Kissed With Affection
The mist adorns the nestling hills,
and on the air, one hears the trills,
of the waking birds, as one and all,
give out their melodious morning call.
A hush descends across the scene,
where one can effortlessly glean
a sense of peace and tranquil calm,
a kind of comfort, a kind of balm,
that slowly seeps into one's soul.
And then an adventurous nosy mole,
is glimpsed, emerging from his hole,
in this so quiet and peaceful knoll.
A nest of robins greet the sun,
and paint the day with colours spun,
proudly displaying their blood red breasts,
against the green leaves. Then on the crest
now, is seen the rabbits, venturing abroad,
standing regimental, as with one accord,
they quickly sniff the new and freshening air,
each one alert to trouble, fully aware.
What beauty here, what a fine ethereal view,
kissed with affection by the morning dew.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Related quotes
A Morning Poem
I greet the morning air
with half sleep filled eyes
the damp of morning dew
taken in with each breath
slowly light breaks through
waking me fully into the day
thoughts stir I remain unmoved
greeting the morning air
I look to the streets ahead
to the journey I must make
I say a quiet prayer
to the spirit of the poets
heart, mind and soul
let this day not fall
poem by Matthew Holloway
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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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A beautiful start
Morning is poised for beautiful start
Dews are still on ground but ready to depart
Strill the birds are in nest but making little move
The nature is at its supreme and nothing to prove
The melodious voice starts emerging
The early morning is filled wih nice singing
The cuckoo is at her best with beautiful echo
We are just preparing with words to go
The darkness is slowly fading a way fine
The horizon is slowly illuminated with red shine
The night peace will be a forgone conclusion
No one may rememeber who made the intrusion
Ya it is not rememebred for the good
We need to go out in search of food
The wood may be looking so lovely and nice
We got to fulfill the comitment or promise
What is it to us with bright light
Nature is awakened with beautiful sight
We got to choos whether to go left or right
It is definitely not easy to find and fight
But the morning delight can’t be missed
Beautiful flowers are not to be plucked before being kissed
What a fragrance and lovely scented rose?
How elegantly they emerge and pose?
Everything can be missed but not early morning
We can’t wait for it to come after sad evening
The night as usual may bring restless peace
Hold the breath till you feel at ease
Just few steps out side the gate
Watch itout without being very late
Nature is there for you not to hate
You just breath heavily and clearly state
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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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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I Lost The Calm Of My Poem and The Peace Of My Soul
I lost the calm of my poem and the peace of my soul
When I heard murderers would go free
And those who had deliberately killed women and children
Would torment yet again their victims’ families-
I lost the calm and the peace of my soul
When I learned that we had forsaken our principles of Justice
And given in to blackmail to ransom a single life -
I lost the calm of my poem and the peace of my soul
When I understand one can be too kind and too compassionate
And that those ‘kind to the cruel’ end up being ‘cruel to the kind’
I lost the calm of my poem and the peace of my soul
When I understood we as a people had ceased to be wise and courageous-
And given in to our own excessive sense of compassion and to the cruelty of the cruel.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Morning Humor
Slippery jack, no more turning back,
All around, morning humor
I am a waiter and I am a server
Ill run to your needs with strength and fervor
In times when you are wasted I will walk in
Through the door, pick you from the floor
Then watch you grow into a man
With a big burly beard
And a mustache to match
Ill watch you love the world
And all that it has...
With that morning humor,
Morning humor
The kind that wakes you up
The kind thats in my blood
Morning humor, morning humor, yeah...
I am on top again, soon to be low again
Oh will this ever end?
Im sorry I dont mean to sound like a whale
Trapped in the ice, but aint it nice to say exactly
What I please...
With a big toney voice or a
Soft mellow voice or the
Loud boisterous voice of an opera, opera lady!
With that morning humor,
Morning humor
The kind that wakes you up.
The kind thats in my blood
Morning humor, morning humor, yeah...
But the joke that kills
Is just a joke to you
You need some...
Slippery jack, no more turning back,
All around, morning humor
The kind that wakes you up
The kind thats in my blood...
Morning humor...
song performed by by Live
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Write me a Sonnet
Write me a sonnet with love and beauty
Beyond compare
Write me a sonnetof warnth and solace
And comfort O' so rare
Pen your lines of freedom and peace and
Tell of the wind and rain
Speak of dreams both failed and real
Tell of things never the same
Relate of hush and solitude and the
Stillness of the night
Voice the morning mist and sit in harmony
With the early light
Recite the human frailities with a deep
And searching mind
Ask the Lord's forgiveness perhaps he
Will be kind
State the sorrow pain and grief and all
The sadness in our role
When all is said and done perhaps God
Will embrace our soul
Jim Richardson
poem by Jim Richardson
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I've Just Come Back From Having a 'Moment
When I sit and visit with nature,
In a surrounded quietness.
I've come to eliminate any hints of conflict,
Others may share...
From an environment that permits it.
Nothing is like one's solitude at times.
It energizes with such purety.
Like air free of toxins.
And a mind relaxed,
Of pressures that come.
To undo peace that's done.
When I sit and visit with nature,
I am more aware of the leaves on trees.
I am aware of the difference between Pine and Oak.
And the array of birds sitting on their branches to chirp,
And sing.
Aware am I of the drifting clouds.
From East to West and sometimes reversed.
So aware am I when I leave this scene...
I do not thirst to hear those who habitually curse.
It unnerves my inner peace!
That peace I try to hold onto...
As I unball my fists.
That peace I try to hold onto...
As I bite my lower lip!
'Good Morning, how are you? '
*WHAT? What do you want? *
'I'm just saying good morning!
No offense.'
*I apologize. Forgive me.
I have just come back from having a 'moment'! *
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Calm Is Who I Am Now
CALM IS WHO I AM NOW
Calm is who I am now
Calm and quiet-
I have done
What I could do-
The rest is repetition-
Slowly slowly
Time is taking me away-
How long I do not know-
How much pain I do not know-
Calm is who I am now -
Quiet quiet
Before the fears return again
And the anxiety over what I have not done-
Calm is who I am now
In these moments at this hour
Four in the morning
A small part of the long day to come.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Birth Of A New Day
The beauty of the morning
is at the crack of dawn,
when the fingers of the sun
spread out across the sky,
to welcome the birth of a new day.
As an early riser, I am always in awe,
at the stillness and the beauty,
of each new dawning day.
At the quiet moments,
before the world awakes
to take the quiet away.
The flowers unfold their petals,
damp with the morning dew,
to face the warmth of the rising sun.
Little birds stretch a leg
in their nest high up off the ground,
before they winging off
to find their breakfast
under the new morning sun.
While sleepy heads lie in their bed,
miss this wonderful display,
of the birth of a new day.
23 June 2007
poem by David Harris
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Cuckoo
All birds are distinct and have special character
We may not find them usually in every sector
They have their own way to serve the mankind
Each one holds prominence and has specialists of its kind
Cuckoo is only one with melodious voice
We exclaim and appreciate without any choice
She can air lovely music in air when breeze is cool
Arrival of sun shine may alert even fool
When air is thick with silence and peace
Cuckoo spreads music with simple ease
It may erase any sadness of previous day
New pulse and thoughts with simple way
Pleasant voice is simple music
Generates thrill and creates magic
God may gift it to one in million
Music with beauty may be real union
Cuckoo is black but melody queen
Everybody may listen to and very keen
Pigeon may be called peace ambassador
Cuckoo too may be God’s messenger
I may pray and wish her daily appearance
Draw the inspiration with simple inference
Should we not shed our daily difference?
Cuckoo may serve as ready made reference
We may prefer more cuckoos to crow
Never we feel older, even if grow
Life may be steady with space very slow
With melodious voice face may shine and glow
How this music has come into being?
You get music if you blow in hollow ring
Nature has its own course of providing music
It has natural blessings to serve spell of magic
Flowers, waterfalls and river add to melody
Music to ears is passion for everybody
Lovely cuckoo does it again for mankind
Morning peace descends on earth and pleases mind
Music leaves impact on blind and deaf
It is opening of new kind such as leaf
Human being always loved beautiful bird
Set in silence and peacefully heard
We are spell bound by the melodious songs
It stops person from doing anything wrong
It has blessings from the divine power
Always worshiped and found an answer
It makes lot of difference when it is heard in bird’s voice
What a melody in the ears in the morning devoid of noise
Think of vigor and strength that it offers to ailing body
Health with music and stable mind is anybody’s guess in body
Music has in built wonders in itself
Even birds can do it without any help
If we can resume and get aligned to theme
It is only way open to reach to HIM
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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I paint on a sky
The dawn is breaking its early morn
Here, I m standing on a promise
of a brand new day
for new morning comes.
for the early morning smile,
So then, I paint on a sky.
Your eyes that shine like a golden sun.
I sense the morning glory.
Those cherry blossoms
That I paint on my mind.
As I heard the morning breeze,
That plays inside of me.
The notes and melodies
Were I paint on a sky
Over there beneath the silence
I watched the sea that dance on a wave,
And then I draw a line on sand
A line that connects my soul on wind
There I can dance to the music of my own
There I can paint on a sky.
Every step that I have been through.
I belong to the wind.
To fly higher than the mountain
Fly as free as the bird.
Then, I paint on a sky.
These dreams inside my mind,
These hope that I have been holding on
These love that last for more than time.
I walked on a bridge of the rainbow
I’ll be the sun in the sky.
I’ll be the light in all time
I’ll put back the blue in the sky
And learn to see the beauty that is waiting for
So then, I paint on a sky
All the happiness that brings back in my heart.
poem by Cheryl Aldea
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Changing perspective for bro Colin
A patchwork quilt of sunlit fields
Is visible as grey mist yields
to the majesty of the sun.
The morning mist and night shadows
are well aware that they must go
Now that a new day has begun.
The distant hills which I now see
Become for me reality
Now that the mists have fully gone.
No longer just a fantasy,
a half forgotten memory.
I wandered happily alone.
I did not lack for company
I had my book of poetry.
What more could any poet need
except a quiet spot to read.
31/08/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The hidden violence lurked (English sonnet)
The hidden violence lurked, was right there,
waiting always waiting to come to the surface
and in Africa most people were totally unaware
until the blood flowed, until they had to face
the destruction, until a hungry lion rushed in;
on the tranquil river eyes were peeping
and this struggle no unarmed person could win
when razor sharp jaws were snapping
and yet a kind of beauty, a kind of innocence,
was always present and just waiting to appear,
even if cruelty did daily feelings incense
there was something without any kind of fear
that dwelt in the early morning beauty,
something that stayed great and forever free.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Hi
Nosy ass!
I tried to surprise you.
But nothing I do,
Gets by you.
What do you have...
Radar too?
Do I carry a 'scent' you sniff?
Whenever I'm near...
Close or present?
And where were you anyway...
When I thought I was sneaking through?
Hiding somewhere,
To see what I would do?
Hi...
Nosy ass!
Here's your gift!
The one you selected.
The one I said I would not get!
Well...
Here it is!
You are worse than the kids!
I'm glad we are still together though.
And another year God has blessed us
To see pass!
Give me a kiss!
Nosy ass.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Morning Call
The silken thread of a cobweb
catches the first drops of morning dew.
They hang like a string of jewels
to sparkle in the first rays of the sun.
The fragrance of an awaking rose
whose scent wafts through the morning air,
as its petals unfurl one by one
to greet the morning sun.
The chorus of the morning birds
whose sweet song of praise,
rejoice the waking of a brand new day,
then alight to fly the freeways of the sky.
The sleepy head tucked in bed
listen for the alarm clock’s wake up call,
but when it sounds, they want to remain
where they are, missing the wonder of it all.
poem by David Harris
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Three Island Songs
AFTER the wind in the wood,
Peace, and the night.
After the bond and the brood,
Flight.
After the height and the hush
Where the wild hawk swings,
Heart of the earth-loving thrush
Shaken with wings.
After the bloom and the leaf
Rain on the nest.
After the splendour and grief,
Rest.
After the hills and the far
Glories and gleams,
Cloud, and the dawn of a star,
And dreams.
------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
O, THE gray rocks of the islands and the hemlock green above them,
The foam beneath the wild rose bloom, the star above the shoal.
When I am old and weary I'll wake my heart to love them,
For the blue ways of the islands are wound about my soul.
[Page 66]
Here in the early even when the young gray dew is falling,
And the king-heron seeks his mate beyond the loneliest wild,
Still your heart in the twilight, and you'll hear the river calling
Through all her outmost islands to seek her lastborn child.
------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
I SAT among the green leaves, and heard the nuts falling,
The broad red butterflies were gold against the sun,
But in between the silence and the sweet birds calling
The nuts fell one by one.
Why should they fall and the year but half over ?
Why should sorrow seek me and I so young and kind ?
The leaf is on the bough and the dew is on the clover,
But the green nuts are falling in the wind.
O, I gave my lips away and all my soul behind them.
Why should trouble follow and the quick tears start ?
The little birds may love and fly with only God to mind them,
But the green nuts are falling on my heart.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Rosebank
From the village of Rosebank the hills look so green
A beautiful country as fine as i've seen
A gem of the mountains on the higher ground
Is this quiet little village with hills all around.
In the Green Frog cafe i go back in time
A bard of the old school sat crafting his rhyme
His long hair and long beard seemed whiter than gray
And he sat in the cafe and wrote every day.
In the 'Green Frog' each morning for an hour or two
He sipped his coffee looking out on the view
He took in the beauty it came out in words
The green of the woods and the songs of the birds.
He sat in the cafe this maker of song
And sipped on his coffee and he thought hard and long
And he gazed on those mountains and song to him came
And he died old and poor though he lives on in fame.
And though the bard for long years has now lain with the dead
His verses survive and by many still read
And the mountains of Rosebank that gave him his rhyme
Are still green as ever unfaded by time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Under the Violets
HER hands are cold; her face is white;
No more her pulses come and go;
Her eyes are shut to life and light;--
Fold the white vesture, snow on snow,
And lay her where the violets blow.
But not beneath a graven stone,
To plead for tears with alien eyes;
A slender cross of wood alone
Shall say, that here a maiden lies
In peace beneath the peaceful skies.
And gray old trees of hugest limb
Shall wheel their circling shadows round
To make the scorching sunlight dim
That drinks the greenness from the ground,
And drop their dead leaves on her mound.
When o'er their boughs the squirrels run,
And through their leaves the robins call,
And, ripening in the autumn sun,
The acorns and the chestnuts fall,
Doubt not that she will heed them all.
For her the morning choir shall sing
Its matins from the branches high,
And every minstrel-voice of Spring,
That trills beneath the April sky,
Shall greet her with its earliest cry.
When, turning round their dial-track,
Eastward the lengthening shadows pass,
Her little mourners, clad in black,
The crickets, sliding through the grass,
Shall pipe for her an evening mass.
At last the rootlets of the trees
Shall find the prison where she lies,
And bear the buried dust they seize
In leaves and blossoms to the skies.
So may the soul that warmed it rise!
If any, born of kindlier blood,
Should ask, What maiden lies below?
Say only this: A tender bud,
That tried to blossom in the snow,
Lies withered where the violets blow.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Eve (original beauty)
She stood naked in the garden
With more beauty
Than the first full bloom rose,
The kind and depth of
Beauty
God in Heaven only knows.
The kind of
Beauty that is deep and wild,
The kind of
Beauty lost like the days of a child,
The kind of
Beauty mankind
Has been trying desperately
(without realization)
Forever to find.
The kind of
Beauty
God has put upon
Every souls mind.
The kind of
Beauty
That forever causes God
To call us:
'Mine! '
The kind of original beauty
God understands,
The kind of beauty awaiting
The return of each woman, and man.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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