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the Sandman Jun 2015
I have risen but
Have not shone, and will not do.
Remind me at noon.
KB Jun 2015
Twilight mornings remind me of coffee tables and study notes
Sometimes I smell spray paint through open windows,
Even on the nights I ditch my cans for insanity
Breakfast-less mornings are recipes for undone laundry
And unturned plant leaves and un-salted tears
One morning, the porch’s railings crumbled in my hands
And fell over on the splattered rug sitting outside the green door
That I stumbled over and waited for fresh milk deliveries on
I find unlit cigarettes on the windowsill that taught me patience
And tornados in a mind that is too beautiful for damaged thoughts
I press petals over open cuts that never get the chance to bleed
And ice the bruises that refuse to turn green
But beside laptop keys that spell out what they know
I hit dlt over and over again; that’s what I know
The only other thing besides surety strung on tree branches
Are orange leaves sharp suns coated in silver
The shark tooth hanging from a string around my neck
Was only a metaphor that caused trouble
Riley Key Cleary Jun 2015
I wake up confused
rubbing sleep from my eyes.
I jump out of bed
I walk towards my prize

Eye starts twitching
god bless me with haste.
I stumble out of my room
to the kitchen I raced.

Opening the cupboard
I retrieved my mug,
I slam it on the counter
with a resonant thud.

I pour my beloved coffee
now the day has started.
I drink another cup too
and finally I departed.
"Hi Riley!"
"Oh hi coffee."
"Your a slave to me"
"I... I know."

*Sorry for the wrong tense of departed*
William A Poppen Jun 2015
Some afternoons are sublime
beyond scripting
splendid blue colors the sky
and my lover's lips
taste like dripping honey

Some nights I hear the mantle
clock tick and music sounds
sweeter than it has since
those nights in New Orleans

Some mornings are like those artists paint
of sunshine shimmering on the water
my darling's presence seems
like a celebration without
the need of a parade

Some days are unique
love is easily earned
I can sit near my beloved
and watch love grow
Joseph Yzrael Apr 2015
The air feels heavy in the daylight.
Morning noise falls through the cracks.
Like unwelcome guests.

I do nothing.
But breathe in. Inhale. Corrode
Heretic lungs weighed down by sighs.
Combust. Purify. In fumes of nicotine
And smoke of papal white. Aware
Each breath burning away at life.

Eyes that see no oversight.
Curtained in ******* light,
Fade out of view

The room is shun away
The world lies flourish
I have made an enemy
Out of the Day.
Dana Meredith Apr 2015
The way you wake up and rub your dreams from your eyes is
mesmerizing
And the way you turn over and pull my body against your cotton shirt is
delightful
The way your smooth hair feels in the nape of my neck is
comforting
The way your eyes flutter and focus on me makes my heart
clatter
The way we wake up is
Bliss
Poetic Artiste Mar 2015
It
is
more
than
quiet
nights
and
sun
filled
musical
mornings.
Judypatooote Mar 2015
Morning is my favorite time of the day.
I'm always up early, downing a *** of coffee.
Time to take my Buddy out to play.
The sun is just coming up.
Buddy grabs his stuffed animal.
Today it was a giraffe.
And off we go down the street.
Buddy and me with my coffee cup.
The birds are singing, it's music to my ears.
How can such a little creature sound so beautiful?
It's funny how while walking you can see
nature in action. Tree's poppin, birds singing,
squirrels racing around the tree, for one has that one
walnut that fell off the tree.
Oh look theres two, three, four Mallard ducks,
on the ground under an evergreen...yes
fighting.
Walking by the creek I see a muskrat swimming,
and then dives into the hole on the side which would
be his home.
And Buddy look here comes another dog called Smokie
We meet and Buddy and Smokie wag tails and sniff
noses, and off we go in different directions.
By now I'm holding Buddys stuffed giraffe,
an empty coffee cup.
Home we go.
Now i'm ready to start my day.

~~~~~~~
by ~ judy
I wrote this last year...
Alyssa Feb 2015
aromas
of fresh linen, and
your buttermilk skin
pull me aside
from my late-night talk with the moon;
she needs her sleep,
you say;
and it's time for breakfast.



Copyright ©  2015 Alyssa Packard
All Rights Reserved
maybe part of me is still waiting for mornings to arive because it was your favorite time of day
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