Long Morning Poems
Long Morning Poems. Below are the most popular long Morning by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Morning poems by poem length and keyword.
Arising early each morning
I glance toward you.
Asking myself this question
Can this be true?
Am I deserving
of this mess I see?
Can you not just once
be flattering to me?
You stare at me and
though declining to say.
I know you'll return
What I give you this day.
Though I'm complementing seeking
You're truthful with me.
Being painfully honest
as only you could be.
While pointing out flaws
as i shave and dress.
You also let me know
that my hair is a mess.
I just smile and wink
thinking this might work.
But your message to me
brush your teeth, you big jerk.
You're hard and critical
but come what may.
I'm the head of this house
I'll have the final say.
A flip of the switch
and I'm on my way.
Leaving you alone
to face the wall all day.
In reality, if I look so-so
or maybe a mess.
You always see and return
No more or no less.
As all others see me
to myself you will show.
For when facing a mirror
"That's what it be like Bro
Arising early each morning
I glance toward you.
Asking myself this question,
can this be true?
Am I deserving
of the mess I see?
Can you not just once
be flattering to me.
You stare at me and
though declining to say.
I know you'll return
what I give you this day.
Though I'm complement seeking
you're truthful with me.
Being painfully honest
as only you could be.
While pointing out flaws
as I shave and dress.
You also let me know
that my hair is a mess.
I just smile and wink
thinking this might work.
But your message to me
brush your teeth, you big jerk.
You're hard and critical
but come what may.
I'm the head of this house
I'll have the final say.
A flip of the switch
and I'm on my way.
Leaving you alone
to face the wall all day.
In reality, if I look so-so
or maybe a mess.
You always see and return
no more or no less.
As all others see me
to myself you will show.
For when facing a mirror
"That's what it be like Bro."
They walk a different path each morning
as a new day’s begins to glow..
They fill a picnic basket and they drive
It doesn’t matter where they go.
They gather with their friends and family
to spend a moment or two.
sometime they sit
sometimes they eat
It doesn’t matter what they do.
They love to play any kind of games
their children and grandchildren might choose
It doesn’t matter if they win
It doesn’t matter if they lose.
If you ask them why it doesn’t matter
they have a simple reason why.
If you ask them why it doesn’t matter
they have but one reply…
You see…they know that life is short…and precious
and every moment they’re awake
it’s not the size of the memory that’s important
it’s how many they can make.
I come from a long line of tea drinkers
just plain orange pekoe tea
we went through many tea pots
have you ever seen tea cozies
they were meant to keep the pot warm
my mom was very particular about the spout
she said it had to be exactly the right shape
to avoid dripping when pouring
we had tea, morning, midmorning, lunch,
afternoon, supper, after supper, at bedtime
we had tea anytime ...
I love my tea very hot
making sure I have to very first cup
we put milk in ours
never honey or plain
there is something so homey about tea time
oh, I recall those days past
of storytelling while drinking tea
grandma would say when things went wrong
come, I'll make you a nice cup of tea
she seemed to think tea would cure all our woes
and I think they did
or was it the conversation
yes, I have my favorite cup
not dainty but not too big and not quite mug
my cat likes tea also
she kept drinking mine
so I make her one (I think its the milk)
she has her very own cup now
I love sitting by the fireplace with my tea
just relaxing on a cold winter night
what could be more delightful
arising on a poetic morning...
as the sharp rays
of sunlight
meticulously sliced
through lingering clouds
to sculpt away the web of darkness
of night
i broke off a piece of time
and used its jagged edges
to scrape away the corroded pain
of doubt
today I will
pull out words
and paint images of life
on a paper canvas---
chisel out a song of love
and feel and smell
the warm breath of God
soothing my sweet serene soul
Would if you would---arise
come journey with me
in the ecstasy of a poetic odyssey---
wandering the Odin-like caverns
of the fertile womb
of my mind’s coming
to meet the morning’s dawning.
Whip Whistle Garden Spot
There is a garden.
It is in a small town, in the middle of the park. A place has been dug up on purpose.
No one was angry when it happened. It was just fine, with all concerned.
If there were people that had doubts or troubles over the matter,
they were either silent or planted, later… we can discuss that as it goes.
The size… the beginning, only 100 paces square, but it soon did not stop there.
Mr. Harvey brought his back hoe. Taylor brought shovels by the truck load.
Grandma, brought treasure. Seeds from a 100 years of history, saved.
“They can try to erase us, but we come back, a thousand times stronger.”
Just like the weeds… that bring the bees, in early spring.
The children lined up. They each had gloves and aprons and smiles.
This was a good day all around. No one was sad.
We were planting the future together.
Water, sunshine and time, thyme willow and bark, larks, hummingbirds and eagles…
The Spot. The magic spot. Everyone came from all around.
The Garden Spot to be…
near a tree, for free.
The highway put in a special off ramp, a sign that read, “Don’t miss this.”
In large letters.
A few drove on. Some did not.
Then others. Then no one went by without saying hi.
This was Whip Whistle… the beginning of everything….
On the road to where you should not be going in the first place.
We laugh we cry we are one. Stand together under the sun.
Feed the birds, water the carrots, and hug each other…
but what ever happens…
Make sure you find the time… to come by….
Where things don’t matter,
Bad things are taken out in back and beaten, then grounded…
or made into dark mulch and used properly among the fauna.
God give you a good day.
Whistle all the way…
Come by when you can…
A friend.
A bright array of rainbow hues
adorns the parchment now and then,
and gives a glimpse of writer’s views,
an image brushed by poet’s pen.
The yellow hues of morning sun,
the break of dawn described in verse,
or crimson sky as day is done
when, in the sea, sun will immerse.
A poem of gentle flower’s bloom
who’s petals drip with morning dew;
‘tis nature’s soft pastel perfume,
or metaphor of passion’s hue.
A verse of mountains white with snow
or verdant forest lush with pine;
the grass cloaked valley down below
where streamlets flow through scented vine.
Emotions penned within each verse;
sometimes a melancholy blue,
or red with passion to coerce
their dreams, as lovers’ lives renew.
A verse of lost love penned in rhyme,
or poem lamenting loved one’s death;
a lilt of lovers held by time
as passion takes away their breath.
A writer’s dream as brushed with quill
upon the parchment comes to life
as vibrant rainbow colors spill
his heart, with its emotions rife.
This poet’s heart, a calm serene,
he sees the world in many ways,
and with his pen he paints the scene,
preserved in time, a moments gaze.
September 2, 2020
I slowly come to
as light creeps across the floor
and dissolves what I thought
had fallen through
the torn sides of a dream.
Nothing is there but
the scuff marks left
by fleeing ghosts.
Unalterable facts assemble
and lock shut around
a narrowing space housing all
that I think I am.
Faces appear and find
their place in the gallery
of portraits, some smiling
others wearing a haunting
sadness. Love attaches
and takes up the tension
as thoughts move and stretch,
each nerve linking
to a loved one. I hold on
and hope it's enough.
Then fear rummages through
its wardrobe of masks, trying on
each to see what best fits
the day. It likes to look ahead.
Morning begins its rituals
to hold back a harm
that hangs over me
or stop the countdown
ticking towards some
menacing, undisclosed
catastrophe.
Woke up in the morning and moved towards the balcony,
Felt the breeze attractive; spotted some birds tiny.
Wondering why every morning is so special,
With some new vibes and a new potential!
Hours just flew by and the afternoon came,
I sprawled and then played a game.
My body became torpid and so was my mind,
Only the dullness was left behind!
I went outside and got engaged with nature,
Found vivacity like a hidden treasure!
Clouds floating, birds chirping allured my eyes,
I was in love with this paradise!
I came back and rested for a while,
With the gift of nature, which was a smile.
The other distractions didn't distract me,
As I was already distracted by the nature's beauty!
In the night, I was gazing at the moon,
Through the window in my room.
Recalling my whole day situations,
Thinking that, nature would be the best remedy to avoid distractions!
I concluded that afternoon time would not be always dull,
Rather, it depends upon the people.
Those who could keep the distractions aside,
Would have joy and tranquility by their side!
Our mind is a void in the dawn,
Having least distractions in its lawn.
That is why morning seems a special time,
Till the clock struck nine!
Let us keep the distractions far,
To come with the geniuses at par.
Distractions will always try to distract you,
But be a more vigilant or else become a statue!
I awaken well before dawn has thought of yawns
It is quiet then, and quite eerie in a way.
The peace deadens distractions, death-hour mourns.
The mind awakens refreshed, sparked by noir cafe.
Contemplation peaks then, and declines throughout the day.
There is no rush to milk the cows or other things.
No deadlines to meet; the slate is clean and ready.
What else can you do at such an hour, but think upon what morn brings?
No one else is mad enough to be up then, all fresh and chatty
Even the shops and streets are all mostly empty.
The sounds are muffled, hushed to not disturb,
Even the birds call out in toned-down tomes,
just to say 'Gidday' with a contrite little blurb,
like those asleep, snore gently and mutter in dreamy moans.
It is so quiet, that you can hear their gentle breathy tones.
A cock crows, a bell tolls, the garbage truck bangs day open.
The first light rings an alarm; the pre-dawn think-tank session is over.
'Good Morning' can be annoying if your stuff not strut and done.
The clatter, toil and bustle of the day makes chaos of the order,
which can only return - past day, past night, in pre-dawn embroider.
Your beauty reflects on me in the morning sun
Having you by my side makes my life so much fun
You can bring out the very best in me
You’re the guiding light that sets me free
When I wake up in the morning with you by my side, love begins to flow from my heart
Another day of happiness is surely to start
Our future together is etched in stone
I will always be there when needed , you will never have to feel alone
Our journey through life will present many challenges along the way
Let us explore life together with all our energy to get the most of each day
We never know when when we will get the call that time on earth is coming to an end
Every day will show you how much you mean to me by showering you with all the hugs and kisses I can send