Best Soak Up Poems
Sunday Morning
I try not to wake him, though he stirs slightly
As I crawl out from the warmth of the covers.
I'm tempted to change my mind, and stay awhile longer,
But a glint of sunlight peeks through the blind and calls to me.
If I burrow down again, and drowse too long,
This glorious time of day will be gone...until it comes again tomorrow.
I tiptoe quietly and begin the morning ritual.
The splashing of water on my face, of letting the dog out,
Of brewing the dark, hot liquid that will help to
Open my eyes and recharge my reluctant brain.
The inviting aroma finally wakes my senses, and after
The first sip, I begin to feel the desire to join the world again.
I go outside, step onto the weathered porch, down the steps,
Onto the wet grass to retrieve today's bundled news.
Within it comes a page-by-page account of disasters, obituaries and comics...
I decide to forego all that gloom, and lay the paper beside the front door.
Instead, I drink in the morning air.
The new day is slowly coming alive. There's a slight chill.
This coolness will be baked away later, when the sun is high.
I pull my robe around me tightly, and sit down on the stoop.
Birds are chirping, and soon, I see that neighbors are beginning to embrace the
day.
House by house, there is evidence that awakening has occurred.
A car is cruising by our house. The occupants, wearing their
Sunday best, and on their way to an early service to praise the Lord.
While some are sitting in pews, singing Alleluia,
A man down the street is starting his lawnmower.
Not mindful that the Sabbath is a day of rest,
Or that he may wake a late sleeper.
Inside my house, I hear the sounds of water running and dishes rattling.
Then someone calling my name. In a moment he appears
Carrying two steaming mugs of black coffee, one for him, and another for me.
He's come to see what this new day has offered, and sits down beside me.
We sit together quietly, and soak up the morning sun.
It wraps its warmth around us, like the bedcovers we had abandoned.
No words are needed to enjoy this moment.
However, toast and jam, and bacon await us. So we turn and go inside.
Categories:
soak up, child, children, family, morning,
Form:
Rhyme
soak up the side streets of Montmartre,
Paris, Pigalle on Boulevard de Clichy
class less art combusts then drips
- street beggars & tourists cant
writer Rubbish pastes lace traceries
ala mode decoupaging decay
his cut-paper layers grace anoint
no longer anonymous walls
stencilist C215’s “simply a cat”
defies sourpusses not to smile—see
heaven art yes art with style
the banality of poverty held at bay
pureed souffléd life wolfed-down
colors synced
spray-cannoned Lothario’s like David Walker
entrance Picasso’s on the brink,
Romani-hearted paint peddlers
of the Republique
- street beggars & tourists cant
Thom Thom’s décollage rip-cuts
the billboard scene titillates the unseen
—culture-lovers—can-canned Lautrec’s
bedded with Che Guevara politics
come tilt with the masse
come play your part
in Montmartre
near Pigalle on Boulevard de Clichy
where wicked pissers defy
cliché
First Published in Clockwise Cat January 2015
Categories:
soak up, art,
Form:
Free verse
The sun poured through the window of my attic room,
shafts of sunlight- spotlights on the wood floor;
I got out of bed to soak up the morning sunlight,
and placed my doll on the window ledge-
while I went to wash my face- comb my long dark hair,
I quickly dressed in jeans and a t-shirt . . .
I climbed down the steep stairs to the kitchen,
grandma was already asleep in her rocker- snoring;
mother put a bowl of cereal on the table and milk,
(she didn't smile- she never did anymore)
all she said to me was, "get that doll off the table!"
I quickly finished and grabbed my pink backpack,
I put doll inside and walked slowly down the street;
to the park where ducks drifted on a silent pond,
I had some bread from my supper last night.
Then, I went to the church and opened the ornate door,
going quietly past huge columns to the chapel;
I had a nickel- I had found and so I lit one small candle,
for my sister, whispering, I miss you Susie . . .
I followed a secret path in the forest to my special place,
leaning up against an old tree and taking out my doll;
my pencil, my paper and began to write but stopped-
as tears fell from my lonely eyes . . .
there is still a lot of that little girl inside me . . .
______________________________
March 5, 2017
Poetry/Narrative/Another Morning
Copyright Protected, ID 17- 882-210-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudony.
Submitted to the, March 2017 Premier Contest
Sponsor, Brian Strand
Sixth Place
Categories:
soak up, childhood,
Form:
Narrative
I couldn’t help myself, peeking through the trees
at the white, glowing moon. It seemed so close,
so far away, meant for a gothic grace - the swish
of an antique gown, nearly floating in the midst.
Two trees held the moon between them; squeezed it
exquisitely, beautifully, tenderly. I’m caught in the light
of the luminous lanterns seeking respite, surrendered
to waning twilight. A twinkle in my steadfast soul.
Must I lose; I might linger, with my iPhone to control
the soulful image - what I will make of it. My backyard,
the trees thrill me, move me into the presence of God.
A scintillation of Eden, dumbed-down for dust-to-dust.
What spectacle of glory will we one day see; our lens
in eternity? Will we soak up color choices that stretch
forth one after the other? We can only imagine;
we can’t even imagine! I turn the moon off; step inside.
Categories:
soak up, moon, tree,
Form:
Free verse
I was a red-violet, sunny morning person, usually up at the crack of dawn,
When orange light poured from the east, upon revival, dewy green lawns.
With a cup of aromal coffee, I'd watch yellow sunrise creep in the window,
Enjoying the zestful song of red robin, while night and day were in limbo.
I would take walks at the golden hour, flooded in light, just after a sunrise,
In the serenity of wanton, floral summer, slowly unveiling a destiny prized.
Visits of friends were features of morning, for sunup fondness is infective,
As flowers soak up colors of white sunlight, telling of the new perspective.
Family and I fascinated flaming sunsets, fancy dancing like we had forever,
At evening fetes, long fated; like feathery, dark green ferns-wind treasure.
I lived in the house of taupe sunrise, always trending towards golden noon,
As fitful stars, flickering like fireflies, stay on course, in presence of moon.
Sunhats, sandals and pretty sunflowers, were summer sights on my street,
In tranquil days of wild seas, giving the selfsame roar, as it cooled hot feet.
Nearby stars gleamed like natural pearls, on nebulous nights of neighbors;
And the natural conversation flowed nonstop, like the whistling wind labors.
Bat orchids awaited watchful moon, yearning for caves among field flowers;
When ballerina orchids danced, entranced, by plum shadows' magic powers!
Crimson corpse flower was blooming, in a torrid wake, held in lazy summer,
And snapdragon seed pods imitated skulls, where future flowers slumbered.
One day dawned exceptionally beautiful, a sight bringing rapture to my eyes;
As plum and orange, merged with pink, gold and red-fleeing night disguised!
I went about my productive work, but I noticed the day did not seem to age,
Like a glorious history book caught open, when distraction didn't turn a page.
Although I was very puzzled, I relished a pause for precious, pretty mystery;
Like the lovely, floral pause of gemmed hummingbirds, in times of blissfully.
After several long and rapturous hours, testy time gradually began to move,
For a beginning ever looks towards the end, as if it had everything to prove!
Categories:
soak up, beauty, color, fantasy, morning,
Form:
Couplet
there’s something so endearing
about a late fall sun
so mellow so sultry
a warm toasty glow that lingers
and penetrates your skin
reaching through to the bone
your body craving it
moments so rare
you want to treasure
and stretch out
knowing how few and precious
those last rays really are
before the clouds and snow
winter will be long
and the cold disheartening
so soak up the energy
of that october sun
let it kiss your cheeks
slowly utter its last goodbyes
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~BYGONE DAYS OF SUMMER~ 2020
AP: 2nd place 2025, Honorable Mention 2022
Submitted on June 14, 2020 for contest BRIAN'S SELECT H sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
Posted on September 20, 2019
Categories:
soak up, appreciation, autumn, change, longing,
Form:
Free verse
When I walk, my chest nearly touches the floor
With tail wagging madly I know I can score.
The judges look at my teeth and nails
I give that steely look that never fails.
My coat is brushed to a high sheen
I am the proudest dog you have ever seen.
Bred to scent, chase and flush out
Rabbits and badgers, with my long snout.
I might be small but a tough customer
Lion hearted to defend my master.
,
So don’t look at size look at content
Judges chose me to win the old codgers contest
With rosette on my collar, nearly as big as my head
I walk around the show arena, thinking, where’s my bed.
Gone are the days when out in the fields I would run
Now I would rather lie in the garden and soak up the sun
Categories:
soak up, dog, old,
Form:
Couplet
Hark,
Listen,
Summer has arrived,
you can hear it in the pulsing air.
Watch it
as insects busily work.
Rushing to collect and pollinate
knowing time ticks on relentlessly.
See it
in the burst of colour.
Drink in the heady scents
of blankets of rampant flowers.
Feel it
as you gently touch blossoms
feeling grasses brush against your legs.
Hold and hug the gnarled old oak
with it's rough textured bark.
Taste it
in the Summer berries
that burst with flavour as you eat them.
In salads and tomato's and plump peas.
Savour
Summer's bounties
soak up the hot rays and bask in them
whilst surrounded by sweet Summer scent.
Categories:
soak up, summer,
Form:
Ode
What a beautiful, romantic day
Most wonderful day of my life
I soak up the sun, every ray
We're going to be husband and wife
The wedding cake's beautiful but where's the knife?
And where's my dad? He should be here
To give me away, oh my, oh dear!
Oh my God! What a Stag Night
I can't quite remember, what did we do?
Why's there a tattoo on my butt on the right?
And why is half my hair blue?
I'm panicking now about what will ensue
When in the shower blue dye starts to disappear
And the girl's name just dissolves from my rear.
I'm loving the stairs on the cake
A three layer
A triple dare
Of a husband number three
My beautiful day, I swirl for the show
Hubby number three won't be free for a while.
Still puzzling, how did I get here?
A triple trouble stands in front of me
The bachelor party a couple of nights ago
I wish I was free again
The knife in the cake crumbles as the sweet cake is savoured.
As the blushing bride I look all around
My brothers and sisters, eyes open wide
They look at the cake and at the groom frown
But they're smacking their lips but not at the bride
The church doors are locked, everyone is inside
When will the service be over, how long will it take?
Before they can get their hands on that cake.
As the blushing groom I nervously look at a sister
The brothers are scowling, her kids just grinning
Don't think you can back out now mister
My fate is sealed, my head is spinning
The priest calls to order, the service beginning
I glance across at the majestic cake
Like Kilimanjaro no knife could it break.
The wedding day rings dancing on the plate
Waiting to be worn on this forever date
The service ends, the wedding bells still ringing
The now wife and husband each having
A million thoughts running
The groom takes a quick glance at his years of single
The bride not holding back on this mingle.
She loving the stairs on the cake
A three layer, a triple dare
Of a husband number three
He is still puzzling, how he got here
The cake demolished to only one crumb
Just like his chances of being free
Categories:
soak up, marriage, relationship,
Form:
Prose Poetry
The fire crackled and spat out embers
that gleamed brightly in the hearth.
Yet unattended they soon died away
to become dull grey ash particles.
Just like a fire need laying and tending
so too does love to help it strongly flourish.
Careful layering of dry tinder and
a few wisps of newspaper tightly curled.
Twigs and small branches added next
then a flame is held out until it ignites.
Take care to nourish your love
and show them sweet tenderness.
Gentle fanning growing more vigorous
as all starts to catch with a happy roar.
Feed it well and soak up its heat
and watch as shadows flicker on walls.
Bank it up well so it slowly smoulders
throughout the night. Fan the embers
and watch the flames slowly revive
just like love does when cared for.
Bask together in its glow
as it consumes and flourishes.
Filling you with love eternal
as you grow old together.
Categories:
soak up, fire, love,
Form:
Verse
My bed is a vintage and very old
I adore the swirled black metal
nice to behold
so delicate each created petal
I inherited it from grandma long ago
and can never let it go
The mattress is not to everyone's taste
perhaps a bit lumpy and soft
with pillows placed
a perfect bed in my open space loft
oh, each night I lay caressed by my vintage bed
under a down bedspread
The bed is close to a window dormer
it looks really beautiful there
nothing warmer
in the sunshine the best bed anywhere
so cozy to just lay and soak up the morn' sun
before day has begun
_________________________
February 28, 2023
Poetry/Ode/Ode to my Bed
Copyright Protected, ID 02-1528-594-28
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Write An Ode
sponsor, Jeff Kyser. Judged 03/08/2023
Second Place
Categories:
soak up, beauty,
Form:
Ode
In a city as big as New Yawk,
There’s so much at which tourists can gawk
But the locals’ fast pace
May be hard to embrace
So if guiding them, slow down your walk.
You can never squeeze everything in,
So pick places they never have been
And of course, be a mensch;*
Let them sit on a bench
Or exhaustion will make their heads spin.
Have them soak up the buzz we provide,
Surely different from where they reside.
They may love it or not
But at least they’ll have got
Just a taste of what fills us with pride.
*an admirable human being
Categories:
soak up, new york,
Form:
Limerick
Submerged in thought, my mind flows.
I'm a majestic river
with all it's curves and bends
running over rocks 'round obstructions
gathering strength and speed.
Above I catch a glimpse of the sun
shimmering off the eye of young cygnet
so white and pure without commitment
calm, loving and carefree
looking to soak up all my nutrients.
to be young once again
with a new chance at love
no fear of what lies beneath the surface.
Making memories forgetting fantasies.
Here I sit lost in thought
about life and love
trials and pain
blessings and destinies.
Categories:
soak up, destiny, love,
Form:
Free verse
Submersed in thought, my mind flows.
I'm a majestic river
with all it's curves and bends
running over rocks and around obstructions
gathering strength and speed.
Above I catch a glimpse of the sun
shimmering off the eye of a young cygnet
So white and so pure without commitment
calm, loving and carefree
looking to soak up all my nutrients.
Oh to be young once again
with a new chance at love
no fear of what lies beneath the surface.
Making memories forgetting fantasies.
Here I sit lost in thought
about life and love
trials and pain
blessings and destiny
Categories:
soak up, life, love,
Form:
Free verse
In those younger years
I made a friend of the sun
And allowed her to bathe me
In brown creamy skin
In those younger years
I ran across a beach
And played with the sun
Let her sprinkle freckles
Upon my healthy golden cheeks
In those younger years
I had my way
With the sun
Took her in so many
Different positions
Under the burn of her sultry touch
In those younger years
I traveled to exotic climes
Just to enter my sunshine heaven
And soak up her glow
But the cave I now inhabit
Shuts out all the warming rays
The cave in which I hide
Repels all her sunny ways
The cave I made from earth and
Resignation
Never lets her kiss within
The cave I excavated
Collapses upon my daily sins
In those younger years
I once loved the sun
Categories:
soak up, angst, depression, introspection, lost
Form:
Free verse