A September Morn
The early morning mist
submerged the trees,
making them into islands
dotted on a sea of white.
A couple of rabbits scampered
among the dew wet grass
their white cotton tails
bobbing up and down
as they had their breakfast
on the sweet grassy ground.
The first spears of sunlight
broke across the sky
as the day awoke
before my sleepy eyes.
14 September 2008
poem by David Harris
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A Peaceful Morning
From a sea of mist,
the sleeping trees emerged
under a cloudless sky
as the sun’s warming rays
lit up the surrounding hills.
Rabbits scampered on the grass;
birds glided in the sky,
the world began to awake
on a beautiful September morn.
No chill penetrated the air
and from the vantage point
where I stood was just a peaceful morning
emerging to welcome the dawning day.
20 September 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mist
The mist moved across the field
swallowing up everything in its path.
A white blanket that hovered
inches above the ground.
It came in the cool of dawn
and vanished like a ghost
near the beginning of the day.
While it stayed, you could not see
anything within a foot of thee.
The mist that came like a sleeking ghost
was now gone after being hit
by the rays of the morning sun.
27 September 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rabbit
Rabbits, rabbits everywhere
Bigger than a rat
Smaller than a hare
Jump, hop in the grass
Eating carrots
Hoping fast
Rabbits, rabbits fluffy fur
Hunting season
They hustle and stir
Pointy ears, bushy tails
Wet nose
Hind legs down the trail
Rabbits, rabbits into holes
Time for bed
Bless their souls
Now all tucked in and put to sleep
No noise in the hole
Not even a peep
poem by TaBresha Bozeman
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The Best Day Of The Year
This morning very early I heard the magpie sing
And suddenly it dawned on me it's the first day of Spring
The dawning of September and on the stringybark
The white backed magpie whistled sweet music in the dark.
The first day of September the best day of the year
That is if you are living in the Southern Hemisphere
For Spring the Season of beauty and of greenery and youth
A time of bloom and grass growth when seedlings take to root
The Spring came in at midnight from places far away
She crept in through the darkness for her annual three months stay
And magpie he woke early on the stringybark tree
And for the welcome visitor piped his sweetest melody.
This morning very early before the dawn of day
The magpie welcomed the visitor from places far away
And the first day of September the best day of the year
That is if you are living in the Southern Hemisphere.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Early Morning Walk
the night is gone
the rains stop
to start with
i take a walk
to greet the early
morning with the silence
of my heart to listen
to the songs of birds
high on those trees
as i tread the grass that
covers the path where some
friends used to walk
someone so active has
succumbed to cancer of
the colon the other with
a white beard gave in
to a coronary defect
the old couple still take
their walk here and when
we meet we smile perhaps
thanking the Lord that we
are still here talking
our usual walk on an
early morning waiting for
the sun to shine upon our
weary minds.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sunlight on white paint. For the New Year.
The house across the way is newly painted white.
Right now, that’s all my being seems to need:
this winter morning, sharp, cold, bright and clear,
the morning sunlight pours across white paint;
contains a thousand messages, in me
interpreted.. or simply left to be..
this moment, that’s as much as being craves:
this morning’s glory; and I, born for praise..
even as I write, I watch the sun’s
white paint brush move across the house’s front
and tell the eye of reason that this world
is turning, basking, in this morning sun;
already sparkling on the Bondi waves
as if the world had just been washed anew;
cast early dawn’s pearl light on Taj Mahal
as if the sun itself could never tire of beauty;
Italian villa forecourts just hosed down,
the air all fresh to meet the warming day;
the gardens of Carmel, eight hours from now,
will paint their flowers fresh with mist and dew;
as every carefree holiday yourself
recall, as proof eternal of pure soul..
and here - the witness of my silent mind
needs nothing, need go nowhere else to find
its very self, this moment without taint:
immortal sunlight shining on white paint.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Snowy evening
Snowy evening
Snow filling the ground
Turning the city into white
She, in a bright red dress
Walking slowly, enjoying
Her walk in the snowy evening
Towards the Fence of the garden!
Greenaries of the garden
Now in white shades
With frozen drops of ice
Covering the grass
Every little bush
Like a cotton plant
Making a lovely sense!
Few snow flakes in her hands
To taste the pretty white snow
She opens her mouth
Awesome beauty with a white perl
In hand towards her mouth
With more innocence
Trees and bushes covered with snow
Wonders if she is pretty
Or the snow fall is pretty
Unexpressed silence persists
In the garden
Till the beauty
Went down the street!
poem by Archana Prabahar
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Glorious Spring Blossoms
I drove to town this sunny morning
And right before my eyes
I saw that spring was here
It was a glorious surprise
The trees were huge plumes of pink
Like fluffy cotton candy to me
Others were white like puffy clouds
They were spectacular to see
I love the spring when dull trees turn
Whether by God or Mother Nature
It shows tomorrow has such promise
With spring blossoms sweet and pure!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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A Windy Day In Early September
The wind keeps the air that bit cooler today it is sixteen degrees
And beautiful pink fluffy blossoms adorn the flowering gum trees
And wattlebirds sing in the sunshine though not very pleasant their song
Their hoarse call is very distinctive once heard you cannot get it wrong.
A windy day in early September in changeable weather of Spring
The white backed magpie the marvellous songster in his territory he sing
At breeding time he is aggressive his own kind not even his friend
And he's been known to attack humans with his wife and his young to defend.
A windy day in early september dark rain clouds tell rain is quite near
And the sun that had briefly been hiding between a break in the clouds re-appear
In one day you can get four Seasons 'tis like that at this time of year
But in early days of September you know that warm weather will shortly be here.
A windy day in early September and rain is beginning to fall
And on the flowering gums and wattles the wattlebirds chatter and call
But gone is the coldness of Winter and fruit trees wear pinkish white flowers
And everywhere looks fresh and greener in the sunshine after the showers.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Top Hat, White Tie And Tails
I just got an invitation through the mails:
"Your presence requested this evening, it's formal
A top hat, a white tie and tails"
Nothing now could take the wind out of my sails
Because I'm invited to step out this evening
With top hat, white tie and tails
I'm puttin' on my top hat
Tyin' up my white tie
Brushin' off my tails
I'm dudein' up my shirt front
Puttin' in the shirt studs
Polishin' my nails
I'm steppin' out, my dear
To breathe an atmosphere that simply reeks with class
And I trust that you'll excuse my dust when I step on the gas
For I'll be there
Puttin' down my top hat
Mussin' up my white tie
Dancin' in my tails
song performed by by Irving Berlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Top Hat, White Tie And Tails
I just got an invitation through the mails:
"Your presence requested this evening, it's formal
A top hat, a white tie and tails"
Nothing now could take the wind out of my sails
Because I'm invited to step out this evening
With top hat, white tie and tails
I'm puttin' on my top hat
Tyin' up my white tie
Brushin' off my tails
I'm dudein' up my shirt front
Puttin' in the shirt studs
Polishin' my nails
I'm steppin' out, my dear
To breathe an atmosphere that simply reeks with class
And I trust that you'll excuse my dust when I step on the gas
For I'll be there
Puttin' down my top hat
Mussin' up my white tie
Dancin' in my tails
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Top Hat, White Tie, & Tails
I just got an invitation through the mails:
Your presence requested this evening, its formal
A top hat, a white tie and tails
Nothing now could take the wind out of my sails
Because Im invited to step out this evening
With top hat, white tie and tails
Im puttin on my top hat
Tyin up my white tie
Brushin off my tails
Im dudein up my shirt front
Puttin in the shirt studs
Polishin my nails
Im steppin out, my dear
To breathe an atmosphere that simply reeks with class
And I trust that youll excuse my dust when I step on the gas
For Ill be there
Puttin down my top hat
Mussin up my white tie
Dancin in my tails
song performed by by Irving Berlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Top Hat, White Tie, & Tails
I just got an invitation through the mails:
Your presence requested this evening, its formal
A top hat, a white tie and tails
Nothing now could take the wind out of my sails
Because Im invited to step out this evening
With top hat, white tie and tails
Im puttin on my top hat
Tyin up my white tie
Brushin off my tails
Im dudein up my shirt front
Puttin in the shirt studs
Polishin my nails
Im steppin out, my dear
To breathe an atmosphere that simply reeks with class
And I trust that youll excuse my dust when I step on the gas
For Ill be there
Puttin down my top hat
Mussin up my white tie
Dancin in my tails
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Temporarily For M lady Tara
The morning mist is hovering
above the lake in veils of white
The beauty it is covering
will soon be revealed by sunlight
The newly risen sun climbs high
and will attain full majesty
The morning mist cannot defy
the sun’s supreme authority.
The scene takes on a clarity
the colours showing clean and bright
The quiet waters easily
reflecting back the strong sunlight.
Mists will return to hide the view
when twilight falls. They always do.
1-Apr-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Mist In The Valley
These hills, to hurt me more,
That am hurt already enough,—
Having left the sea behind,
Having turned suddenly and left the shore
That I had loved beyond all words, even a song's words, to
convey,
And built me a house on upland acres,
Sweet with the pinxter, bright and rough
With the rusty blackbird long before the winter's done,
But smelling never of bayberry hot in the sun,
Nor ever loud with the pounding of the long white breakers,—
These hills, beneath the October moon,
Sit in the valley white with mist
Like islands in a quiet bay,
Jut out from shore into the mist,
Wooded with poplar dark as pine,
Like points of land into a quiet bay.
(Just in the way
The harbour met the bay)
Stricken too sore for tears,
I stand, remembering the Islands and the sea's lost sound—
Life at its best no longer than the sand-peep's cry,
And I two years, two years,
Tilling an upland ground!
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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The Lime Tree
That lime tree on the distant rising ground
(If it was a lime tree) showed her yellow leaves
Above the renewed green of wet August grass--
First Autumn yellow that on first Autumn eves
Too soon was found.
Comfortless lime tree! Scarce an aspen leaf
Like a green butterfly flitted to the ground;
There was no sign of Autumn in the grass.
Even the long garden beds their beauty brief--
Their mignonette,
Nasturtium and sweet-william and red stocks,
And clover crouching in the border grass,
And blood-like fuschia, eve's primrose and white phlox
And honeysuckle--waved all their smell and hue
Morn and eve anew.
But that far lime tree yellowing by the oak,
Warning oak, elm and poplar and each fresh tree
Shaking in the south wind delightedly,
And clover in the closeness of the grass,
Warns also me.
And now when all the trees are standing still
Beneath the purple and white of the west sky,
And time is standing still--as stand it will--
That early yellowing lime with palsied fingers
Cannot be still.
poem by John Freeman
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Christmas Again
Yesterday I walked along a beach
no more than fifty miles away.
The sun was out and it was warm.
Got home late last night
and went straight to bed.
Woke up this morning
the sky had turned to grey
and little white fleece
was bombarding us from the heavens.
It was snowing quite heavily,
lying on the ground,
making a white carpet there.
The more I watched from my window
the larger the fleece got.
I watched the inches build up,
wondering when it was going to stop.
I didn’t really care if it did,
as it was nice to see
the white stuff falling from the sky,
even if it was in April.
My thoughts were
is someone trying to tell us
that it’s Christmas again.
6 April 2008
poem by David Harris
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In the White
In the white, early morning
I hang my face
over her head
and kiss the flesh above her brow.
I hang my neck, a bow in the air
and kiss the tiny, tickling hairs above her brow.
In the white light of morning
I hang myself over her
and kiss the flesh of her skull
Her white skull
sleeps in the early morning as I hang myself
to kiss her.
I hang myself to kiss her
as she sleeps in the white, early morning.
She does not wake to my touch.
I hang myself above her
on the white bow
of early morning.
She does not wake to my hanging.
The window is cracked and taped.
The outside air is cold, forceful.
I bend myself
above her sleeping body
to kiss her, gently on the brow.
To kiss her gently on the brow
I hang myself.
poem by Chavisa Woods
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This Is A Discovery
i may not tell you
that in this island
where i take my
long walks in the
morning, i discover
something nice,
i am at home with
myself and i am happy
seeing the vastness
of the white sands
white cotton clouds
resting on high cliffs
trees on top and birds
and a light tower
i think of myself
as another island now.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Wisp Of Mist
Was that a wisp of mist I saw, swirling across the lawn,
Drifting through the shrubbery, this early November’s dawn.
Frost had gathered on the grass, making it all crisp and white,
And so a chilly day has shown a vision of delight.
Winter’s fingers are moving and the land begins to freeze,
Dressed in a silver blanket by nature’s great expertise.
Icy world of sparkle, a unique transformation seen,
As a wisp of mist goes swirling slowly across the green.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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