Morning poems

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Little Father

© Li-Young Lee

I buried my father
in the sky.
Since then, the birds
clean and comb him every morning
and pull the blanket up to his chin
every night.

Victor Galbraith. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The First)

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Under the walls of Monterey

At daybreak the bugles began to play,

The West Wind

© William Cullen Bryant

Beneath the forest's skirts I rest,
Whose branching pines rise dark and high,
And hear the breezes of the West
Among the threaded foliage sigh.

Green Tea by Dale Ritterbusch: American Life in Poetry #83 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006

Poems of simple pleasure, poems of quiet celebration, well, they aren't anything like those poems we were asked to wrestle with in high school, our teachers insisting that we get a headlock on THE MEANING. This one by Dale Ritterbusch of Wisconsin is more my cup of tea.

Elizabeth

© James Whitcomb Riley

_May 1, 1891_.

I.

Facing It

© Yusef Komunyakaa

My black face fades,

hiding inside the black granite.

What Our Dead Do

© Zbigniew Herbert

Jan came this morning
—I dreamt of my father
he says

Idylls of the King: The Passing of Arthur

© Alfred Tennyson

That story which the bold Sir Bedivere,
First made and latest left of all the knights,
Told, when the man was no more than a voice
In the white winter of his age, to those
With whom he dwelt, new faces, other minds.

Wind Of The Night

© William Henry Ogilvie

Hark to the high wind's hunting horn!
The hounds of the night run mute and fast,
You may hear a branch from the beech-tree torn
As the Field goes tramping past ;
Where the moonlit miles lie silver white,
Luck to your hunting, wind of the night!

[He is pruning the privet]

© Joanne Kyger

simple country practices thunder
lightning, hail and rain eight Douglas Iris
ribbon layers of attention

The Black-Faced Sheep

© Donald Hall

My grandfather spent all day searching the valley
and edges of Ragged Mountain,
calling “Ke-day!” as if he brought you salt,
“Ke-day! Ke-day!”

The Bustle in a House (1108)

© Emily Dickinson

The Bustle in a House
The Morning after Death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted opon Earth –

I Am Waiting

© Gaius Valerius Catullus

I am waiting for my case to come up

and I am waiting

Royalty

One fine morning, in the country of a very gentle people, a magnificent man and woman were shouting in the public square. “My friends, I want her to be queen!” “I want to be queen!” She was laughing and trembling. He spoke to their friends of revelation, of trials completed. They swooned against each other.
In fact they were regents for a whole morning as crimson hangings were raised against the houses, and for the whole afternoon, as they moved toward groves of palm trees.

Delia XXXII

But love whilst that thou mayst be loved again,

Now whilst thy May hath filed thy lap with flowers,

The Pleasures of Imagination: Book The Second

Till all its orbs and all its worlds of fire
Be loosen'd from their seats; yet still serene,
The unconquer'd mind looks down upon the wreck;
And ever stronger as the storms advance,
Firm through the closing ruin holds his way,
Where nature calls him to the destin'd goal.