along
So needing to comply my fix
I stood beside I-Ninety-Six

Had Arizona on the brain
As I looked back at my domain
My mother felt this day would come
But knew where I was coming from

With just the clothing on my rack
My thumb would have to have my back
A mile down I caught a ride 
That brought me to the Great Divide

It took a truck and seven cars
Five days of sun and four of stars
Heard "Free Bird" on the radio
The lyrics tugging at my soul

The last girl in particular
Would take a shine to me for sure
She pulled over and made a nest
And slowly got herself undressed

So leaving at the crack of dawn
We wonder where the night had gone
My destination now in view
We said goodbye as lovers do 

I walked away across the sand
One with the sun as I had planned
My tracks were all I left behind
To follow if you're so inclined


Copyright © james younger | Year Posted 2015


Details | At The Crack Of Dawn Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Early Bird Special



Heard that the early bird catches the worm By now I should have a real big batch I'm always up at the crack of dawn With a feeling of exhilaration unmatched Joyfully welcoming that big yellow ball Singing some happy little ditty Even if I won a million dollars in the lotto Couldn't be happier, well maybe an itsy bitsy Wish everybody could feel this amazing joy The world would be a much happier place No wars no conflict just pure sweet love Wearing a perpetual smile on your face Seems like forever I've been called a dreamer I wouldn't want it any other way Just can't imagine how some people feel Wearing a sad frown every day Heard that the early bird catches the worm Well I certainly believe that it's true Just start every day with a happy little song And the sun will shine brightly on you © Jack Ellison 2013


Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2013


Details | At The Crack Of Dawn Poem | Create an image from this poem.

the enemy uses people close to us to try and knock us down

the enemy tries to use people to try and knock us down
but I am still smilling and not wearing a frown
I know God is greater and stronger than all things
and thats why today my heart still sings
I wake up early at the crack of dawn
and just keep singing even if i yawn
I feel revitalised i feel so new 
my Lord came and rescued me
and he will come and rescue you
I carn't explain in words how he kept me on my feet
and all my  pain and burdens he did release
he set me free from abuse and kept me safe from harm
when life Got a bit rough the Lord made it calm
I am safe and secure and all is well
and this is one testomony that i must tell
How amazing is the Lord that he does love me
how marvelous is his mercy and his peace shall always be.











Copyright © diane christian | Year Posted 2010


Details | At The Crack Of Dawn Poem | Create an image from this poem.

DO or DIEt

There comes a time in some of our lives
due to the things we ate,
our expanded girth tells us that now is the time
to lay aside some weight.
 
I’ll be cutting back on food drastically
at the crack of dawn tomorrow.
I’d sure appreciate your prayers
in this, my time of sorrow.
 
It’s grapefruit and toast for breakfast;
and tuna and toast at noon,
if I stick to my guns and this diet
you’ll be seeing less of me soon.
 
With varied fruits and vegetables
and 3 ounces of meat at dinner,
and 64 ounces of water a day
how could I not get thinner?
 
So, I’m laying aside all my junk food.
Yes, I will be an absolute saint.
But please, could you send up some prayer for me?
I’m beginning to feel quite faint! 


Copyright © Carol Connell | Year Posted 2017