Morning Poem

So many poems about morning, of dawn, rebirth, and coming light,

of brightness and glory, lifted thought,

awakening, flow, and calm...

Sometimes I wish the ripe grain

were not always so soundly threshed

and every kernel shucked clean, leaving me

a gleaner with no part in the harvest.

I could revel in a congress of birds' songs

and new light pouring across my lawn,

buffeting the volunteer sunflower,

lighting corn tassels in my garden,

glancing off my neighbor's house and into trees.

I could make metaphors:

the morning breeze is a young cat,

fresh from napping, rummaging tree tops,

leaping the rose hedge, disturbing a bean row,

stirring at my feet.

I could say that morning mist fixes distance

in optical limbo, like those eerie backgrounds

in da Vinci's paintings - the land beyond

Leda, Mary, and Saint Anne vanishes toward

empyrean mountains with high peaks

yet to be scaled and mapped by the Master.

I may write no brisk verse of solemn strain

to equal Milton's far beaming blaze of Majesty

(often, fields of language seem winnowed clean).

Still, even when the rime comes hard,

I like mornings when I can sit quietly

on my back porch and feed exquisitely

on whole milk and bowls of hot cereal.

About these ads
Sponsored Content by LockerDome

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...

Loading...

Save for later

Save
Cancel

Saved ( of items)

This item has been saved to read later from any device.
Access saved items through your user name at the top of the page.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You reached the limit of 20 saved items.
Please visit following link to manage you saved items.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You have already saved this item.

View Saved Items

OK