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Anais Vionet Aug 2021
I’ll miss summer mornings on the lake.

Waking before sunrise to rooster-like loon calls.
Sipping coffee as the sky passes black to blue via orange,
the primordial seeming low, silver fog,
the first searing glints of reflected daylight
like bright angels announcing morning.

Jumping in that electrically cold water
and moments later - shivering
in the towel’s warm, comforting embrace
as the fresh day starts to warm.
nature's noises  both gentle and trumpeting, gradually awaken.
Maria Mitea Aug 2021
warm sun  
burning my lips, cheeks, shoulders, *******,
skin
i opened my eyes and saw how we lost one of our lives -
all that remained was thirst until  our lips cracked,  and
we snacked the lives that remained unstolen.
hazem al jaber Jul 2021
Morning's kiss ...

hug my lips ...
with your words ...
let them ...
dance ....
with my lips ...
letter by letter ...
word by word ...
until you create ...
the poem ...
that i need ...
on my lips ...

hug my lips ...
with yours ...
and never ...
let our lips ...
get apart ...
until we both ...
get the saliva ...
to irrigate ...
our souls ...
from those lips ...

hug my lips ...
sweetheart ...
to start together ...
writing ...
our morning's poem ...

hazem al ..
Curled  on bed
Head to heels round
Views silver gaze of rising sun
In sparkling window pane
Understanding the rhymes
Of morning rooster's chimes
Awakened spirit of body and soul
Begins afresh the day
Healing wounds of yesterday !!
Ilonka May 2021
in the evenings, I watch sunsets from the porch of my sleeping house, how the sky divides into thousands of tones,

in the mornings, I feel the sun change the flowers of the field letting the light flow as long as it should,
dancing bees cut ways for those who do not know the meaning of life,
it is enough to look at them and the anxiety of our humanity disappears like a last dandelion blown by the innocence of a child,

freshly opened daisies lust in the morning dew, I smile good morning to my faithful friends who never betrayed me, the company of serene petals is all I need in these times lived in imaginary cages,
in the distance, in there are still voices shouting for freedom, then slowly get lost in the daily dust,

suddenly it strikes me a longing to live as before, to walk with my hot coffee on the paved streets, among the lost minds,
to look into unfamiliar eyes and touch familiar hands, to smile even when it hurts and when the night awakens to fall asleep with my thighs uncovered exhausted by the toil of a full day,

 I look at my dry hands from too much gardening, I return to my much-loved present with lovely flowers, tall grasses that reach over my knees, with dreams hidden here and there when I blink…
Payton Hayes Mar 2021
Resurrected, I arose
for mornings thick with lust
and love and caffeine and naked kisses
And again, when night came
I did too, and fell sweetly, sinfully  
prey to the small death
ushered in with a grand symphony
of your name
This poem was written in 2020.
Anais Vionet Jan 2021
What do theologians call a life without events?

The lights of my prison-like room dawn before sun's first blush.
I open sand-papery eyes as my AI announces the morning.

I begin the puppetry of morning routines:
I study my pale inmate face as I polish the porcelain.

I look less of a drowsy-angel than a zombie as I splash cold water
on the face with an almost determined lack of expression.

I’m absorbed in an ocean of predawn cold
as I 5-mile-walk away my sleepiness - this small freedom
- keeps me fit and acceptably sane.

Later, bathed in hot indifference,
and clothed in exhausting obligations,
I dine, at my reserved table, with my gang of irritations.

Soon I’m ready for another taxing day
of waiting for the disease to run its course.
Isolation express! Leaving on track... wait - we're going nowhere 🙃
Anais Vionet Jan 2021
On this winter morning
I’m daydreaming
of warm summer daysprings,
blue lake glistenings,
butterscotch skin,
heartbeat quickenings,
and unmade decisions behind blue eyes.
lying in bed, on a holiday morning, the mind is free to frolic
The coffee is on
It won’t stop simpering
The mugs are jingling
The sugar spoon is glistening
The creamer is singing
Hello, come make your morning Joe
Hurry on now
You’re not paying for this show
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