Sweet nothing
this morning is a clear ruin
a mortal barb
words make anything
to raise disquiet
but the word devil
that word full of world
is a nothing as sweet
as my first little doubt
Poems on the topic: morning
Poems on the topic “morning” on Poets.by.
Harboring
I have a journal of observations
of the morning port
where I go to take the air
content to rust
my mind is a hole
full of little things
Rider
talking about her horses
all morning
a joy in her step
Blinded
morning fell almost as a pall
over the bed
my eyes fail me looking so long
upon white uniformity
Invalid
in the morning of my disease
I itch and pimple
sickness came for me in a pair
of plain white gloves
Landmark
lost
all morning in a marsh
the tower with us
Smitten
the morning road
where she alights
and I who never loved
my heart a heavy shoe
cannot understand a purse
which is little yet mighty
In the bleak midwinter
Morning is a present
I did not receive.
I chose a pair
of candlesticks, made
a well in the night,
and so was rid
of another Christmas.
Psalm 19:2
Night showed morning
as in a theater
the still of the void,
which she had let drop
into me.
Instant nostalgia
This morning was green and gilt.
Hands this morning were art.
This night, late to make up my accounts, I sigh for it.
Exegesis
morning ford—
as you read the water
so read the bed
A mind of winter is a terrible thing to waste
A morning with fine,
clear frost.
Winter makes us fear,
drink, bet,
sin better and spend
time lost.
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