#Poems Poetry Morning

[fromdarzaitoleeza]

{Words by Charles Bukowski/ Mary Oliver from invitation}

[therisellchronicle]

En el laberinto de la vida

En el laberinto de la vida,me pierdo entre las sombras de la incertidumbre,buscando un camino hacia la verdad,hacia la luz que ilumina mi ser. En cada esquina del camino,encuentro las huellas de mi pasado,las cicatrices de mis errores,las lecciones aprendidas en el dolor. Pero también encuentro la esperanza,la fuerza que me impulsa a seguir adelante,el amor que me sostiene en la adversidad,la…

[luthienne]

Naomi Shihab Nye, Transfer; "Morning Birds"

[girlfictions]

Ellen Bass, “The Thing Is”

[thatsbelievable]

[soracities]

This morning is drunk with spring sun, And on the terrace the smell of roses is louder...

Anna Akhmatova, from “This morning is drunk with spring sun” (excerpt from “Deception”, in Evening), The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova: Expanded Edition, trans. Judith Hemschemeyer

[pink-heart-writes]

[firstfullmoon]

Muriel Rukeyser, “Waking This Morning”

[thehartster-blog]

Going through the motions

[psykopaths]

Take my hand like you mean it because I'm not here playing games,

And let's go somewhere far away where no one knows our names.

It matters not of where we are as long as you're infront of my eyes,

Because even in hell you can give me the experience of a paradise.

[metamorphesque]

— clair de lune, tathève simonyan         

[text ID: i want a “waking up naked under dusty pink silky sheets” scene: / sunlights of hair cascading over the ivory of my back / untethered strands connecting beauty marks / my own constellation of starlight / and as the morning light sashays in / through the cracks / of this chain of blinds / and as this body of mine / welcomes in blues and yellows / there’s a sense of promise / dancing in the air / that’s not going anywhere. / i want a scene of / hands reaching for a door / not for a cover / for in this particular scene / there’s a body that wants to have me in it / and an i who wants to be in this body / i want this symbiotic bliss / this harmonious coexistence / of two opposing forces / reaching for the same door. / [i want debussy playing in the background] / hands reaching for a cup, hands boiling water, hands adding / a spoonful of coffee / hands never burning / hands running through hair / like wild horses / blindly unbounded / like leaves / succumbing to the breath of the wind / but in a good way / because succumbing oneself / doesn’t have to end with a death / not always / at least not when you can hear / clair de lune / softly whispering from the living room. / i want scenes with hands: / hands all over / all the time / hands that love / without a reason and with (one) / because it’s spring / because it’s no longer spring / because they are hands and that’s what they were made to do / because debussy is playing / and what else can one do / but love / unabashedly / with van gogh yellows / and picasso blues / and monet violets / and / i want a scene where / my name is no longer an unintended apology / but a silent promise / like the morning light / dancing in the air / painting its blue hues / yellow in its blues. / i want a scene where / my existence is a reason / and not an afterthought. / i want a scene of me not wanting any of these. / scenes of me naked under dusty pink silky sheets / waiting for the morning light / and knowing that it will come.]

[mournfulroses]

Elizabeth Bishop, from The Selected Poems of Elizabeth Bishop; "Twelfth Morning,"

[luthienne]

Jack Gilbert, from Collected Poems; "Before Morning in Perugia"

[petaltexturedskies]

Have I loved enough? Have I considered right action enough, have I come to any conclusion? Have I experienced happiness with sufficient gratitude? Have I endured loneliness with grace? Say this, or perhaps I'm just thinking it. Actually, probably think too much. Then I step out into the garden, where the gardener, who is said to be a simple man, is tending his children, the roses.

Mary Oliver, from The Gardener in "A Thousand Mornings"

[fictionadventurer]

NaPoWriMo #5: A poem inspired by a specific public-domain nature book

In this case, the section about the infinite variety of microorganisms.

Song of the Microorganisms

Praise the Lord, all you single-celled creatures! You bacteria and algae You diatoms and fungi Praise Him who brings you sun and sugars to feast upon Who makes waters and thermal vents for your homes He whose majesty is infinite Crafts and cares for creatures infinitely small Ever-generating life, the unseen throng Praise Him in endless, invisible song

[poetrybyonur]

Please just stay a little longer with me under the blankets.