Best Early Poems
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 world - and hold it there.
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 form: Must describe either 1. a living scene (one that is poetically possible to see), 2. a comparative thought, 3. or a dream.
Poem must list which of the three- this example is number 1.
Poem must have a Title
Syllable count must be 6,8,8,6,8
Must be 5 lines of verse.
May be rhymed or written with no rhyme
Note:
Yesterday, I found 6 of these poems in this new poetry form I created, written on a single page in one of my old poetry journals.
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
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 of morning coffee, so heavenly,
Tempting songs of cardinals, a melodious cheer,
Chips and whistles carried by the breezy air.
Who wouldn't be captivated by this wondrous sight,
As darkness surrenders to the emerging light,
The old barn stands, with no complaints or pleas,
No need for a fresh coat of red, at ease it sees.
The morning fog, a gentle, subtle trace,
In the fields unplowed, it finds its place,
Soon, corn will grow in rows so neat,
And crows will gather for a sumptuous treat.
Gently I inhale the farm's awakening charm,
Especially in the early spring's tranquil arm,
Where the soul knows no bounds, it's free,
Across an undefined horizon, a painting, you see.
Quiet repose, a vastness, the soul's delight,
A pretty picture as the new day takes flight,
The farm awakens with beauty untold,
In the early spring, where dreams unfold.
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 cry.
9/15/17
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 early to awake.
It’s ten a.m for seaven’s hake!
January 23, 2017
This morning we jogged early
I was back in my flat by six-thirty
From my tenth floor view of the Charles River basin,
The morning was incandescently flushed by the peach-colored sun.
The transparent clouds seemed stylistically stained, artfully workshopped,
which offered a softened, Tiffany glass effect wholly worthy of worship.
I can’t stop to admire it. I’m jamming things into suitcases.
Cramming things into boxes, giving things away.
I had a second interview Monday afternoon, for Johns Hopkins med school. They put the question to me:
“The semester starts in 18 days - can you do that?”
“Yes,” I replied, and just like that, I'm a Blue Jay.
Of course, I had to withdraw from the masters program but Harvard gave me a full (95K) refund - I think they’re more excited about my med school admission than I am.
I’m not afraid of discordant notes.
They change the landscape.
Take us to new emotional places.
Any major work is going to have them.
.
.
A song for this:
Hang on Little Tomato by Pink Martini
It's Amazing by Jem
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
--- It is a new beginning ---
Quality time waits at my doorstep for me to walk into
Consciously knowing, I can make the best of it all
As the birds call and the sun rises, I am ready to start
I am ready to move forward, beyond left over thoughts
--- To be all that I can ---
--- As I transcend ---
--- Into a new day ---
Heidi Sands
8/17/17
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. The nose protrudes, ridiculous
excrescence. A leaf half green sweeps up in circles
in the whiteness all around. A weak chin, think I,
of windy sighs. Squirrels crack acorns, crunching,
down into a patchy neck. Very unsatisfactory
remembering winter's almost famine. The trees --
appearance. Altogether so. Oh well.
Quiet. Steady. Sturdy. Oh well.
The mirror reflects, but not uniquely.
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 went downstairs again!
Decided I’d swim laps at 12 instead.
Felt tired, so I lay down on my bed.
Put the TV on; dozed off. Oh my!
Woke up at noon, so skipped the swim (sigh!)
Told myself I’d later use the gym.
Then called my hubbie - talked a bit to him.
Called a sister too and talked forever.
Thought about the gym. I’d get there never!
Decided to do lesson plans and got my book.
Went to the computer, but at Soup I took a look!
Saw some blogs and got involved in those.
Got up to pet the dog and blow my nose.
Remembered I had vacuuming to do
But had to write a poem that was brand new.
Decided that the vacuuming could wait.
Took a bath and readied for my mother/daughter date.
Put on better clothes and got to thinking
lesson plans and gym were off (my heart was sinking).
Happy nonetheless, I drove my car.
Went to my sweet daughter’s house; it’s not too far.
Drove an hour more in pouring rain
just to eat at Maid-rites once again!
Satisfied and chatting, headed south.
Taste of Maid-rites lingered in my mouth.
Arrived in Sandy for a film called Child 44.
Resisted smell of popcorn and the urge to eat once more.
Got home late. The dog was filled with glee.
I let him in the house as he jumped all over me.
My lovely weekend’s nearly gone. What fun. . .
when vacuuming and lesson plans are still not done!
(A list poem written for Sara Kendrick's "What I Accomplished Today" Poetry contest on the following day, Mother’s Day,when I actually finally did the vacuuming and my lesson plans! Nothing like putting things off till the last minute!)
winter cowers
in shrinking shadows…
pale and sweating
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
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 remembrance;
his legacy blowing in the wind
captured in my heart and lungs.
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 was out collecting bugs.
He saw in the shed out back
his daddy doing drugs.
Mom and dad went their own ways
his life was filled with hurts.
Over time as time went on
he turned his back on church.
So many things that he would face
with so little understanding.
Life for him it seems to me
had become just too demanding.
New friends made no games are played
he turned his life to crime.
Until the day the law got him
and now he's doing time.
Other prisoners come and go
each going their own way.
But they gave him a bible
now he reads it every day.
Why is it that we never learn
until our chance is gone?
To give our children hope they need
while it's still early on?
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 plastics, pesticides and GMO’s.
We sweated out her edges and turned her temples gray,
while her hot flashes melt the glaciers that dissolve more each day.
Her skin is dry and arid as she blazes across her earth,
destroying crops and animal life, unyielding, no longer giving birth.
We ravaged her Amazon where green algae and flora once flourished,
only two days shipping while populations starve and many undernourished.
Waken with a splitting headache as earthquakes and tornados roar,
we have become her burden with our excessive cries for more.
Gas emissions have choked her and left her in a daze.
The damage is done, too late before we change our ways.
She is like a bridge as our weight has caused her back to bend
with greed, corruption and the unconscionable conscience of men.
How will humanity survive when Mother Nature has no more to give,
what will become of our children, where will they have to live?
This is a time of urgency, but we have been fore warned.
Her end is rapidly approaching, for “hell has no fury like a woman scorned”.