Mornings: A Collection of Poems

What do mornings and New Years have in common? Both are over-used poetic metaphors for new beginnings. However, it is (weirdly enough) my favorite time of days. Here are a collection of poetry drabbles about Mornings.


Stone hilled statues

With sleepy, mossy eyes.


Of chiseled eternities,

Time measured

Not in days or years

But in the smooth

Trickle of water

Against rough rock.

Faster than seconds,

Lasting longer

than an era of kings.

The stones watch

slow, sedentary lives

all seeing.


In a purple-gray mist,

hardy goats leap

their cloven feet

clinging to crevices

cleverly embedded

in sheets of stone.

Dawn rises

Slowly with a yawn,

Her orange hair

Glowing like a messy


Around her

And the goats.


Birds repeat the same

morning songs

over and over again.

The chirp of their


A red-frocked, ribbon plaited

Innocence the world

heralds every morning.

Smelling of talcum powder

and rosy red cheeks.

It’s like the day

is new once more.


In a warm blanket embrace,

I fumble in the mornings.

To relentless cheer

I hear in my ears

But do not feel in my heart.

Underneath my neck

I can feel the softness

Of pillows still dreaming.

Yet further ‘neath

Is the insistent vibration

which won’t let me

close my eyes. Back

to another reality.

It tells me it’s time to leave

the blankets and their heat,

face the crisp cold

face the music

and the real world.


Mornings are quiet affairs.

With the world still dreaming

And you sipping your tea.

Pursing through papers

As you absent-mindedly

Note that much has changed

Since you woke and did

the Same thing Yesterday.



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