Best Introspectionmorning Poems
Ever since he was a child,
I had the sense, the good sense.
that I didn't need to intrude much.
He went his own way,
and I was needed only
for a bit of advice here,
some information there,
some questions of concern,
some good conversation.
Often times it was as if
I was talking to myself,
only thirty years younger
and smarter.
This morning I got up early,
just in case he needed
to be awakened for his
first cross-country trip.
He didn't. His alarm went off,
precisely at four,
and he was up and packing.
I hovered on the sidelines,
asking questions, but
he had already answered them.
He did humor me by accepting
my offer of a jacket cause,
"They are much more formal there
than we are here,
and it is much colder there,
than it is here,
this time of year."
But that was the best advice
that I could offer because he had
thought of everything else.
His ride arrived and we said our good-byes,
and he drove off into the morning darkness,
into his life, and I was so proud
of the arrow that I had launched
and so sad to be the bow
that's left behind.
Lying awake abed and all slept out
I listened to the falling morning rain.
The pitter-patter landing in the spout
Made rhythmic sounds while flowing down the drain.
In vain I tried composing rhyme to it
Instead I found myself just mesmerized.
The drip, drip, tap, tap I must admit
Had totally rendered me hypnotized.
While in this early morning conscience sleep
An inner voice of mine began to speak:
You are a fool to think while angel’s weep
The muse will help you in the quest you seek.
When the rain stops and angels dry their eyes
It’s only then a poem can be devised.
There's history written upon my face
Lines and curves do not erase
My eyes are circled, my lids now sag
I carry around a stomach bag
My fanny's tired and pulls my frame
It's not arthritis, sloth is to blame
My shoulders groove from straps too tight
But still, stuff hangs, both day and night
My toenails thicken, jog left and right
My eyeglasses strengthen to aid my sight
My nails sport acrylics shaped just so
They're already neat wherever I go
I'm amused each morning as I search the mirror
For neck supports that seem to wither
Somewhere or other I've lost some inches
One foot has widened, one shoe now pinches
The mystery of how I shall evolve
Gets me up each morning to try and solve
The meaning of aging, it’s such a bother
I look in the mirror and see my mother!
The quiet solitude of the early
Hours of morning while Humanity
Is still asleep, soothes and heals my Psyche.
The hum of my computer while I type
Is the only bearable sound. I succumb
To this transcendental inner sanctum.
Away from those raucous sounds that are caused
By the beast’s awakening. Injuring
Noise that reverberates throughout my brain
Resulting in insensitivity.
Longing once again the tranquility
Only the early morning balm provides.
I’ll relish this comforting quietude
Until the beast once again rears it’s head.
As the rooster crows with vigor, I wonder was it on a morning like this that he arose from
that cave tomb? A morning like this where the angel touched down? Peter as you heard the
roosters that morn after you had wept in disbelief of the weakness within yourself, the brave
soul that would die with him, protect him, but then in horror at yourself you coiled as the
third denial left your lips and Jesus looked at you_____How may times and how many ways,
how many days do my action and thoughts deny my love, dedication, high calling...So many
that I can't number them. As the sun rises on the distant horizon and mist rises from the
earth especially on the creek, does the stink of the sins of humankind float upward to your
home in the third heaven?? No, for they are covered by his shed blood____Acceptance is all
that is needed and turning around__repentence..Now the sun with a blaze rises that fire ball
that now has turned orange__vibrant orange__Heat for the day will wilt my Spirit but now in
this present moment it is wonderful ___The feeling of God's love.....