Long Mornings Poems
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Friday night the weekend begins for most
Mothers, Fathers, with family members host
To be together with those they LOVE most
While a lonely man speaks with his Wife's ghost
On my computer the POETRY site
Saturday mornings some comments I write
My former students all work through the night
An old man see's his Wife's Heavenly Light
After Church, there is my A A meeting
Forlorn lonesomeness,now takes a beating
I get home; Featured POETS; I'm greeting
Images of my lovely Wife : Fleeting
Monday, a new week, new POEMS I shall start
I pick up my quill and write from my Heart
Author's note: Dear Andrea, all lines have 10 syllables(Thanks for the Spelling)
I still have to work on the format - aabb- This looks like aaaa but it's not ; a - just happens to rhyme with - b -
Twas the end of year when nights grow dark
And stars twinkle in midnight sky.
The earth was asleep and trees leaflessly slumbered,
Under the hedges sheltered small creatures and birds
While hedgehogs snuffled and dormice dreampt.
Softly it fell without fuss or trumpet,
Covering the ground with soft white blanket.
Stifling the sounds into still and quiet,
Laying on branches weighing them down,
Turning all the world white and brown.
‘Tis then that he comes all a twinkle and shine,
With shining toes and dazzling clothes,
With an icicle dripping from his nose.
Unseen and unheard pirouetting and pose,
Leaping and bowing until all is froze.
Creatures shiver and hold close
As star like, snow glistens and glows
But by mornings light and winter dawn,
He has passed by and gone,
Leaving only, the sound of twinkling toes.
`
I have so many friends on soup,
it’s hard to pick just one
To narrow down to just a few,
it just cannot be done
Heidi always brings a smile
Brenda tempts my heart
Sandy posts poetic dreams
Connie’s whispered art
Gershon really makes me laugh
Maureen, she can write
Hello There and Andrea
make my mornings bright
John, who makes the soupers sing
Nina, she’s a hoot
Kim can pen most anything
Pixie’s words so cute
Sunlite you are number one
you’ve always been my friend
I’m sorry I omitted you
it won’t happen again
Anne-lise always makes me think
Ilene sure can rhyme
Brandy’s thoughts are beautiful
Eve makes poems shine
Limericks are Jan’s forte
Affection is Cay Cay
Alexis, Chantelle, Carolyn
take my breath away
A warrior who floats on wings
A very Silent One
Bobby May bring happiness
and Spock, no wait, his son
Disco, Beth and Jeanne are new
at least they are to me
Janice, Tania, Sandra Weiss
much talent in these three
Line and LuLoo and Dear Heart
well, what more can I say
So many poets I call friend
on any given day
There are a few from long ago
when I first found this site
I can’t forget to mention them,
it just would not be right
Charmaine, I miss her the most
Paloma just as much
White Wolf wrote some crazy stuff
Darren had the touch
Agnes, Leanna, Anne-Marie
all were friends of mine
Becca, Dale, Lisa, Sue
Poetry so fine
Christy, Daniel, Freddy, Lin
so many from the past
Forever doesn’t happen now
it seems some things don’t last
But back to what I’m trying to say,
before this poems’ done
So many here that I admire,
it’s hard to pick just one
So, thank you all for all you do,
the kindness that you show
I’m blessed by every one of you
and wanted you to know
Inspired by but not written for Bobby May’s Pick A friend on Soup poetry contest
Oh hell, I going to enter it anyway. I know it won't win because it doesn't follow the rules but rules are meant to be broken, right?
A STAIRWAY TO NOWHERE
I want to dream
A forever dream
In a world
You'd feel at home
Where the laws of time
Are abstract
Just the two of us, alone
On a trackless train together
Racing to the sea
On a stairway to nowhere
Under skies crying rain
Running to find shelter
On a pathway through the trees
Just to see you laughing
Things that cannot be
I never told you
I noticed
The silent mornings, so withdrawn
I never told you
I noticed
Your hand slipping from my palm
I never told you
I noticed
The endless ticking of the clock
I never told you
I noticed
How you'd sit by and watch
I never told you
I noticed
Every second, but it seems
Everything I wanted
Only possible in dreams
*
Your doorway with the broken light
Shadows where we went to hide
You so cold, against my soul
I fold you deep inside my coat
Look to things, all unknown
A sky so vast, eons old
How stars long dead, hang on to life
Why flowers given, have to die
All you left, may still be there
On our stairway to nowhere
Upon a time
I owned every summer.
I held copyrights on clear sunny mornings
and long timeless days.
Young girls that, upon a time, had laid down
in the long, sweet grass with a boy,
and hawks that led to the far ahead, path-finding
for sneakers, I knew them all.
Then a summer light began to leak
from cold fingers.
The slow dead of night
wrote many a head-dream for the sleepless,
it was then that emerging truths recalled
that some sunny summers were only fiction;
were tales stolen from another boys life,
and some summers were too real to be revisited,
for they lived still in a black and white
horror movie.
Other summers borrowed their sunshine,
subleasing girls not laid with,
and loaning hawks that never flew,
they were ‘upon a time’ props.
Maybe, upon a time,
we all had magic flying sneakers
that could enter any summer day we chose
…maybe.
It's not a tale told by a bard,
Theadora was a gift from God:
that light gliding over vawes
at sunrise, as it showed
all its splendor on mornings
of melodic sound.
Theadora loved Mark...
that was her ingrown spark,
never ignored or put aside;
they enjoyed being one.
Was there a jealous threat
that could separate them
and wound their pride?
Was their hope gone?
The beautiful memory
of Theadora and Mark
lived on in poetry,
never forgotten
by lovers who remembered
it quite often;
somebody saw the tragedy,
how they drowned screaming
in a troubled sea colder than ice.
He didn't help at once,
all he felt was revenge increasing.
Their pain was sharper
than a shrieking lark
that lost his life
in that terrible hurricane.
Got a mountain of troubles a'sittin' by my door,
Been so long it's worn deep heel grooves in the floor.
Every day I step around it, sayin' "Tomorrow will do,"
Got a backlog of pleasures, I'd much rather pursue,
In the long line of excuses standin' in the same queue.
You gotta love - wot you don't wanta do,
Truly learn to love, wot you don't wanta do.
Quit wrestlin' shadows and fightin', what's black 'n blue.
You gotta love - wot you don't wanta do.
I've been hidin' from the hard stuff.
Puttin' off what's overdue. Lord ain't it true!
But the trick is to learn to love it.
See the gold a'hidin' in what you're goin' through.
Funny thing about your stubborn resistance—
it'll wear your spirit right through to the bone.
Till you learn to dance with troubling things,
like an old friend a'findin' his way back home.
I cursed the rain clouds till I loved dancin' in the rain,
Cursed cold mornings till I saw red 'n gold in dawn again.
Excuses were the burden, stackin' up in plain view,
The bitter the medicine it tastes, the better it heals you.
You gotta love - wot you don't wanta do,
Truly learn to love, wot you don't wanta do.
Quit wrestlin' shadows and fightin', what's black 'n blue.
You gotta love - wot you don't wanta do.
So I kicked aside excuses, sent them down the road.
Stopped askin' "Why Me?", and picked up the load.
Not so bad, when you got started, a pleasant change of view.
You gotta love 'em, or they'll choke your chimney's flue.
Funny how the weight gets lighter once you push on through.—
The job ain't prettier, but the sky's still shinin' azure blue.
With real worth and purpose, now it's wot you wanta do.
And the pile gets ever smaller, the more you choose to do!
You gotta love - wot you don't wanta do,
Truly learn to love, wot you don't wanta do.
Quit wrestlin' shadows and fightin', what's black 'n blue.
You gotta love - wot you don't wanta do.
My Lineman Dad
Dad, I see you scale those towering poles,
Braving stormy skies and bitter cold.
Your hands, worn strong, hold steadfast tight,
Repairing the lines to bring us light.
Through sleepless nights and endless calls,
You face the wind, the rain, it all.
A guardian of the current's hum,
Ensuring life's rhythm will always run.
I remember the mornings you'd rise before dawn,
Boots by the door, your gear already on.
Though the world may not know your name,
To me, Dad, you're a hero all the same.
Your hard work shaped the life we lead,
A quiet strength, a noble creed.
And when you'd come home, tired and worn,
Your smile, Dad, felt like the sun reborn.
So here's to you, my lineman, my guide,
The man I admire with limitless pride.
Your courage, your care, your unwavering way,
Will light my heart through every day.
[opening]
The morning slips in quietly—
that thin gold right before the sky wakes up.
A blackbird tries a note outside my window,
testing the air
like it isn’t sure San Francisco wants to listen.
A Muni bus sighs down Church Street,
the long exhale it gives
before it makes up its mind to leave,
and the sound lands in my chest
like it remembers something about me.
[section I]
Frost hesitates on the window,
and the radiator clicks—
same nervous rhythm as last February.
There’s a coffee ring on the sill
I’ve stopped pretending I’ll clean;
some things just stay
because letting them go requires more energy than I have.
The light touches everything—
warm, but the air still tastes cold.
I don’t know why,
but that contradiction feels true.
[section II]
Your ghost moves through the hallway,
quiet, careful,
like it doesn’t want to wake the new version of me
I’m trying to build.
You always said the fog made this city
feel like a half-finished sentence.
I hear that now—
in the rooms, in the walls,
in the parts of me still rewriting themselves.
And it’s strange
what I miss
and what I don’t.
[refrain — soft center of the song]
I’m stitched together by mornings,
threads uneven,
pulled tight by hands
that aren’t steady yet.
Not whole,
but not gone—
just learning the way light moves through me now.
Learning how to breathe
in a paler shade of blue.
[section III]
The fire in me is small—
more ember than flame—
but I keep my palms close.
It’s warm enough
to make me think hope might return quietly,
unannounced,
like someone slipping into a room mid-song.
[closing]
Downstairs,
someone’s burned their toast again.
Somehow that helps.
The city stirs,
and I follow—
slow, uneven,
but moving
toward that paler shade of blue.
Feels a long way sometimes
A long road if not a lonely one
For the sun never always shine
And how did I know I’m done?
Yet a night to sometimes present a light
As oppose to mornings in the dark
An afternoon perhaps it just might
Whence a simple soul shall share a likeliness apart
Perhaps only nearer the road shall be
Never too far we always do tend to stray
And as always its only further we see
When we foolishly agree how life never is okay
How is to oppose I’m never to know
How do I agree, how do I pretend?
And how much more is there life to show?
For whence ever alive...there never is an end
Been a long way... sometimes
My long road if it ain’t a lonely one
Have I forgotten to see a Sun there shine?
Yet somehow I know I’m done