I wake up early in the morning and walk for an hour. If I have something to write, I prefer to write in the morning until midday, and in the afternoon, I eat.
quote by Naguib Mahfouz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Write And Write And Cannot Write
I write and write and cannot write
Tiredness overwhelms me
To begin the day at three in the morning is not always wise
Nonetheless I write and write
But I cannot really write
I am just barely typing on-
Perhaps the morning will come soon
And I will wake
But for now I am tired too tired to write.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Early In The Morning
Early in the morning and I cant get right
Had a little date with my baby last night
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Now its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to all the places where we used to go
Went to your house but you dont live there no more
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to your friends house but she was out
Knock on your fathers door and he began to shout get out there boy
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to doogie chain to get something to eat
Waiter looked at me and said you sure look beat
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Morning Poem Did Not Come
THE MORNING POEM DID NOT COME
The morning poem did not come-
So this is the effort of an afternoon poem,
Warm and sun- filled and relaxing and deep and waiting.
This is a poem between times more interesting than itself.
The light is so great now.
But this too is a poem of little or nothing to say
Of afternoon emptiness after morning emptiness
On a tired tired day.
Once I thought I would write poems which would make immortal
Those I love.
Now I write poems to keep myself going.
This afternoon I am extremely tired
But if this is poem
Or even if I only think it is
I can have a rest
Before I face the evening.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am Too Tired To Write A Good Poem
I AM TOO TIRED TO WRITE A GOOD POEM
I am too tired to write a good poem
I am too cold also
I have been out all day in the cold and the rain
I have been doing errands since early in the morning
I babysat for four hours in the afternoon
I went out again in the cold and rain to buy a few groceries
I tried to write and could not
I read and overate a few times
I tried to write
But I could not
I am very tired now
A poem should not be a simple clear description of one’s own mood at the moment
I am too tired to write a good poem
But I try to write
And this is the result
A poor poem indeed.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Wanted A Poem In The Early Morning-Even Before The Darkness Had Gone
I WANTED A POEM IN THE EARLY MORNING
I wanted a poem in the early morning
Even before the darkness had gone-
I wanted to hear words
That meant music
That said I was alive and could write-
I wanted a poem in the early morning
So that I could be justified
For the rest of the day-
Time and again I have written that poem
I write it now -
How wonderful when it flows as if it is real
I may never know that it is
But in writing it, thank God, I feel alive and blessed
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I write in the morning, I walk in the afternoon and I read in the evening. It's a very easy, lovely life.
quote by Margaret Forster
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Promised Not To Wake Up Early And Write Again
but of course, here i am.
it is 4: 25 in the morning.
i wake up earlier than
i expected. there is no sense wriggling
on the bed that no longer feels my yearning for sleep.
i rise.
i open the computer. i hear its buzzing sound. No problem i am
willing to write about nothing
nothing at all. call it emptiness. call it weariness. on a very early
morning. but it does not matter at all. this is this. this is it.
this is what i am. just going. just coming. just writing.
whatever.
outside the rooster keeps its announcement
of a promising morning. the hens are laying their eggs.
some steps of strangers pass by. sagging footsteps
for an early work to do. opening doors of their stores.
dusting, cleaning, baking the bread. displaying wares.
the salesgirl still yawning on an unwashed face.
the dog wakes up and wags its tail on my side.
as i write.
my life begins to unfold. it is another poem. another story.
written and kept. there is nothing more important to do anyway.
you look for a rhyme. You do not find it here. Go somewhere.
That poet over there, the one with the color of dusk
keeps some. Talk to him. Meanwhile, I am through.
No promises again this time.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Can A Sick Man Write A Morning Poem?
CAN A SICK MAN WRITE A MORNING POEM?
Can a sick man write a morning poem?
Can a man short of breath write anything?
I try-
My own banal reflections on my own condition are the poem-
A small confession of where I am today –
I have the strength -
I have written these lines -
Perhaps the morning light today
Is real after all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Is Time To Write A Poem For My Soul
IT IS TIME TO WRITE A POEM FOR MY SOUL
It is time to write a poem for my soul-
To wake it up a bit this morning
So many errands have been done
So much walking and looking and buying and bringing
So much cleaning and eating and drinking
So many many physical things-
It is time to write a poem for my soul
And wake up a bit this morning
And come back to who I really am
When I feel I really am-
Writing a poem gives me my soul back-
And writing this I come home to who I am-
A poem is my soul
And I am writing it now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Morning
I can't stop myself from calling
Calling out your name
I can't stop myself from falling
Falling back again
In the morning
Baby, in the afternoon
Dark like the shady corner
Inside a violin
Hot like to burn my lips
I know I can't win
In the morning
Baby, in the afternoon
I try to quit you but I'm too weak
Waking up without you
I can hardly speak at all
My girlfriend tried to help me
Get you off my mind
She tried a little tea and sympathy
To help me to unwind
In the morning
Baby, in the afternoon
Funny how my favorite shirt
Smells more like you than me
Bitter traces left behind
In stains no one can see
In the morning
Baby, in the afternoon
You're gonna put me in an early grave
I know I'm your slave whenever you call
I can't stop myself from calling
Calling out your name
I can't stop myself from falling
Falling back again
Falling back again
In the morning
Baby, in the afternoon
song performed by by Norah Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There Are Days No Poem Can Be Written
THERE ARE DAYS NO POEM CAN BE WRITTEN
There are days no poem can be written
Grief and worry frighten the poem away
Yet the poem lives hidden
For our darkest moments our loneliest fears
Too need their poetry.
Poetry is a way of saying all we need to say
It is our deepest feeling most deeply expressed
It is all we are
The whole of our being
In words.
When a poet dies
Words die
When I will die
All I am will no longer be able to write
One more poem.
How afraid I am in the night
And how dark in the early morning before I rise
But now that I am here
Writing this
A bit of hope begins in me
And I can dream that
When I walk out the door
a few minutes from now
A new day will begin.
How many days I have left
How many poems to write
I do not know.
It is not light yet
And the darkness is still here
But I will feel the morning again
This morning
Thank G-d
You have given me so many poems.
A few small words
help me believe
I truly am alive.
.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This morning with my God
Then You write.......
Let’s feel free to sing song of love
love will reflects in our eyes…
Let’s sing the morning prayer
Rhythmed by this cool morning and with our heart beats.
Let’s feel the caressing breeze and its love
Lets pray God, its brings the fragrance of roses
Towards love…Godly love
Let’s touch this morning sunrays…
With our stretched hand in hand
Let’s walk free my dear,
Go towards unknown shores'
(I wish to read and keep and to write) .
In the morning when I awake
I see your lovely face in the heart of cool breeze and silence
In the morning when I awake
I really felt you are mine
In the morning when I see you
I am in love
When I go to a walk
not to pray...
I see you are near for a dear walk
I really owe, full of passion....
Not to work
full of mad love
want to fly, over hills and valleys
beyond my wildest dreams of love
and pray, thy, take through
this oceans of love
when I go to bed
I really feel, you are here
Now we are in bed... and in love
poem by Thampi KEE
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kings Cross
The man at the back of the queue was sent
To feel the smack of firm government
Linger by the flyposter, for a fight
Its the same story every night
Ive been hurt and weve been had
You leave home, and you dont go back
Someone told me monday, someone told me saturday
Wait until tomorrow and theres still no way
Read it in a book or write it in a letter
Wake up in the morning and theres still no guarantee
Only last night I found myself lost
By the station called kings cross
Dead and wounded on either side
You know its only a matter of time
Ive been good and Ive been bad
Ive been guilty of hanging around
Someone told me monday, someone told me saturday
Wait until tomorrow and theres still no way
Read it in a book or write it in a letter
Wake up in the morning and theres still no guarantee
So I went looking out today
For the one who got away
Murder walking round the block
Ending up in kings cross
Good luck, bad luck waiting in a line
It takes more than the matter of time
Someone told me monday, someone told me saturday
Wait until tomorrow and theres still no way
Read it in a book or write it in a letter
Wake up in the morning and theres still no guarantee
Someone told me monday, someone told me saturday
Wait until tomorrow and theres still no way
Read it in a book or write it in a letter
Wake up in the morning and theres still no guarantee
And theres still no guarantee
There is still no guarantee
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Early Morning
(pal waaktaar/ mags)
Early morning
Eight oclock precise
I see the lonely august sun arise
Say you know
You will
Move me like you do
Out on the fields...
Im waiting the whole night through
Early morning, early morning, yeah
Ran the whole way
Down to the tracks
Through the doorway, then a last look back
Say you know
You will
Save me like you do
Out on the fields...
Ive waited the whole night through
Early morning, early morning, yeah
I climbed all the stairways
To find the rooftop clear
Got the shotgun lying with me here
Say you know
You will
Move me like you do
Out on the fields...
You know how it feels, yeah
Early morning, early morning, yeah
Early morning
Eight oclock precise
song performed by by A-Ha
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There Are Not Many Kingdoms Left
I write the lips of the moon upon her shoulders. In a
temple of silvery farawayness I guard her to rest.
For her bed I write a stillness over all the swans of the
world. With the morning breath of the snow leopard I
cover her against any hurt.
Using the pen of rivers and mountaintops I store her
pillow with singing.
Upon her hair I write the looking of the heavens at
early morning.
-- Away from this kingdom, from this last undefiled
place, I would keep our governments, our civilization, and
all other spirit-forsaken and corrupt institutions.
O cold beautiful blossoms of the moon moving upon
her shoulders . . . the lips of the moon moving there . . .
where the touch of any other lips would be a profanation.
poem by Kenneth Patchen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Rose-Bud By My Early Walk
A Rose-Bud By My Early Walk
A rose-bud, by my early walk
Adown a corn-enclosèd bawk,
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,
All on a dewy morning.
Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,
In a' its crimson glory spread,
And drooping rich the dewy head,
It scents the early morning.
Within the bush her covert nest
A little linnet fondly prest;
The dew sat chilly on her breast,
Sae early in the morning.
She soon shall see her tender brood,
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd,
Awauk the early morning.
So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair,
On trembling string or vocal air,
Shall sweetly pay the tender care
That tents thy early morning!
So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay,
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day,
And bless the parent's evening ray
That watch'd thy early morning!
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I Write And Write And Write And Write
I WRITE AND WRITE AND WRITE AND WRITE
I write and write and write and write
I write and write and write and write
I write.
And all this writing and all these words and all I am
Forever unheard.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If One Has A Table Outside
If one has a table outside on Jaffa Rd.
Early in the morning
And can watch the world wake and go by,
Then why not try to write a poem
that says what the fresh wind means
On what is going to be
Another debilitating August day?
Why not try a few lines
that perhaps will say
How glad I am to still be alive in my old age
And how thankful I am to God for this?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Father
Father, blessed father,
Its morning again.
I give you, father, myself, father,
Continue your plan.
I know together we can climb mountains in the sky.
No one can stop us when Im standing by your side.
Troubles knocking here again;
Ill tell him jesus has me by his hand.
Hell walk me through.
Father, loving father,
Create in me
A pure love, father, your love, father,
Instill it in me.
I remember the nights Ive cried for you;
Now I only have to die for you;
Thank you, lord, youve made it clear just for me.
I see the light;
Its burning out the night.
Oh, father,
Its morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What I want to write
What I want to write
I could not write.
I could not write
Tiger tiger cat cat
And the difference they behaved.
I could not write
The sky and its fall
On our forehead.
What I want to write
I could not write.
I write how I loved
How flower blosom
How fruit ripe
How stream flow.
I could not know
How I write
And I write
What I want to write
I could not write.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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