Best Early Poems

Early Morn On The Old Farm

tomcat cat fast asleep
new house painted darkest of greens
old sun drenched, low-weeping willow
young black dog awakens
eager dawn, stretches its new legs
(1.) (living scene), no rhyme

Robert J. Lindley, 3-17-2000
New Poetry form,  Lind68868
(1.) (living scene), no rhyme
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New poetry form Lind68868
New poetry...

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grey wings soar the clouds
diving and dipping the surf ~
seagull serenade

Written 8/8/21

Contest: Your Favorite August 2021 Poem
Sponsor: Constance La France...

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I awoke after hearing a noise on the roof of the cottage, it sounded like a couple of seagulls, probably fighting over a piece of bread.
I was wide awake now and looked over at the clock, it said 04.00, and I decided to go for...

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The Summer closes in an early Fall,
late August with the maples' leafy bleed.

Now crimson whispers echo sirens' call
of nascent frost, to nestle unborn seed,
to glow in fire, then ginger, and indeed,

though swans sing not the day on which they die,
the summer trills its blazing final...

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It’s too early to prite woetry.
Let me hay lere in my bed.
I hartied pardy. Woe is me.
Oh, my hounding pead!

My joughts are thumbled. My oh my.
It’s hust so jard to think.
I heel so forrid; why oh why?
Did someone dike my sprink?

Good grief, it’s tuch moo...

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I love to watch a farm awaken in the early spring,
Especially as the birds in the forest happily sing, 
The farm knows how to be itself, profound and true,
Like the faded red barn, quietly beholding the view.

In this moment, the farm finds its serenity,
Between sips...

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Early morning hours greet me quietly after my rest
All that can be heard, are the birds calling from the trees
As the darkness fades and the light of day emerges,
My mind is clear, my body calm, as what stands before me
     ...

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The mirror reflects, obliquely,
a peculiar yellow butterfly -- it flutters, flutters
the specks of black my beard is made of
on the breeze.  A daffodil hangs down its treasure
and I spread shaving cream, in great white puffs,
shielding from the windy noise its yellow
across my face. ...

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I had much to accomplish last Saturday,
But far too many  things got in my way:

As always when awaking, I  took a pee,
then went to see the emails piled up for me.
I stayed so long, missed boxing class, so then,
I grabbed some food and...

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winter cowers
             in shrinking shadows…
                pale and sweating...

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When all the world is quiet
	And the night is fully deep,
A mystic moon is watching
	All the places underneath.
My thoughts like panthers moving
	through the jungle, they do creep.
Among the lingering shadows
	lies a naked hairy beast…
It’s too early to write poetry,
	Back to bed and welcomed sleep.


1/27/17...

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Early Mourning

I sift through his Taoist rants
searching the brilliance and madness
for something to make sense; to inspire.

And he does not insult me
with the dust of dead men
though dust is what remains.

Ash falls through my fingers,
as promised, plenty of his own decay,
pure and uncontaminated,

his spirit whispering...

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Early On

Sitting there alone in class
they said it wasn't cool.
He should not bring his bible
to read while he's in school.

The gave him detention
and they took his book away.
While he watched through the window
when the rest went out to play.

Then one day at home, at play
he...

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We forced her into menopause well ahead of her time.
Mother Nature’s prematurely changing and we’ll regret our crime.
We cut off her tresses that once bushed across her land,
polluted her oceans and soiled her golden sand.
Moody and unpredictable her volcanic eruptions flows,
fed a daily diet of...

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to walk in early morning's still

to see the silence through the chill

to smell the rise of dawn from night

to hear the sky's unravelling light

to taste the distant fields of grass

to breathe the dry stone walls that pass

to touch the earth's pure pristine air

to catch the...

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