Morning Poem
by Jim Harrison and Ted Kooser
I want to describe my life in hushed tones
like a TV nature program. Dawn in the north.
His nose stalks the air for newborn coffee.
###
Find more poems by Jim Harrison and Ted Kooser in BRAIDED CREEK: A Conversation in Poetry, available at Amazon.com.
Illustration: Label by Ray Troll for “Wicked Wolf: Raven’s Brew Gourmet Coffee” available at ravensbrew.com.
MORNING
Poem by Billy Collins
Why do we bother with the rest of of the day,
the swale of the afternoon,
the sudden dip into evening,
then night with his notorious perfumes,
his many-pointed stars?
This is the best –
throwing off the light covers,
feet on the cold floor,
and buzzing around the house on espresso –
maybe a splash of water on the face,
a palmful of vitamins –
but mostly buzzing around the house on espresso,
dictionary and atlas open on the rug,
the typewriter waiting for the key of the head,
a cello on the radio,
and, if necessary, the windows –
trees fifty, a hundred years old
out there,
heavy clouds on the way
and the lawn steaming like a horse
in the early morning.
*****
Billy Collins served as U.S. Poet Laureate from 2001-2003.
Illustration: “Blue Ridge Mountains,” watercolor by Ginette Callaway, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Prints available at fineartamerica.com.
AUGUST MORNING
by Albert Garcia
It’s ripe, the melon
by our sink. Yellow,
bee-bitten, soft, it perfumes
the house too sweetly.
At five I wake, the air
mournful in its quiet.
My wife’s eyes swim calmly
under their lids, her mouth and jaw
relaxed, different.
What is happening in the silence
of this house? Curtains
hang heavily from their rods.
Ficus leaves tremble
at my footsteps. Yet
the colors outside are perfect–
orange geranium, blue lobelia.
I wander from room to room
like a man in a museum:
wife, children, books, flowers,
melon. Such still air. Soon
the mid-morning breeze will float in
like tepid water, then hot.
How do I start this day,
I who am unsure
of how my life has happened
or how to proceed
amid this warm and steady sweetness?
Poem copyright © by Albert Garcia from his book Skunk Talk (Bear Starr Press, 2005), available at Amazon.com.
Painting: “Melon,” watercolor by Ema Angelova, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Dawn Poem
by Jim Harrison and Ted Kooser
Clear summer dawn,
first sun steams moisture
redly off the cabin roof,
a cold fire. Passing raven
eyeballs it with a quawk.
###
Find more poems by Jim Harrison and Ted Kooser in BRAIDED CREEK: A Conversation in Poetry, available at Amazon.com.
Morning Poem
by Jim Harrison and Ted Kooser
I want to describe my life in hushed tones
like a TV nature program. Dawn in the north.
His nose stalks the air for newborn coffee.
###
Find more poems by Jim Harrison and Ted Kooser in BRAIDED CREEK: A Conversation in Poetry, available at Amazon.com.
Illustration: Label by Ray Troll for “Wicked Wolf: Raven’s Brew Gourmet Coffee” available at ravensbrew.com.
OF THIS MOMENT
by Larry D. Thomas
primaveral,
when the trees
are tuning forks
struck into the tones
of birdsong,
the squirrels
descend the trunks
like beads
of hot wax,
each onto the floor
of his own
little room
sans walls or roof,
lit by a thousand
candles
in the dazzling
yellow house
of morning.
(“Of This Moment” was first published in The Christian Science Monitor and is featured in Larry D. Thomas‘s collection Where Skulls Speak Wind, Texas Review Press, 2004 — winner of the 2004 Texas Review Poetry Award.)
Illustration: “Silently Watching,” watercolor by Cathy Wilson, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
“Morning brings back the heroic ages. There was something cosmical about it; a standing advertisement, till forbidden, of the everlasting vigor and fertility of the world. The morning, which is the most memorable season of the day, is the awakening hour. Then there is least somnolence in us; and for an hour, at least, some part of us awakes which slumbers all the rest of the day and night.” From Walden, Or Life in the Woods by HENRY DAVID THOREAU
Photo: “Walden Pond, Beautiful Day” by machris, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
MORNING
Poem by Billy Collins
Why do we bother with the rest of of the day,
the swale of the afternoon,
the sudden dip into evening,
then night with his notorious perfumes,
his many-pointed stars?
This is the best —
throwing off the light covers,
feet on the cold floor,
and buzzing around the house on espresso —
maybe a splash of water on the face,
a palmful of vitamins —
but mostly buzzing around the house on espresso,
dictionary and atlas open on the rug,
the typewriter waiting for the key of the head,
a cello on the radio,
and, if necessary, the windows —
trees fifty, a hundred years old
out there,
heavy clouds on the way
and the lawn steaming like a horse
in the early morning.
*****
Billy Collins served as U.S. Poet Laureate from 2001-2003.
*****
Photo: Holly Garner-Jackson, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Silver Birch Press 