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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Related quotes
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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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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Just live a good life
I wake up early this morning
Opening my computer
To read the emails and to
Write some thoughts in my mind
You pop out on the screen
With a big Good Day to me
You were fast on your pessimism
As I sip my coffee and read you
The world is ending
The climates changed
There is so much CO2
Humans have become
Slanderers and blasphemers
And God shall take his day
For this world’s destruction
I ask, if you have taken coffee
A pineapple juice or simply tea
I ask, if you had good sex last night
With your wife or someone else
I ask, if you are writing another poem
I ask, if you are taking a morning walk
With your dog or your son or daughter
I ask, if you have seen the sun rise
I ask, if you had a nice conversation
With a friend or an officemate
I ask, if you are living a good life
I ask, if you are being good and taking
Care of yourself, if you are praying, if
You are on the good side of the fence
You may not answer, I am taking a walk
I have just written a poem, I am answering
Emails of friends, I am seeing a beautiful
Sunrise today, its rays coming out from the trees.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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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Utilitarian Point Of View
as the gray hen cackles looking for a place to lay her eggs
the red rooster looks for another white hen to shuffle on the ground,
we who see this does not condemn, nay we never think of morality
or codes of ethical conduct, as the rooster is just doing the work that nature and man have assigned to it
no hen ever complains that the rooster has copulated with the other
six hens around the poultry in the backyard and in the garden
neither shall we reprimand the rooster for being so restless and
cocky and prolific or as we call it engages in promiscuous sex
all that we are thinking on that moment are the eggs that each hen can lay, our minds looking forward to every morning's breakfast, when we shall choose, the usual delights: either scrambled or sunny side up or perhaps a hard-boiled egg for our personal consumption.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Critiques
when they read your poem
and find some fleas there
and they scratch their heads
like saying: this is bad, this is really bad
and they crumple your poem
and throw it in their waste basket
and they junk the best poem you
have written taking you days and days to revise it
like it is a composition
of another nincompoop. a moron, a lesser kind of
the human being
like a bubble, a bumble, a bum, a belle, a keg,
a piece of feces
a ning nang nang nang
well, write another one.do not ever stop writing.
if you find the one that they have thrown in the waste basket
again, by chance,
redeem it,
take it back and iron out what difference have you
with that critique
(who has not written even a poem for his dog)
have patience. and always remember
you did not write the poem for him
you write it for you and your lover
and your loved one,
and another lover and many more lovers
of life and its
ecstacies
till kingdom come
be patient.
be ever patient.
it is you who has
seen the light. not them.
open another door.
go inside where your lovers dwell.
they will kiss you.
they will clap their hands
and drink beer with you.
and it will be dark again,
and you cannot sleep after you make love.
three times on the floor
and there and then
in your nudity
another voice comes inside your ears
asking that you write
about a floating blue butterfly
looking for the opening
of an orange
flower
another poem shall be written
early morning
be glad
the voice is still there
your shrink may tell you to name the voice.
for he thinks you are schizephrenic
to the max
do not tell him.
it is your secret with God.
be glad.write it.now.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Two Thousand
I've reached a milestone some might say
but to me it's just become my way
to pass my time with rhythm and rhyme
and deliver my thoughts to you.
When I wrote my very first poem
I felt I'd just been born.
I fearfully put my pen on the page
on an early morn
and my thoughts just literally flew.
It's become my way to have my say
about everything under the sun.
And now that I've written 2,000 of them
I still revere number one.
For it was my poetic debut.
Will I stop here and lay the pen aside
or will the ink still flow?
Most certainly I will write some more
for poetry to me is a rainbow.
It appears right out of the blue.
It's beautiful, mysterious
and filled with color.
So I accept the fact it's a milestone
but know that I'm not through.
I'll get up tomorrow morning
and write some more for you.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Time To Write About Time
how do you write time? as simple as asking what time is it?
and then you look at your watch and say
without much thinking about how time passed swiftly and how
it affected you leaving you another lock of white hair
and sense of nostagia of
i am left out here and i have done nothing about the passing of time
it is 8: 17 in the morning, you hear some roosters still cocking out
their maleness to the hens laying their eggs in the warmth of their
quest for more of them
scrambled eggs and scratches on the grass for food
now finally i have found time to write about time
for eyes to look into my own eyes for hands to work on my own hands
time swiftly passes by
and i have noticed more wrinkles on my hands, more lines on my
forehead, eyebags, weakened knees, blisters on my feet, sagging cheeks, falling flesh on my arms,
my heart beats faster on the worry of
i have not done well enough and time passed by leaving me away
with this feeling of
there they are on happy faces with children and grandchildren
and birthdays and deaths and graduations and anniversaries
where are we my dear? we are in this house where there are only
two of us left
we are watching tv and this advertisement on milk for old age
and new born babies
how can we relate to the time that i am writing? i sit beside you,
i hug you again (for the nth time of this almost 30 years of being
together)
i turn off the tv, and let the silence be with us again
i hold your hand, and tell you the usual sweetest words
your name, i always say your name
and my name, you always call me by my name
i hold your hand, your head on my shoulder, we sit together
facing the sunset on the sea on the horizon where birds are flying towards their own nests
it is 5: 15 p.m., time is not freezing. it need not stop just like the
way we really want it
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Early Mornin'
Early mornin'
All right, I was out real late last night
Got a little messy
Early morning
Can't be like that anymore, oh
I was shaking my ass in the streets this morning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, bump till the break of dawn and
It don't stop till the early morning
Passed out on the couch I'm yawning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, bump till the break of dawn and
It don't stop till the early morning
Wanna talk to
When he walked up someone grabbed him
But I liked him to come here
Kinda cool
Baby, we can make plans
Where ya live
Does your mama live there
We can hook up at the hotel
Hands down so
I told him, let's go
But waht happened next, guess?
But you don't wanna know
I was shaking my ass in the streets this morning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, bump till the break of dawn and
It don't stop till the early morning
Passed out on the couch I'm yawning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, bump till the break of dawn and
It don't stop till the early morning
Oh, in love
So I approached him
We gotta give him his friends
There's something bout him that show
So I said, what the hell
Let's go
Got up, got on the dance floor
Hooked up with a guy named Joe
When the music was fast and slow
But waht happened next, guess?
But you don't wanna know
I was shaking my ass in the streets this morning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, bump till the break of dawn and
It don't stop till the early morning
Passed out on the couch I'm yawning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, b
song performed by by Britney Spears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every Morning Has Its Own Poem/ Old Age Fades
EVERY MORNING HAS ITS OWN POEM/ OLD AGE FADES
Every morning has its own poem
Old age fades and goes away in the grey of the early morning day
Every day has its own poem
Every time of life
Hope too is also given to those with few years left
Old age has a poem
I am trying to write it.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Early Christmas Morning
Listen to the children sing
Watch them dancing all around the Christmas tree
Waiting for the opening
Early Christmas morning
All around the world is sleeping
Little children there's no peeping
Wait and see what Santa's bringing
Early Christmas morning
Early Christmas morning
Icicles and breakfast cakes
Friends and family we will celebrate
Sounds that joy and laughter make
Early Christmas morning
All around and far off places
Angels waken smiling faces
Wrapping us with love and graces
Early Christmas morning
Early Christmas morning
song performed by by Cyndi Lauper from Merry Christmas... Have A Nice Life
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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Morning Morgantown
When morning comes to morgantown
The merchants roll their awnings down
The milktrucks make their morning rounds
In morning, morgantown
Well rise up early, with the sun
To ride the bus while everyone is yawning
And the day is young
In morning, morgantown
Morning morgantown
Buy your dreams a dollar down
Morning any town you name
Mornings just the same
Well find a table in the shade
And sip our tea and lemonade
And watch the morning on parade
In morning, morgantown
Ladies in their rainbow fashions
Colored stop and go lights flashing
Well wink at total strangers passing in
Morning, morgantown
Morning morgantown
Buy your dreams a dollar down
Morning any town you name
Mornings just the same
Id like to buy you everything
A wooden bird with painted wings
A window full of colored rings
In morning, morgantown.
But the only thing I have to give
To make you smile, to win you with
Are all the mornings still to live
In morning, morgantown
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Cat Poem - with discussion
I must not write a poem
because I want to write a poem.
I must try to write the poem
when the poem has to be written.
Yes but what if my cat dies?
Yes, what if my cat dies
and I know my cat lived a
good and honest life
I can write a poem?
I can can’t I
I can have a cat poem can’t I
Life of an honest cat and that
Yes I know, I said the cat was honest
but I didn’t say that I was, and
I lied about the cat
________________________________
Discussion:
The poem begins as a slightly
finger wagging exercise in telling
people not to write just because
they want to write a poem - it must
be DRIVEN by the poem's insistence
on being written. The poet is
unable to sustain this arrogance
hence the cat. Then, using the
cat as an excuse, writes the poem
but in the end has to admit that
the cat was just a device to break
the rule outlined in the 4 opening
lines. (Secretly of course the poet
believes or at least hopes that the
poem is good enough to excuse itself
and be allowed to break the rule.)
But of course it isn't
poem by by unknown author
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What In The Name Of Love
Words and music by bill boling, chris deal, and rick wayne
Early morning , and as I rise, you wont even open your eyes.
You used to love this time together.
Now you wont even say goodbye.
With the passin time Ive watched you change.
My love for you still remains the same.
Your love for me used to come so easy.
Now it seldom comes at all.
Chorus:
Could it be were really over?
Has all the lovin gone?
Is it finlly time to face the hurt Ive dreaded for so long.
Tell me what in the name of love have I done wrong?
I hope in time well find a way to bring our lovin back someday.
If your new lifes not what you expected, call and Ill come back home.
I hate to leave but Ive got to go.
Dont ask why; Im sure you know.
Your love for me I cant share with another.
It hurts me so.
Chorus
Chorus
Early morning, and as I rise, you wont even open your eyes.
Your love for me used to come so easy.
Now it seldom comes at all.
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your Dog Dies
it gets run over by a van.
you find it at the side of the road
and bury it.
you feel bad about it.
you feel bad personally,
but you feel bad for your daughter
because it was her pet,
and she loved it so.
she used to croon to it
and let it sleep in her bed.
you write a poem about it.
you call it a poem for your daughter,
about the dog getting run over by a van
and how you looked after it,
took it out into the woods
and buried it deep, deep,
and that poem turns out so good
you're almost glad the little dog
was run over, or else you'd never
have written that good poem.
then you sit down to write
a poem about writing a poem
about the death of that dog,
but while you're writing you
hear a woman scream
your name, your first name,
both syllables,
and your heart stops.
after a minute, you continue writing.
she screams again.
you wonder how long this can go on.
poem by Raymond Clevie Carver
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Death
i
The wake up call in the morning
Telling you
It is time to go
ii
The taxi driver taking you to the airport
Early morning
Without any conversation
To keep the trip alive
iii
The pilot that you cannot see
In the cockpit
Taking you to your destination
iv
Then another story shall be told
That is the surprise
And you cannot help it
So just take your seat
Relax and sleep.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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