Tag Archives: morning poem

The Waystation

The Waystation

Awakening in the half light, upon investigation,
I find the sun is still in early stages of gestation.
As the day swells out her stomach from its early morn enclosure,
her womb is still half empty, eschewing full disclosure,

I sink into my pillow and wait for the full light,
held prisoner by the darkness, promised freedom by the light.
One part pulled by sleep, the other rues this hesitation,
caught here once again within the dawning day’s waystation.


Prompt words today are half light, eschewstomach and investigation.

A Fine Fit


A Fine Fit

I’m enamored of the morning. I am giddy with myself.
The rain is nearly over and the bowls up on the shelf
cry out to me for oatmeal. Steam is dancing in the pot,
and I am so content with the blessings that I’ve got.
I need no fine adornment and diamonds have I none.
I have dogs and cats and nature, and when the day is done,
swinging in the hammock with a small dog for my covering,
cats mewing from the roof and the big dog closely hovering,
the world seems good enough. In fact, it feels just fine.
Nobody else’s life would fit me half as well as mine!

Prompt words for today are dancing, nearly, giddy, adorn and self.

Early Morning Jazz

If you are viewing in Reader or on facebook, please click on the title or URL to view poem in its correct form.


                                                      Early Morning Jazz   

The scrape of your chair.

                     The gentle tap of keys
   as you, rhythmic early riser,
 rouse the day.

I burrow deeper, 
trying to ignore

           your accompaniment



      on the
frozen, silent

Version 2

For the  dVerse Poets Quadrille Challenge.

Morning Matins, NaPoWriMo 2017, Day 12

full moon morning 2 jdbphoto2017


Morning Matins

Cuddled and chirruping, choirs of birds
trill from their tree limbs in boisterous herds.
Like broken crystals, they tinkle in showers,
cacophonous clashings from high hidden bowers.
We cannot see these hermits in their hiding.
Until the sun rises, they will not be gliding
smoothly on air currents, sliding and slipping,
deft and most daring while doing their dipping.

Now a clashed chirping, like the chipping of ice.
The cooing of doves and a rooster crows twice.
The masked moon is waning, obscured by the light
as the first rays of day do away with the night.
Then the wrens take to wing and the grackles glide in.
Flycatchers and orioles desert where they’ve been.
They make their curtain calls, then spread their wings
in pursuit of their breakfasts and other bird things.

vermillion flycatcher jdbphoto2017

Being a night owl, I am so rarely up at 5 in the morning that it has been years since I’ve experienced the awakening of birds in the full moonlight before the sun has yet come out.  It was like a concert listening to birds awakening, still obscured by darkness and their sanctuaries of trees.

The NaPoWrMo prompt for day 12 was to use alliteration and assonance in a poem.

4 A.M. (NaPoWriMo 2017, Day 12)

full moon morning, jdbphoto2017

4 A.M.

It is too early to be stirring, the world is still asleep.
The sound is all still slumbering, the darkness is too deep.
No dayness stirs the nightness. No touch is reaching out.
No stirring and no blowing. Not a whisper. Not a shout.
When I wake before the world does, it seems the end of things
instead of the beginning, when the whole world sings.
Sun rises and the birds demand. The dogs whine for their feed.
All the world around me awakens to its need.
But for now, they are all sleeping. It is a lifeless world.
Its eyes and ears and mouth closed, around me densely curled.

The NaPoWriMo prompt today is to use alliteration. This is quiet alliteration, like the poem.  Not too much.  Just a touch!

Morning Dew and Switcheroo: WordPress Daily Prompt Weds NaPoWriMo

When I’ve Passed A Restless Night

When I’ve passed a restless night,
to once more welcome morning light,
I do not leave a lover’s grasp.
No knitted legs need to unclasp.
What time on waking I can afford
is spent by me, unwinding cord:
the earbud cord around my neck,
my PC power cord from the wreck
of pillows, comforter and sheet
that somehow, now, are at my feet.
My MacBook Air, just by my shoulder
has come unplugged and so is colder
to my touch. It won’t power on.
Then, when plugged in, my poem is gone.

For the month of April, I am marching to the beat of two drummers, NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month) and the daily WordPress blog. So, for the fun of it, I’m going to try to write a few poems that incorporate both prompts. The first part of the poem (above) meets the NaPoWriMo challenge that springs from the form known as the aubade. These are morning poems, about waking up, dawn and daybreak. Many aubades take the form of lovers’ morning farewells but the topic was left wide open and so I took a different slant on it.

The second part of the poem (below) segues into the WordPress prompt entitled “Switcheroo,” that asks what blogger I would trade places with if I could. I’ve tried to make the two poems work either as single poems or as one longer poem. Tell me what you think. Does this work or do you prefer them as separate poems?

My Kindle lies upon the table,
still spewing words, if it is able,
from the book by Audible
that I heard was laudable;
so I chose it to listen to
knowing words would be but few
before I gave my thoughts to dreams
in short, imaginary schemes.

In sleep, I’ve pulled the ear cord tight.
It disconnected and tales took flight
into the air and so are gone
and my dreams become the song
whispered in my slumbering ear­­­­­­­­–
all that I dream and hope and fear
coming up to enter thought
revealing to me what I’m not
as surely as what I may be:
a page, a paintbrush and a tree.


And so as I’m unwound from sleep,
I sit up, my date to keep
with that world I’m connected to
with cyber-nails and blogging glue.
Those who find the world absurd
might give pause to read a word
that I wed with more words ‘til
my dreams have finally had their fill
of eating up my conscious life.

Now that I’m no longer wife,
mother, an employee or
the keeper of a traveling store,
if I wish to spend my days
ensconced in a creative haze,
who is there to bother me?
I live alone. My days are free.

I would not trade with Heather Armstrong,
(Dooce.com) or Huffington,
for though more followers would be nice,
(Any blogger would like a slice),
still it is perhaps excess.
I don’t want so much success,
for much as I’d enjoy renown,
as far as being toast of the town–
I will remain just who I am.
I’ll take my blog without the jam!