I don't like
the shrill excitement of sirens
warning me of what's to come.
I would prefer
tapping hints into my window from the sun.
I can go without a quick start
with the false hope of an emergency.
Please, just lift me gently
and promise me that there's no urgency
when you wake me for the day.
alarms just don't do it for me these days.
breaking morning with the birds,
she glides beneath the rising sun,
a vapor trail of sweat and spent breath
drifting in her wake.
muscles taut, brow poised,
a stream of hair - airborne ribbons,
and stones shudder beneath her feet.
thundering along the hillside,
she beholds the world as it fades from grey
and the truth of things is shown
with the death of night.
another mile and she'll turn around,
set course for home,
Meditate how you see fit. Do what you're doing, as you do it.
Just as the
kisses the sleeping Earth,
your smile brings
warmth and light
I find “the morning”
to be subjective- despite
what the birds may say.
Late nights means hopefully late mornings. The heat brings open windows and loud birds. They would like me to know it’s time to start the day. I would like them to know I hope there is an outdoor cat nearby.
one day these hungry eyes of yours
will disappear in others:
that's what I count with –
potential pain is a gate to peace
when you'll go through wisely
you can find out
that a man is on the world
than in a company
such knowledge is dignified
it has courage, determination
style too –
and after all
there are too many wars
to take care
of these little ones
you bet anyway, I'll keep trying to keep you
what a woman you are
Maybe there is a grammar/meaning mistakes in my poems as English is my second language. Glad if you'll warn me. Thank you.
Closed eyes drown out the day
Until he stirs and his voice sings
A short poem about the soft stirring beauty of a quiet morning.
At last, my comrades
Be at ease now
For I have slaughtered its company
Ergo, the dawn rise
And the dusk deepens
archived May 2019