Morning

Poem By Billy Collins

Why do we bother with the rest 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.

Comments about Morning

A well crafted poem. Please, read my new poem LIVE IN NATAL SPACE. Thanks.
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. beautiful portrayal. tony
I like painting images............you did that very well here! tfs
Nice imagery and great poem, I liked it.


Rating Card

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2 total ratings

Other poems of COLLINS

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followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
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I ask them to take a poem
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He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark
that he barks every time they leave the house.
They must switch him on on their way out.

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and a box of wooden matches.

Litany

You are the bread and the knife,
The crystal goblet and the wine...
-Jacques Crickillon

I Ask You

What scene would I want to be enveloped in
more than this one,
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floral wallpaper pressing in,