Morning Mist
In the shroud of morning mist
that herald a new day
dark monsters scurry back and forth,
as they hurry on their way.
Their roars are swallowed up
as silence consumes all
in the shroud of the morning mist
that heralds a new day.
29 September 2010
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
[Month of] June
Rise up, and do begin the day's adorning;
The Summer dark is but the dawn of day.
The last of sunset fades into the morning,
The morning calls you from the dark away.
The holy mist, the white mist of the morning,
Was wreathing upward on my lonely way.
The way was waiting for your own adorning
That should complete the broad adorned day.
Rise up, and do begin the day's adorning;
The little eastern clouds are dapple grey:
There will be wind among the leaves to-day;
It is the very promise of the morning.
Lux Tua Via Mea: your light's my way -
Then do rise up and make it perfect day.
poem by Hilaire Belloc
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet. Written Upon The Top Of Ben Nevis
Read me a lesson, Muse, and speak it loud
Upon the top of Nevis, blind in mist!
I look into the chasms, and a shroud
Vapourous doth hide them, -- just so much I wist
Mankind do know of hell; I look o'erhead,
And there is sullen mist, -- even so much
Mankind can tell of heaven; mist is spread
Before the earth, beneath me, -- even such,
Even so vague is man's sight of himself!
Here are the craggy stones beneath my feet,--
Thus much I know that, a poor witless elf,
I tread on them, -- that all my eye doth meet
Is mist and crag, not only on this height,
But in the world of thought and mental might!
poem by John Keats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Early Morning Silence
Sitting in the early morning silence
that hasn’t filled with
the approaching days gloom.
That time when the mind
has a chance to run free.
The early morning silence
when no one is around.
The intrusive world has not
invaded our space with idle chatter
from sources that surround us
making up our daily lives.
The early morning silence
we need to activate our mind.
You sit in the darkness
just before the dawn appears
enjoying the solitary that is temporary stillness
brings to your ears.
The early morning silence
when no one is around.
16 September 2010
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beneath a morning mist
Beneath a morning mist
~
A morning mist hides
the potential of a beautiful sky
low cloud covers streets and roads
the moist dew of the air
cold against the skin
a freshness to the lungs
welcomed regardless
eyes look into the nothingness
eagerly anticipating the sun
to break through its light
and warm the gardens
meanwhile the mist is silent
quietly haunting all
this is just a day beginning
lets pray its beautiful
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Bloom is not a Bloom
Bloom not bloom
mist not mist
Night half come
heaven bright go
Come like spring dream how long time?
Go like morning cloud not find place The bloom is not a bloom,
The mist not mist.
At midnight she comes,
And goes again at dawn.
She comes like a spring dream -
how long will she stay?
She goes like morning cloud, without a trace.
Mist On A Monday Morning
I wake and yawn at the crack of dawn
With dewdrops on my feet
As I rise up to greet the morning
Nothing much to eat
Every breath I take seems to make my body ache
My only friend is mist on a monday morning
Pick up my sack and walk for miles
Never thinking why
To the brewers yard where I can sit
And watch my life go by
Drink and drink all day till my memory melts away
I need a friend like mist on a monday morning
Wheres my wife, has she gone
I hear misty morning call
One foot resting in the grave
Destined not to see her anymore
Theres a den in the grass by the autopath
Of corrugated steel
I may be sleeping there tonight
And depending how I feel
Damp and dirty place
Printing sorrow on my face
With nothing but the mist on a monday morning
Chorus
From... I feel the sin
Like wheels upon my feet
Intoxicated by the night
I stumbled in the street
Every breath I take seems to make my body ache
And drift into the mist on a monday morning
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
Last Answers
I wrote a poem on the mist
And a woman asked me what I meant by it.
I had thought till then only of the beauty of the mist,
how pearl and gray of it mix and reel,
And change the drab shanties with lighted lamps at evening
into points of mystery quivering with color.
I answered:
The whole world was mist once long ago and some day
it will all go back to mist,
Our skulls and lungs are more water than bone and tissue
And all poets love dust and mist because all the last answers
Go running back to dust and mist.
poem by Carl Sandburg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Misty Day
Heart of my heart, the day is chill,
The mist hangs low o'er the wooded hill,
The soft white mist and the heavy cloud
The sun and the face of heaven shroud.
The birds are thick in the dripping trees,
That drop their pearls to the beggar breeze;
No songs are rife where songs are wont,
Each singer crouches in his haunt.
Heart of my heart, the day is chill,
Whene'er thy loving voice is still,
The cloud and mist hide the sky from me,
Whene'er thy face I cannot see.
My thoughts fly back from the chill without,
My mind in the storm drops doubt on doubt,
No songs arise. Without thee, love,
My soul sinks down like a frightened dove.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Midnight Chime
The yawning of a door
near the midnight chime
heralds the entrance of something
within our frightened mind.
We listen with intent
as chains are dragged
across an empty floor.
We shout out,
“Who goes there? ”
Only to receive silence
as a midnight reply.
We lay in our beds
covers raised above our heads
wondering what monsters
have entered our castle wall.
A low and distant moan
echoes in our ears.
We shrink in silence of our fears.
“Who goes there? ”
We shout again in a voice lost
to the noise of a door slam.
Our faces drain of colour
becoming chalk white
at the thought of monsters
that are just out of our sight.
Through the night,
the noises continue
as we shrink in silence
waiting for morning to call.
We lay there frozen,
petrified by fear
not knowing what to make of
all the sounds we hear.
As the first streaks
of morning beginning to call
and exhausted by our experience
into sleep we fall.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Solitaire
Silently I stepped around
not to disturb anyone with a sound.
Just to enjoy the morning silence
where my mind could wander around.
Enjoy the peace in the air
without intruding voices everywhere
and enjoy the solitaire
that the morning held there.
17 September 2010
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Dew Drops Mist
Whatever it is that you've been told...
As the dew drops mist,
Each morning that unfolds...
Mother Nature to this is committed.
To all things that exist.
And even you and I...
We are caught up the mix.
Whatever the season that comes to leave,
We may have our differences and do not agree.
But,
Nonstop Mother Nature shows...
Everything that lives,
She assists its growth.
And you and I can do what we like.
In between the fussing, cussing and fights.
You and I can decide to hide or be seen...
But mother Nature is there!
And always on the ecene.
It doesn't matter if we chit chat or scatter.
Upon this existence the dew drops mist.
It doesn't matter if we scatter without chatter.
Upon this existence the dew drops mist.
And,
We can be a little rich or poor.
Or never answer a knock on our doors.
It doesn't matter if we chit chat or scatter.
Upon this existence the dew drops mist.
Whatever the season that comes to leave,
We may have our differences and do not agree.
But,
Nonstop Mother Nature shows...
Upon this existence the dew drops mist.
Every morning when you're yawning and it's dawn,
On this existence the dew drops mist.
It doesn't matter in your life what's going on,
'Cause...
In this existence the dew drops mist.
Whatever it is that you've been told...
As the dew drops mist,
Each morning that unfolds...
Mother Nature to this is committed.
To all things that exist.
And even you and I...
We are caught up the mix.
So,
Every morning when you're yawning and it's dawn,
On this existence the dew drops mist.
It doesn't matter in your life what's going on,
'Cause...
In this existence the dew drops mist.
Whatever the season that comes to leave,
We may have our differences and do not agree.
But,
Nonstop Mother Nature shows it and knows...
Upon this existence the dew drops mist.
Whatever the season that comes to leave,
We may have our differences and do not agree.
But,
Nonstop Mother Nature shows it and knows...
Upon this existence the dew drops mist.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Morning's Early Mist
Is it so hard to believe
A heart that is so real
Love shall take the lead
what more does it not feel
Morning's early mist
Beyond any measure
Must you always persist
Love isn't the only pleasure
Waiting on your word
Another falling dim day
Haven't you not heard
What a heart can try to say
Perhaps you will never know
The heart that loved you so
Morning's Early mist
poem by Suelynn Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
1692
(copyright nazareth, tiflis tunes,inc.-ascap)
Mist upon the hill can remember murder,
Mist upon the hill that once flowed with blood,
Helped to cover up an approaching army,
Hid the killing lust in the eyes of men.
Sitting by the fire was a sentry sleeping,
Rolled up in their beds were children that play,
Unsuspecting what was to fall upon them,
None of them would see the dawn next day.
Bloody were the blades that fell on children,
Hate the blinding light tried to kill a name,
The mountains only know all the souls that died there,
Glen coe from that day can recall the shame.
The quiet of the night never gave them warning,
The silence of the hills wouldn't let them know,
They'd never rise again on a mist filled morning,
Never see the sunrise above glen coe.
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The City Of London
Introduction:
I wrote this in the middle of the night, many years ago.
My mind went back to when I was a little girl
and my brother and I went to visit my Grandfather.
We stopped that day to walk through the City, there was a mist that morning and a fine rain, the sort that makes your hair frizz.
The tranquillity of the early morning streets was rudely broken
by people coming into the City to work and so here is my memory:
----
Early morning after a thunderous night
I can breathe easy.
If I'm quiet I may hear the sound of birdsong.
Sometimes there is a mist.
It hangs over London like a veil.
Soon dawn's empty streets
will heave with massing crowds.
but until then all London is at peace.
The gentle tinkling of milk bottles
breaks the quiet
and the smell of bacon and fried bread
waft through the chill morning air.
Sounds of sirens fill my head and
concrete rises heavenward, filling my eyes,
crushing their foundations through my soul.
A sickness seeps through me,
everything beautiful is gone.
'Morning paper, read all about it! '
Girls hurry buy in tight blue jeans,
men in suits, some in Mac's,
high-heeled ladies, clicky, click, clack.
Poor old tramp, fingernails black,
stirs on the floor beside a closed door,
‘Got the price of a cuppa luv', he calls.
The girl quickens her pace.
A couple kiss in tender bliss
A young man sighs, a baby cries,
an old lady dies on the streets of London.
Early morning after a thunderous night
you can breathe easy.
You may hear the sound of birdsong
Sometimes there is a mist.
It hangs over London like a veil
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Winter Smile
The first icy mist of morning covered the land
With foggy, hazy, vague and blur memories of the Autumn
Where silence is deafening
Ans winter frost are chilly and deep.....
where vale of grief is lonely
And frost wind of mid winter looks cold and gray
And freshly fallen snow
Warms up the nostalgic memories.........
Where imagination helps to add a tint and a shade of life
And show the color of miracles on the garden covered with snow
And springs the hope in our hearts and souls
To bring us a whisper of joy and a winter smile........
And all this takes us on the momentary trip
Of an emotional journey of life
Where we can hear the echo and sounds of silence
And a hand full of memories from the gray and frosty winter mist........
Seema Chowdhury
23rd Nov,2010
poem by Seema Chowdhury
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Mist
Through the mist I wander.
With all the time to ponder.
Beasts of such ferocity come at me with such intensity.
I continue on of neccesity,
to find a true philosophy.
The mists so dense.
I need to make recommpence.
For all that's wrong I must confess.
I cannot stand this lonley test.
In the mist and in the midst.
I'm truly blind it gives me fits.
The mist is thick,
it eats you cold and quick.
Beats you madly like a switch.
The mist is dark it kills the heart.
Madly eats you like a shark.
The mist is cold and I grow old.
Hopefully soon I'll find my hold.
poem by Michael McParland
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Spray from the fountain
Catches the morning sunlight
Rainbow morning mist
haiku by James T. Adair
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!