Mornings Are Reborn
i do not like to think that
mornings are broken
like fragile white porcelain
like eggshells and glass figurines
and wine glasses
i like to see a morning reborn
dressed in light
on a pedestal of green grass
coming out
from the shadows of the tall mountains
touching the skies
regal, and fresh and cool,
i like myself to be just that
reborn
blank and still wanting to live
a life that is full
alive and like the arrival of
my morning
i like it be silent like
cat's feet
on the carpet.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Know The Meanign Of Morning
mornings are
metaphors
though routinized
but each morning
is another
blessing
it is another promise
of life
another assurance
that no matter what
something with
light and warmth
unfolds before
our eyes
wake up then
to a new morning
feel the new skin
spreading to your
body
breathe the new air
and fill your lungs with all
of these
reborn, be reborn
there is no use for anything
dead past us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Ask The Morning Light
I ASK THE MORNING LIGHT
I ask the morning light,
To give me a poem-
The morning light is quiet-
The fresh cool air
Freezes my hand
As I write.
The light is so bright
So yellow so blue so green.
The poem has been given-
I am alive.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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For You My...(ambot)
this morning baby i take my walk
it rained last night
and the other nights before
and so today baby
the grass is greener
the road is not dusty
not also muddy
just perfect for this
'brand new' day in my life
i made some promises
to myself
not to think about your face
and your body
i haven't kissed you
i haven't made love to you
just in my dream
all but just in my dream
and this morning i take this walk
for you
wanting to forget
wanting to walk straight in the other
mornings of my life
i will make a promise again
that so surely
will be broken again baby
you're such a dust that i can't
take off my feet
very weary, weary feet
taking these walks
senselessly
hopelessly always always
crazy about you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Broken Glasses (2)
It's all broken glasses falling on the floor
Piece by piece breaking even more
One becoming two with each and every blow
A tree of glasses will never grow
Broken glasses on the floor
A million pieces becoming more
Each piece alone starts to shine
As though each one were becoming alive
A million pieces lie on the floor
Broken glasses broken to the core
They make me cry with their silence alone
As though they believe that all hope is gone
And the light that shines on the edge of a piece
Is like an un-witnessed tear of the pain unseen
As though when the pieces stop falling
All the glasses stop fighting
And chose to shine no more
Broken glasses falling on the floor
What can I say what have I more
Broken glasses I adore
Like a silent heart beat being ignored
Broken glasses are alive
Broken glasses are the life
Of a character broken deep inside
poem by Hafeni Nghidinua
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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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Goodbye....
i must write you with a heavy heart
this heart of stone
blank, numb, gray, rough,
silent,
i write this at dusk,
there are yet no birds flying in the twilight skies
some boats are still there
but only shadows
i want to be completely stoned
to bleed, and be broken,
to be hurt by you once again
in this masochism
last night, you spread your legs, you hang yourself in bed
crucified in the ecstasy
of our love on concealed identities
no one sees us, no one knows us,
except
the angry God.
this morning, i see strangled bedsheets, off white,
empty glasses on the floor, stained carpets,
half open windows looking into the vast blue ocean
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Morning Has Broken
Morning has broken, like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for them springing fresh from the world
Sweet the rains new fall, sunlit from heaven
Like the first dewfall, on the first grass
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden
Sprung in completeness where his feet pass
Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
Gods recreation of the new day
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Morning Light
Say hello to the dawn’s arrival
Open your eyes to a brand new day
Lift your head to feel the sun’s blessing
The morning light will show you the way
The morning light will show you the way
Each gentle ray blesses the living
We all reach out for its energy
Its gentle warmth it will caress you
The morning light will show you the way
The morning light will show you the way
For every tree and every flower
That dances in the sun
For children playing in the daytime
And having their fun
For every broken heart that sees the
Light of day
The morning light will show you the way
The morning light will show you the way
Illuminating all that it touches
Brings out the color of the world
Its warmth it gives us good feelings
The morning light will show us the way
The morning light will show us the way
For every tree and every flower
That dances in the sun
For every childhood smile
That touches everyone
For every life that we are given
For every dream realized
The morning sun will show you the way
The morning sun will show you the way
poem by William Lindenmuth
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Brand New Morning
It's a brand new morning of a brand new day.
It's a brand new chance to make it all work out some way.
Hey! It's a brand new morning and a brand new smile.
It's some brand new things you just might see in a while;
Then your life takes on a bright new shiny style.
Forget the past now, it's an ancient history.
It's a time to be reborn, it's a time for being free.
Someone might be waiting here outside where you can see-
And you just might see -
Yeah, you just might see -
That it's a brand new morning with a brand new sun,
And it's just as warm for you as it is for everyone.
Don't just walk, come on, get it on, get on the run.
It's a brand new morning, ooh, it's a brand new day.
Forget the past now, it's an ancient history.
It's a time to be reborn, it's a time for being free.
Someone might be waiting here outside where you can see -
And you just might see -
Yeah, you just might see -
That it's a brand new morning with a brand new sun,
And it's just as warm for you as it is for everyone.
Don't just walk, come on, get it on, get on the run.
It's a brand new morning, ooh, it's a brand new day.
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Truth...
Those without imagination wander through life,
They prostrate themselves at the feet of delusion.
They must honour him, praise his name,
They live to serve, a desperate need to be reborn.
Deceitful claws sunk deep into the flesh of man,
Joyless and lifeless ceremonies in his name.
Endless defeat reborn in the belly of all eternity,
Yet I have seen the truth so heed my words.
Birth hurls us swiftly towards death,
Clutch onto every precious moment as you fall.
For each bit of existence is a cherished memory,
Live not for a lie but for the joy of love.
Wrench your soul from the clutches of deceit,
For we are but a minuscule part of life's cycle.
And though birth hurls us swiftly towards death,
In death we shall become reborn of all things...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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A Rosy Dream
This is for you,
Did pencils ever write
unwritten paper
empty blank
broken moment
unsaid poems and little words of fear
This morning of our affection
we spill our emotions
through the glass of wine
of ordinary hot words....
and walk through the shore of sand
sea shore is now empty....
a rosy garden
where roses fall silent
at the gaze of the moon,
where the night falls in a rosy faint, and snow
like a' ruby 'drops....
In the morning of our belief
in the faces of stars
like a kiss of words
we rely upon,
the streets remain empty
and our watches break again...
our skies sing
in a painful breeze
we miss our little song
Did paint ever portray
unspoilt canvas
empty hands
idle colours
rest
In the morning of singing song,
whistling
birds.....
poem by Thampi KEE
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The Beauty Of The Morning Is Like No Other Beauty
THE BEAUTY OF THE MORNING IS LIKE NO OTHER BEAUTY
The Beauty of the morning is like no other Beauty
It brings with it
Light and Hope
The Joy of a new Beginning
This morning too like so many other mornings
I begin again
Thanking G-d I am still alive
And loving the light
And the joy
That life as it is still gives.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Fireside Song
As daybreak breaks the mist upon the earth
It came to pass that beauty settled there forever more
And as the steam clings close to things to come
It came to pass that solid rock did part for humble life
Once upon a time there was confusion
Disappointment, fear and disillusion
Now theres hope reborn with every morning
See the future clearly at its dawning
Forever drifting slowly towards a hazy emptiness
Whilst water slips into the sea
The fathers sad to see its free
As shadows creep towards their master night
It came to pass that trees defied the wind who shook their leaves
And as the peace descended all around
It came to pass that natures creatures came to face the world
Once upon a time there was confusion
Disappointment, fear and disillusion
Now theres hope reborn with every morning
See the future clearly at its dawning
Forever drifting slowly towards a hazy emptiness
Whilst water slips into the sea
The fathers sad to see its free
Once upon a time there was confusion
Disappointment, fear and disillusion
Now theres hope reborn with every morning
See the future clearly at its dawning
Once upon a time there was confusion
Disappointment, fear and disillusion
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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93
i like it here
this is my place, insignificant, small,
fleeting even, like a soft breath coming out of my mouth when
i utter the word
you and
i, but you are still confused unable to understand each letter
like chopped string beans so disconnected
from each piece
i understand myself now as intimately as my nose
to my lips to smell and sound touching each other
this moment,
i still say convinced as i am like how the window pane
agrees to entertain a morning chill and then
the light coming,
i still say, i like it here, the view from here,
green mountains hairy with forest trees
rivers running like children in the parks
clouds drifting like butterflies all in the hues of pastel blue
and some scratches of white and gray,
i like the sea here
friendly salt to my tears, i like the gardens here,
so alive with flowers and bees and blades of grass,
i like it here
and i have no plans ever to leave even with you telling me that you love
me till the end of days and nights,
you are lying and there is no sense dying
in the beds of your dreams so far away like
a mythical kingdom.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Like It Here
this is my place, insignificant, small,
fleeting even, like a soft breath coming out of my mouth when
i utter the word
you and
i, but you are still confused unable to understand each letter
like chopped string beans so disconnected
from each piece
i understand myself now as intimately as my nose
to my lips to smell and sound touching each other
this moment,
i still say convinced as i am like how the window pane
agrees to entertain a morning chill and then
the light coming,
i still say, i like it here, the view from here,
green mountains hairy with forest trees
rivers running like children in the parks
clouds drifting like butterflies all in the hues of pastel blue
and some scratches of white and gray,
i like the sea here
friendly salt to my tears, i like the gardens here,
so alive with flowers and bees and blades of grass,
i like it here
and i have no plans ever to leave even with you telling me that you love
me till the end of days and nights,
you are lying and there is no sense dying
in the beds of your dreams so far away like
a mythical kingdom.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Someday Morning
As the early morning filters through
My shuttered window pane
I look about and realize
That things are still the same
These flowers in a glass
Mark the hours that have passed
As I lay sleeping
And I can hear my footsteps ringing
Down the empty morning street
And the concrete that I walk upon
Is cold beneath my feet
A single winging dove
Reminds me of the sleeping love
That I am leaving
cause everyone must someday do his own thing
cause everyone must someday do his own thing
And I have a brand new song to sing
In the morning skies the stars
Begin to sputter and to fade
As the night surrenders all its claim
On shadows it has made
A watchdogs hungry bark
Is the mornings first remark
Upon my walking
And everyone must someday do his own thing
And everyone must someday do his own thing
And I have a brand new song to sing
And Im told that if I try
That I can do most anything
Well then I would like to sing a song
And make this morning ring
As the morning turns to day
Hear the waking city say
Who is that singing
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An April Morning
The morning awakes
with a cloudless sky
with the air cool and fresh
that you go outside
and sit a while
in the refreshing air
of an April morning.
The sun greets the morning
with its warming rays
and much promise of a lovely day.
You breathe in deeply
the nectar of life,
of this fresh air
of an April morning.
poem by David Harris
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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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Figurines (Revised)
Belatedly the sun’s late rays gild my sweet
menagerie of little figurines each afternoon
I see and am enchanted knowing who has
sent the golden beams embrace, entrancing
chinaware in pairs (I do prefer they be in twos)
my two mermaids, the two small fairies on a
sailor’s chest, the porcelain shepherdess
The sun is mischievous and clearly shows the
gathered dust, I’ll have to get a glass dome for
my troupe to keep them clean, but watching
now just how the light creates theatrical effects,
no need to burn this image in my eyes to keep
it safe in dimming sun, I run into the study where
I activate the light to gaze in wonder at
Two miniature mermaids, the broken fairy, legs
covered in glitter, mounted on a bejeweled
mirror, oh, how I love these precious
figurines…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Sunday Morning Sun
I sat by a lake this morning
as the sun crept into the sky.
The dew sparkled on the grass
and I caught a glimpse of a butterfly fly.
The waters shimmered
under the morning sun.
The ripples caused by a light breeze
twinkled as they rolled along
as I sat in complete solitude
under a Sunday morning sun.
The world was so close,
yet seemed a million miles away.
Everywhere things were waking
to a brand new day.
The air was fresh and cool
like God intended it to be.
The leaves of my writing pad
flickered as I started
to write down what I saw
under a Sunday morning sun.
10 August 2008
poem by David Harris
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