Posts Tagged ‘“Morning”’

“Morning”

May 25, 2017
My beautiful picture

My beautiful picture

Sometimes you write a poem to dispel the demons of darkness. It is a particular touchstone that comforts, soothes the fearful breast.

MORNING

 

A wedge of sullen moon

Pales above

As life awakes beneath.

 

Birdsong threads through

Trees, a staccato cacophony

Anointing the air

Like colored ribbons

Weaving back and forth

The timbre ever changing.

 

Green spring trees, tender, tender

An early nursery of life

Can anything be wrong with the world?

 

The hammock swings gently of its own accord

Perhaps a haunt, a ghost,

Sleeping an extra hour before

Vaporizing in the morning mist.

 

Faint gunshots last night

Where someone would

Impose their vile humanity

And we are startled for a moment

Until reclaimed by sleep.

 

Morning hoot of a sleepy owl

Echoes the cry of a distant train

While seed pods from the maple

Flutter to the ground,

Airborne whirligigs.

 

We have survived the dark, again,

Its blackened mysteries,

Uneasy, things that could stop up

Our breath.

We are cradled in Nature’s promise

Of life again beginning with each day.

The moon above yawns, fades and disappears.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2017

 

“Morning”….a poem

July 19, 2016

crescent-moon

MORNING

 

A wedge of sullen moon

Pales above

As life awakes beneath.

 

Birdsong threads through

Trees, a staccato cacophony

Anointing the air

Like colored ribbons

Weaving back and forth

The timbre ever changing.

 

Green spring trees, tender, tender

An early nursery of life

Can anything be wrong with the world?

 

The hammock swings gently of its own accord

Perhaps a haunt, a ghost invisible.

 

Faint gunshots far in the distance last night

Where some would

Impose their vile humanity

Startling for a moment

Until sleep reclaims.

So it goes, this is the city.

 

The hoot of a sleepy owl in the morning

Echoes the cry of a distant train

While seed pods from maple trees

Flutter to the ground.

 

We have survived the dark,

It’s blackened mysteries,

Alien things that rattle us.

We are cradled in Nature’s promise

Of life beginning again each morning

While the moon above yawns, fades and disappears.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2014

 

“Morning”, a poem

March 15, 2015
Queen Elizabeth Rose

Queen Elizabeth Rose

MORNING

 

A wedge of sullen moon

Pales above

As life awakes beneath.

 

Birdsong threads through

Trees, a staccato cacophony

Anointing the air

Like colored ribbons

Weaving back and forth

The timbre ever changing.

 

Green spring trees, tender, tender

An early nursery of life

Can anything be wrong with the world?

 

The hammock swings gently of its own accord

Perhaps a haunt, a ghost invisible.

 

Faint gunshots last night

Where someone would

Impose their vile humanity

And we are startled for a moment

Until reclaimed by sleep.

 

This morning the hoot of a sleepy owl

Echoes the cry of a distant train

While seed pods from the maple

Flutter to the ground.

 

We have survived the dark, again,

Its blackened mysteries,

Uneasy, things that could draw up

Our breath.

We are cradled in Nature’s promise

Of life beginning again

And the moon above yawns, fades and disappears.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2014


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