Best Morning Time Poems
Each day dawns laden with secrets.
The morning dews are crystal balls,
each holding a secret trailer of
a fragment of day.
The birds, chirping incessantly,
gossip among themselves about the
delightful things you’ll find at
the weekend market.
In the crevice between the sun's
virginal light and last night's shadows,
an old friend waits for a
scheduled chance encounter,
bearing a gift of forgotten memories.
Fresh brew drips into the carafe of your
old coffee machine, tapping out
a Morse code of the new
thoughts and feelings that will percolate
into your brain in the hours to come.
And the curtains billow with echoes
of the laughs to be laughed.
The day is waiting to confess
its plans for you.
There is a sense of trespass
on this frost enameled morning
as I leave my footprints graffitied
across the white grass,
sending the noise of every step
to crunch my presence
into a wide, frozen silence.
I stop, marooned in the middle
of a crystalline surround
that seems so brittle that if I take
one more step I will cause
this fragile world to shatter.
It is so delicate, exquisitely beautiful
balanced on the edge of melt.
Even my taken breath seems
to send a threatening shudder through
its chambers. It would be good
to stay here, to be taken out of time
and become part of what is distilled
just below the quiet
of this blessed freeze.
But the sun now is coming through
the trees casting its rays across
the crusted ice. A thin, steamy mist
is rising. This lovely world is beginning
to melt and another is getting ready
to emerge. Birdwings brush the air.
My footprints are dissolving into grass.
What is time?
another spin around the dial
Tick tock goes the clock
Second to minute:A voice screaming
''Hey Doc''
Time to wake
Time to make a new
Feat to floor,seldom make it,except a few
These random mornings my watch I do not wear
I wake,smile and laugh''without the utmost care''
Slip up my double knot and dare the world...
On cloud twelve,now feat can't touch the ground
Nor would I let
Smiling a smirk sweetly smiling
Not one regret...
To harness this morning would be Heaven in a bottle that I must leave behind
If it is''as of now'' it has to be aged -potential to be a unique and special wine...
I raise my glass to the next tasting.....
Previous dawns flock together,
gather.
The hedgerows accumulate
with old and new. Sprigs and twigs
bend under the weight of
heaping feathers.
If eyes open too soon
then a few mornings go missing,
some are still catching up
they will fly in backwards
tumbling out
of windswept decades.
Eyes that open too late have to wait,
have to stare at a future blankness
while ears gatecrash the present.
Will the thrown newspaper
land on the lower or upper step?
Such collective collections
determine next steps.
The percolator has mixed together
a thousand morning
yet it arrives in normal time
as one brew.
Outside, beds creak in the tree tops.
blankets unroll.
We find ourselves on the verge
of all previous verges,
swing legs to touch a floor
that rises
to show up once more.
That goofball husband of hers brought her to this joint to see her get drunk for the very first time. She actually plugged her nose trying to sip her first glass of beer. Good grief. 20 minutes and she barely finished it. She walked to the restroom and I felt her teetering just a little bit. She likes the feeling though, I can tell! I sure liked it when she started boogying to the beat of the band on her way back to the table. Too bad Mr. dingbat won’t ever dance with her. She keeps tapping her hands on the table to the rhythm of the music. That’s why I have to write so slow. . . .
Now she’s tryin ta drink another beer but she can hardly stand it an her husband sez come on don’t ya wanna know how it fills ta be drunk? She says well at list I fill buzzd now. . .
The nice buzz wore off. It’s at least an hour later. She and hubbie got this idea to go to the liquor store. First time she ever went to one. She thought maybe brandy would taste better so then she could drink something stronger and know how it felt to be drunk. Brandy sounded sweet and fruity to her. Boy was she wrong. She took a little taste and it burned going down. That stuff sucks just like the beer. . . .
Wow she jus finisht tha hole boddle rily fast lik mebbie ten minuts ago so she kud fil drunk an she put me down ta finnish tha boddle in one shot now she kant evin kip her eyez opun UH ohhhhhhh
Epilogue: The preceding narration was based on actual fact. Upon consuming an entire bottle of brandy in less than ten minutes, "she" immediately passed out, and I recall she awoke in the morning having forgotten everything that transpired once she fell asleep. Furthermore, when she went into the bathroom the next morning and saw some flecks of vomit on the walls, she was quite amazed. Why? Because she had no recollection of throwing up, and she realized her goofball husband had actually attempted to clean up a mess in their house for the first time in their young married life!!!
By the way, Jenny, if you happen to be reading this, Shhhh. Please do not tell her other sisters. It would surely get back to you guys’ mother, and your poor upstanding church-loving mom might have a heart attack to hear of her daughter’s one transgression with the devil’s brew! Sincerely, Her Sober (albeit sometimes fanciful) Pen
Pokeweed waits
underground, snow crusts
small greenish white flowers, leaves entire
and alternate, black berries
poisonous, ripe late.
Waits patiently past February
when the sun stays up in the sky more than January
and six more months after that
past the peepers keeping watch
for every passing dog or truck.
We await our time
or have had it, or are having it.
Body in slow, not precipitous, decline.
Expend ourselves on work and wine.
Percent of budget expended, year to date.
I heard a redwing this morning
who might have been choosing a nest site
holding the spot against chevrons from the south.
Choosing the best site, away from predators, near water,
in sight of seed and buds.
It happens that when the pokeweed fruit pokes out
the chicks were born, the fledglings flown
leaves already leathery
and the weather has the faintest
hint of January's cold snow hold.
THE SMOKESTACKS OF AUSCHWITZ
A trail of smoke fades to an autumn dawn
as sounds of morning break unearthly still
arising to the day, some life goes on
while others have the fear it never will.
Some ashes drift about the morning air
appearing as do snowflakes in a stall,
to restless breezes they drift everywhere
and they are spread about before they fall.
Each life that was is slow in pure descent
and longing for the earth that pounds below
the mother of all life, where time is spent,
until time's all run out--it's time to go.
Down in the valley echoes from a train
awhistling here come the dead again.
laying together
in a luxury hotel
enjoying the feel
Teapot
Hymns a sweet morning will sing,
As teapot pours freshness,
In bowl of great antiquity,
To start the day with zing,
Hymns a sweet morning will sing.
A prized refrain- 7/6/8/6/7
Written August 5th, 2015
© Dr. Upma A. Sharma
Inspired by pic#2 in nette's contest
There are shoes my dog would better choose
For me
There are times a cup of coffee might love me better
And I have the morning begging the rest of the day
I have the chase, that places my looks in front of me. . . with no tongue
My radio clock being my one
and only coach now
No sense of making ‘snooze’ make ‘semblance of it all now
We get it going to the dollar
Some. . . rose coloured convincing eventual gain
The grin, even daddy didn’t get before he got gone
I am somewhere beyond
My dog and a cup
I have halted an altered perspective now
I mean ‘now’
The time before me might have marched my parents to a cause
And the time after that might’ve raced me to some. . . rescue
Mommy and daddy ain’t coming to us now
In the morning begging for the day
Take that tongue and actually, actuarially sip
That is where we meet. . . they had no idea we were making love. . . for the rest of the day
Do you really want to ask them how it tastes
G. Mattia/10
The early morning dew falls on my face
Telling me it's time for me to wake
Wake up and see nature at its best
Wake up, lazy boy! It isn't the time to rest
I look around and see the birds fly
Looking for food, so their chicks don't cry
Chirping merrily singing a joyous song
I find myself wishing I could fly along
Fly with them to the edge of the sky
From where I could see humans trudging by
Going along doing their daily chores
Will less, witless, oh! what bores
Look at the birds and learn thy lesson
It's more than a look that makes us human
When did we stop seeing the sights
Through God given wonders called eyes
Open them eyes and look around
There's much to see, much to be found
Much to teach our little ones
Lest they grow up to be no ones
The early morning dew falls on my face
But hey! I am human, I have my rat race
Nature beckons me to be part of her beauty
But all I do is work, and think, that's my duty
Take in the sights while you can humans
Because there isn't going to be a world for ever
Learn to differentiate between your work and your duty
Take a break and enjoy nature's beauty
…MORNING TIME
Every morning at four, I hear the slamming of the woodshed door.
The rattle of the poker and the smell of wood smoke, wafting through the air.
It rolls its way up the stair to where I am sleeping there.
The smell of homemade bread, toasting on the large black kitchen stove,
With coffee perking.
There’s honey and home churned butter, oatmeal hot, and brown sugar sweet.
Milk is ready to be strained and put in large steel milk pails.
Auntie’s in her Kitchen but has Uncle George to meet.
Now done with my breakfast and out the door, I run.
Up in the battered rusty truck, truck I jump, and so does good, old Shep.
It’s off to Grandfather’s farm we roll.
The sun is coming up on Brett Road, and smiles across the family farmland.
I see my Grandpa Billy and Great Grandpa Rufus comes with a limp
Outa’ the chicken coop, with brown eggs in a basket, as the cat’s wrap around his feet.
He comes up to greet with a large toothless grin and great bear hands he grabs and hugs me, His little JoAnne.
MORNING BAGEL
Consider this, as buds break out on trees
not yet a leaf, the sight that no one sees
as walking through the borough mesmerized
past ancient mansions seen, not realized ;
through early morning air, our sence of smell
arouses to a bagels morning bell,
it tells us to awake, this is a day
we gain another try to make our way
past tiny shops of books and pottery
of artists who record what used to be
and at sidewalk cafes, we take a pause
considering what's real, or never was.
We hear the groan of traffic come alive
the buzzing of our time and constant hive
but who can see the budding of the tree
that's made for us to always never see?
Consider this, of time we've none to spare
to capture in our heart the birthing there
no longer for a blinking of the eye
what time has brought along, too soon will die.
As you see, hear a few moments later a funny looking Huckleberry Hound dopey little dog
cartoon the families all time favorite as the children snicker, and everyone there comes
in the room just in time and laughs together. With our dog cocking her head slightly and
barking with us. As our kitten Timid whacks at her ears stops again and chases her wagging
tail, hysterically.
And I tell you if it is all I can do to cherish the freshness of these things, friend I
will. I tell you I've already won.
My baby's laughter there in the highchair clapping with his superman bottle sitting in his
diaper splashing away all over Him listening to Dave Matthew's' It's Not Easy To Be Me
waving it in one hand as he shimmy's and rocks too and fro to the beat of the ambiance of
the new day, yes, reminds me ... .
Our Oreo cookie looking kitten named pounce, playing alone today now there
in-the-rain. How everything from birth has remained so curious to him. His
resilience as he laid there with her saying goodbye ... . As Gracie his sister just passed
on, yesterday. So I feel fate brings us to this opportunity, gentle mercy, tender beauty,
purest of goodness, when willing, everyday. Though even we do, or do not pray.
Like the perfect feel of those glorious tender kisses. Sweet caresses flying footballs
bike riding scuffed up knees tender love and band aids humming-birds-humming.
As-they-hover by the honey water feeders. The dog barking Pounce and Timid playing with
their super bouncy ball bouncing around whimsically too and fro. The Mango Chicken
Surprise chicken in the Set-It-and-Forget it rotisserie. Slippery wet feet legs flung up
swinging arms and tossing shoes loud thunks of your older swimmer Son slipping coming in
from His morning workout on the linoleum floor being just freshly mopped right bye the
back door.
As Mama cries out ""sorry Son" the dog or cat peed and you yell too"" You alright", and he
yells back frustrated "Whatever!" "This is a crazy family"! "I want out" Let me out"! And
yes some other real good humor I cannot really hear right now, and as well yes I feel he
is like Jim Carry and Robin Williams and a lot like me and my morning coffee.
Still being drank all throughout whatever heat of the day.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HWJVmk8s9NU&playnext=1&list=PLAAF17CBEBB7C3D44&index=78
On morning-time drives, my daughter and I,
Would sing along songs which rarely were heard,
That music was playing seems to defy,
My recollection of photographs blurred;
Vividly now, still I see Ava there,
Rockin’ like Bono with snaggle-tooth grins,
Smilin’ at daddy from her special chair,
Laughter erupting as answers to questions;
Yet, somewhere near where my health went astray,
Were magical moments stolen from us,
Now only silence do memories play,
While tearful sonnets are written as thus;
So to my daughter, I say with all love,
Let’s sing again soon, my morning-time dove.