A New Day part II

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  • Meldarth
  • http://www.originalpoetry.com/wise-words-or-a-foolish-dream

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Since I combined techinally two ideas with last poem. A new day; along with blue and purple are favorite colors. I had to continue....:)

A New Day part II

Beep, Beep, Beep,
Slowly the hand rises,
Awake from its grave,

Eyes refuse to open,
Yawning,
Day begins anew,

You lay so still,
A picture of beauty,
Sky blue eyes hidden in sleep,

Rising slowly,
Peaking out the window,
The sun still slumbering,

Its velvety rays,
Dance against the pillowy clouds,
Purple dancing in waves of red,

Reds giving way to oranges,
Yet tis not their time yet,
Violets, Purples, smile their kisses,

Upon the sweet clouds,
Beauty of that scene,
Nearly as spellbinding as staring into your eyes,

Those blue, blue eyes,
Smile upon my lips,
Looking back still you sleep,

Wandering into the kitchen,
Since I am awake,
It is a beautiful morning,

Everything I need laid out before me,
Orange Juice freshly squeezed.
Bacon, what is breakfast without bacon,

Then something I promised,
Spoon turns the flower,
Eggs cracked,

Little bit of water splashes playfully in the bowl,
Batter nearly ready,
Mixturing turning and dancing in the bowl,

I set the pan upon the open flame,
Wandering for a moment,
Still asleep with a smile,

Pan nearly hot enough;
Real butter slips into the pan,
Like sliding into a hot bath,

Sliding everywhere,
Coating the pan perfectly,
Such as a hand finds a perfect glove,

I stand before the stove;
Liken to a mad scientist,
The batter is poured,

Until creation of a perfect circle,
Sizzles sing like a choir,
Bubbles slowly begin to rise,

The first one pops,
Another, and then another,
Popcorn has nothing on these playful bubbles,

Gaining speed,
Coming to a peak,
Just as suddenly,

They stop,
It is time;
Strangly at perfect ease,

Gripping the pan,
Flick of the wrist,
Batter flies; flipping through the air,

Perfect somersaults,
Landing with a perfect ten,
A gymnast could not do better,

Whistling softly,
Finishing up the rest of breakfast,
Plate laid out,

Tray in hand,
Balancing perfectly with orange juice on the side,
Daisy lazily in a glass,

Opening the door,
You stretch finally and open your eyes,
Enchanting sky blue eyes look up,

Surprised with breakfast in bed,
You ask with a smile; "Whats for breakfast?"
"Pancakes," is all I say.


by
Clinton Trapp '13

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Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

Meldarth’s Poems (29)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Patience and Duck Tape. 0
The Cage and Madness of Darkness 0
Darkness Rises 0
Some day 1
Fate 0
A New Day part II 0
A new day 0
Illusion of Alone 2
Echoes of Future Past 0
Wise words; or a foolish dream 4
A talk with Life 0
Dreams of Life 0
Life 1
Atlas holding my World 1
Voyage of Dreams 0
Capturing of a moment. 1
Here we go 1
Blink of Time 2
Feeling of Tears 2
The Pain of Truth 17
A Summer's Day 33
World of a 2 year old 8
Dream a little Dream 5
Light of Hope 1
Hollow Nights 2
Childhood 1
The Phoenix 1
The Night 1
Fields of Gold 1