Tea Time
Lilting songs tuned up at tea time,
Mint scent pervades the nearby air,
No time better than at morn
On to start the day with soft taste,
Pursue the journey with a bang.
Early morning is the perfect time to walk the beach,
the cool water licks at my feet.
The soft sand is like walking on a pillow,
pretty seashells yell-pick me up.
My day started off with a bit of heaven on earth.
Breakfast done, lunch so far away.
It's never too early or late for Elevenses!
Perhaps a seed-cake, sweet fragrant and so very proper.
Or a steaming currant bun, warm, light and spicy.
Oh perhaps the splendor of a freshly baked scone with jam and cream.
Or delicate petite fours scattered with remnants of a dream perchance?
Who stole the plate the strawberry tarts, red, tangy and sweet?
Or the short-bread creams rich in flour and butter, filled with icing?
All swerved with steaming tea, brewed in a pot, warmed in a knitted cosy!
It's ten past ten, how can we wait any longer?
For the clock to strike - Elevenses!
Morning is of the most
Important part of the day:
It set the time
It set the tone
For the rest of the day
Set it right.
Every new morning
Gives us the chance
To learn, to strive,
And to be better
Than we were
The day before.
Ephemeral eternity — covers osmosis pinnacles
In a loving natural roots, nostalgia never fails
Welcomed. . .we wander — and cry
It slinks slackly not dwelling in the gloom. . .
Gestalt therapy in sepia tones offers an odd view,
Instant mete hourglass, scythe, magic mind wing
Proper, shining ruined glass before filters and pixels,
Cracks reveal truth, and hazy images evoke memory;
Digitally altered shots provide unadorned faces,
Silver stones — crumble under soggy streams
Love consists of endless childhood dreams,
We whirl, win, wildly in a whirlwind
Instants creep slowly — yielding assets to discard
Time lingers while instances ripple vastly.
It unfolds and emits a sticky—spirited symphony
Transitional winds blew as we breathed and linked
Instants ticked slowly but rose quickly.
Glide into golden heat of the calm night hour
Ashes rise on a summer's sigh in the breezy sky
Soaring over the willows, peacefully fly.
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.
Sometimes, we have had a good and blessed day
But we failed to acknowledge that fact
The weather was as beautiful as a peacock
It was sunny and the visitors were observing the bay
The birds were chirping and hopping all day long
The children were out there playing in the park
The dogs were so jolly that they did not bark
And the cats were cleaning the bowl with their tongue
Sometimes, we have had a good and blessed day
We take everything for granted, like it is nothing
We don't appreciate it and don't count our blessings
It is six o'clock, let's recite the angelus. Let the bell rings
We're blessed and lucky to be alive; it's time to pray
It's time to thank the Almighty; and it's time to sing.
Copyright © January, 2019 Hebert Logerie All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry
Find a place here
in the half light
of a morning where,
still damp with dew
and enameled in ice,
there is calm curled
under trees and dreams
linger in the mist.
There will be a sense
that the morning
has made room for you.
Stop here.
Feel the world pause
in this place of in-between,
before the real intrudes
and sends the day off
shackled to its clock.
Here, there is nothing
to be done
but to listen, let play
a dance of images
to move across your mind,
to feel that gorgeous ache
for something
that is waiting here
for you,
just out of reach,
yet within a breath
of becoming known.
Sadly, all too soon,
crows will appear
dragging their black ribbons
of unholy noise,
bringing with them,
the anesthesia of time.
A singular failure is the alarm
When used to late morning sleepers disarm
For as soon as it rings
They turn off the damn thing
And don't wake up 'til work's done on the farm
Hark! Tomorrow died yesterday,
Leaving us lost in sorrow and dismay.
The dreams we held, now shattered and torn,
The hopes we had, forever forlorn.
The future we sought, now lost in the fray,
As we wander aimlessly, with naught to say.
The path ahead, now dark and unclear,
With no light to guide us, no solace to hear.
The pain we feel, now mumbling and cold,
As we face a future that's stark and bold.
The wounds we bear, now deep and raw,
As we struggle to find hope amidst this flaw.
So let us weep, and let us mourn,
For the loss of what we thought we'd ardon.
For though tomorrow died yesterday,
The scars it left will linger and stay.
Warm air eases a pleasant drift
upon the morning over coffee
and freshly baked bread,
the far off sound
of the sea and birds bridging
distance to here in the soft
hum of Angie's Cafe.
Everything seems to be served
within a lull, a cupped moment
sipped slowly, unhurried
thoughts not moving beyond
the breathings
of an espresso machine,
the muted chatter of plates
and outside, the blessings
of a bright sun. The unstated
presence of a visiting joy.
How to explain something
so simple yet falling away
into such exquisite depth,
then hastening the moment's
passing by trying to hold on
as embracing lovers do
when time slowly begins
to pry them apart.
Where are those beautiful moments?
Yes, I have heard that asked before.
Can a moment be captured, recorded?
Even on a camera?
A tape recorder?
Would you look at it,
hear it,
feel what you felt
when you felt it?
Perhaps this morning conjured magic
but is now just that moment -
yes, something I felt
merely felt, then.
That is in the past tense.
(May 2022)
You're young
You're strong
Time will crumble
Time will humble
You, You and You.
You're beautiful
You're powerful
Time will fade
Time will get rid
Of You and You.
Enjoy your time now
Don't wait for tomorrow
For the inevitable sorrow
No need to tell you how
Carpe diem.
You're happy
You're pretty
Time is the enemy
That you cannot stop
Time is the enemy
That you cannot top
Carpe diem.
Copyright © January 2019, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
When the sky wakes up and there is sunlight,
and the sky become bright as white,
then comes morning time
waking everyone with an alarm's chime.
Then, we see birds chirping in trees,
and see the house of bees.
The morning breeze touches us,
and that's the only time we don't make a fuss.
Dew drops on leaves and flowers,
the beauty of morning, explains nature's powers.
During, this time everything seems so puerile,
and running 2 rounds is like running a mile.
And the advantages of morning can never end,
and if you don't believe me, ask your friend.
And then comes the night when the sun sets in the west,
But according to me, morning time is the best.
Burrowed beneath billowing bedding
Eyes strain to lift leaden lids
Sleepy slumber
Summarily shaken off
Dreams disengaged
Reality recognised
A glance at the clock
To check it is really morning
And the day can begin
A stretch and a yawn
The body unfurled
Ready to rinse and repeat
The cycle of daily rituals
And chores
With vim and vigour
Oh, how we strive
To embrace and conquer
Each today with fresh eyes
With keen hope
And good intent
Till spent,
Time and energy melts away
And sleep again
Heralds another tomorrow
And a farewell to this day
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