Crispness Poems

The Morning's Picturesque Beauty

I'm waking up and rubbing two blinded eyes,
The crispness of the sweet-scented air in whimpering July
Rapidly spreads by a benevolent wind that pleases,
It allows me to discover by intent a sublime reality,  
Which is the morning's picturesque beauty:
Does strong belief interfere with a sense of great friability?

Nature can be brutal or pleasant, and yet it can fascinate
Us, when it suddenly embraces each sense to compensate
For the discontent left by a dreamless and unrestful night;
What we hear amid those eerie shadows is the cry of a cricket!  

I distinctly revoke such repulsing and unenthralling nights
As I wash their macabre images off with cold, running water;
Is a better day coming, prompting actions that don't falter? 
Harm is done when pain is accepted and tomorrow frightens.  

In this morning's picturesque beauty, I could lose myself
And wish that dreaming vainly detaches me from grief,
not seeing any delusional mirage on the journey to happiness;
I've expelled the vile demons that made me spew lies!

Phyllo

Phyllo 

Sweet taste of baclava.
Drizzled honey.
Crunchy walnuts.
Hint of nutmeg.
Warmed to delicate crispness.

My mouth waters.
Eyes light with delight.
Nose twitches in anticipation.

But…….
Here I stand at midnight.
My kitchen a doughy mess.
Rolling and re-rolling phyllo dough

My trials and tribulations
on display with cracked
and torn doughy pieces
spread across the counter.


Exhausted, ready to give up.
The baklava seems miles away.
Time wasted proving I can’t
make phyllo dough.

I slouch in my chair.
Depression seeps into my soul.
Then, with a grin, I remember
my favorite Greek restaurant opens
in the morning.

Familiarity

Familiarity

Familiar as an old book,
but priceless.
Worn and frayed like,
an ancient tome.
Pages bent and torn,
heavily perused.
Annotated musings scribbled
bring back memories.
The shininess, sexiness, luster,
crispness of new pages,
new cover long gone.

Marriage is like that old book.
Now used, worn and tattered,
but warmer, deeper, richer.

Good Ole College Try

Another summer song has come and gone; my tan lines are fading fast
When I walked the dogs this morn I could have sworn, there was frost upon the grass.
The farmer’s field is starting to yield pumpkins big and round,
Golden leaves from the nearby trees are falling to the ground.

I sit on the porch facing north watching school buses drive on past,
I can hardly remember a distant September when they stopped at our house last.
The tire swing is a forgotten thing hanging from the front yard tree,
But that’s okay because soon someday grandchildren will swing on it with me.

I can tell by the coffee smell my wife has come downstairs
There’s no fear she will join me out here due to the crispness in the air.
I gather the dogs and a couple of logs to put a fire on inside
From the fireplace I can see her face and the coquettish smile she tries to hide.

We finish up with the coffee cups with no plans for the coming day
The house turns cool as the fire loses its fuel and she puts the breakfast dishes away.
“I’m going back to bed”, she coyly said, with a twinkle in her eye.
I am an old man, but I still can give it the good ole college try.

Autumn Air

A chill creeps in at morningtime,
the harbinger of winter climes,
and yet the crispness feels divine;
at least it does to me.

There’s a scent of moldering leaves,
they flutter down upon the breeze,
the earth below they all will feed;
how it is meant to be.

Then comes a whiff of new wood smoke,
no, not the kind that hippies toke,
a fire that warms like a cloak;
it kicks up the degrees.

Out for a walk, the scent of blood,
that’s coming from the neighbor, Doug,
the deer he hunted, now he cuts;
a winter’s worth of meat.

This raw whiskey, it smells so strong,
in liquor stores in don’t belong,
liquid apple pie can’t be wrong;
the autumn chill it beats.

September Falls

Silent leaves, whooshing in serene showers
Easy to guess forests are born of hope
Pretty hues in gold, rum, toasted flowers
Tempting souls blessed by soft rains who shan’t mope
Endless nights spent with stars, gentle and bright,
Melodies of harvest stirring our hearts,
Bringing life to verses autumn will write
Ever awed by grandeur when the spice starts
Resulting in pumpkins, apples and more
Flavors of golden crispness in the air
Amazing gifts from God that I adore
Lingering inside, a grateful prayer
Laughing ensigns of grace so astounding
Season of still, cool wonders, resounding

EGG-STASY an ode to the gustatory ******

An ode to the gustatory ****** 
My mouth meanders through this dream
This memory of breakfast in bed
A lover seducing my every desire
Sweet maple, slight hint of flannel
A light crispness of waffle
Caressed by firm red breasted berries
A passing breath of hickory smoke
To mingle light sweetness
With the tingle of strawberries
Bathed in Vermont’s best maple
Eggs, uncaged, unfettered by shells
Sunrise yolks spreading across crisp waffles
To quell the insatiable beast of morning
Palate cleansed by the darkness
Of steaming hot black coffee
A tremble at the first taste of
Egg-stasy kissed by syrup
Teased by a sharp berry bite
Placed upon the edge
Of hickory salty ham 
My taste buds shriek
As each bite intensifies
My gustatory ******

Faith beyond our eyes

You are blessed and loved. Have Faith. Believe. Not everything has to be seen to be experienced. 

Faith beyond our eyes
By Michelle Morris 
05/07/2024

By the way of the New Moon 
When it's dark and the stars twinkle 
We can feel the holiness 
The newness of the energy lingers

In the crispness of the winter
In the Southern Hemisphere 
We embrace each other's hearts
Give hugs and cherish dearly 

In the warmth of the summer evening 
In the Northern Hemisphere 
We celebrate the comfort of our joys
Love and light and happiness 

Even when there is no light
Even when we can't see it 
The Moon sends her love to us
A reminder to keep on believing 

For the unseen forces of the Universe 
Are always part of our lives
God gently reminds our souls 
To have Faith beyond our eyes

© Michelle Morris, 2024

Masterful Art

The art was most masterful on the dark canvas.
The intricate designs, having rich color crispness.
Blending strokes together, shades creating expression
Giving way to natural warmth of self-expression.

Clouds floating across the fess azure sky
Like sailing ships over serene sea going by.
On a sunny afternoon two barefooted boys
Beachcomb the beach, numb to surf pounding noise.

Leaving footprints behind unaware of the world around
Them, ignoring the resonant sonorousness sounds
Of the sea, and inland cold air ruffled hair.
They stand on golden sand, slight spume unaware.

1/30/2024

Thankful for the Gift of Music

Music is my soul’s expression, 
a mirror of my deepest emotions
Its rhythm creates my mood 
Its crispness takes away solitude

Music is my unique art
It speaks to me through melodies of all sorts
Its energy refreshes my surroundings
By vibrating the cords of my heart

It is the sunshine to my voice
It’s a spiritual hobby of my choice
By spreading out its meditative harmony,
It transcends the boundaries of space and time 

What would I do without my music
I’m grateful for this divine gift 
So, I hum some soft notes
And create some delightful chimes for the nearby souls.

Cool Air

cool air of the morn surrounds
a crispness feeling so it seems.
sunlight appears on the horizon.
the end of nightly dreams

Smelling

TO BE ABLE TO SMELL THE SWEET SCENT OF BLOOMS
THE CRISPNESS OF FRESHLY CUT GRASS
THE WOODINESS OF A LUMBERED TREE
IMAGES IN YOUR MIND ARE CAST
THE SENSE OF SMELL IS SO DEFINING
IT ENABLES THE IMAGINATION TO BE FREE
SWEET, SPICY, WOODY OR MUSK
A CONNECTION TO IT THERE WILL BE
SMELLING SOMETHING AS IT COOKS
STRAIGHT AWAY IT’S OF FOOD YOU THINK
BUT THE SMELL OF SOMETHING BURNING
SUGGESTS FIRE AS THE LINK
IT’S A BLESSING TO HAVE THE SENSE OF SMELL
IT EXPLAINS WHY WE WERE BORN WITH NOSES
LIFE JUST WOULDN’T BE THE SAME
IF WE COULDN’T WAKE UP AND SMELL THE ROSES

Leaves of Fall

There's a crispness billowing in the wind today
Sending russet leaves swirling to the ground.
So many are falling and sadly being swept away
Soon Winter's chill will arrive, and snow will abound.

I watch them fly like slight sparrows on the wing
at the deep-rooted feet of majestic oaks and elms.
No longer to their branches can they safely cling.
How pitiful the thought of them dying overwhelms.

Farewell to the ornamental clothing you wore in Fall.
So long to your crimson and golden windswept tresses.
You danced to songs of bamboo flutes at Autumn's ball,
wearing tangerine and sage green wrinkled dresses.

I'll look for you when Springtime bestows new birth.
As tiny buds you will appear, from descendants born,
adorning giant oaks and elms throughout Mother Earth.
No longer for your vanishment shall I weep and mourn.

Falling Softly Into the Fluffiness of You

We could have our fights and make up
I can see your mood and understand that face
That beauty, the crispness of your lips
Let me explore on a sunny day,  a picnic with you
The freedom to fall
If I could please you everyday
To see your feelings fluffy cake 
Happy to share our story in full soft cover glory
In the end it is wind and dust
But when we touch its succulent lust
My mind is full of poems of you
Gimme lanes give me change
I’ll take them all to stay with you.
In a trance riding on a scorpion dancing on Eros back.

The Season of Change

Fall is the season of change
It’s magical they say
Leaves a different hue
A crispness on the dew
A cool breeze in your hair
Still sunshine in the air
Joy is all around
Leaves crunching on the ground
Orange little men with silly little grins
Sitting on our porch
Waiting for the night to come 
To light his little torch 
The day is short and slow 
Lonely due to night
But the moon gives such a glow
And a spooky sort of light
Fall is the season of change
In every kind of way
Except through every season 
My love is here to stay

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