Mornings are my adversary
their obtrusively obnoxious, opportunist
they creep their rays, uninvited
and unannounced
like ebullient maids, going above their pay
to rinse out all the creased in shadows
on your sleep swollen face
never asking, or bother to consider
if you want a little respite
against the zestful sun
and all its pumped-up progenitures
of the variables of day
born irritants
their to giddy for their own good
how dare it bustles in
and conscripts
you with joie de vivre
it forces you to put your shoes on
and enter the unknown future
when all you want to do
is have a 41 wink
to let you think about it
worse its like a hangover
when your sober
stinging kisses
that never grows older
If I could hang the morning
I would put a curtain around it
but I cant
so I do the next worse thing
and get up to meet it.
that's the only real way
to face down the morning
Chuckling here! My Father was the definition of ebulience when
O yes, Kevin. I can feel this poem. A morning can stalk, creep, attack. It can be the worthiest adversary. This is one of your finest.
The real way of facing morning motivates mind. An interesting poem you have brilliantly penned. Mornings are your amazing adversary. Thank you very much for sharing this poem with us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
the sun barely peeped over the horizon. He would dance into my room singing Good Morning It's time to rise and shine! ! ! ! You can imagine how grouchily I climbed out of bed! ! ! 10++++++++++++++++++ for a fellow sufferer