POETIC BLOOMINGS

POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.

AN ENTERTAINING SUMMER – DAY #15: SUMMER DAWN

We look to the dawn, the summer dawn,  for our next foray into poetic inspiration, choosing William Morris’ Summer Dawn.

SUMMER DAWN by William Morris

Pray but one prayer for me ‘twixt thy closed lips, 
Think but one thought of me up in the stars. 
The summer night waneth, the morning light slips, 
Faint and grey ‘twixt the leaves of the aspen, betwixt the cloud-bars 
That are patiently waiting there for the dawn: 
Patient and colourless, though Heaven’s gold 
Waits to float through them along with the sun. 
Far out in the meadows, above the young corn, 
The heavy elms wait, and restless and cold 
The uneasy wind rises; the roses are dun; 
Through the long twilight they pray for the dawn, 
Round the lone house in the midst of the corn, 
Speak but one word to me over the corn, 
Over the tender, bow’d locks of the corn. 

##

This poem is so rich with imagery, there is surely something in here to trigger your poetic process!  Read it or listen to the reading and think of these points, or find one from your own summer dawn and awaken to a new poetic day!

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75 thoughts on “AN ENTERTAINING SUMMER – DAY #15: SUMMER DAWN

  1. I hope to return later with something more thoughtful. John is still here visiting, so time is a bit short.

    Dawn and Dogs and …

    Is this your dawn or mine —
    Is it yours to greet
    or mine to ignore.
    That glare is a fishwife’s
    shriek,
    it wakes the dog,
    who paws the door,
    who whines for relief
    as it walks the floor,
    then into the garden,
    emptied,
    relieved.
    I sleep. I sleep.
    Today’s dawn was yours,
    not mine.

    .
    © Misky 2016

  2. Dawn always makes me think of Apollo, which is the title of a poem I wrote a few years ago for a different PAD. I’ll pen another new one today, but as we’re just around dawn now, I’ll drop this one here:

    Apollo

    Ain’t no sunshine when he’s gone,
    (but that would be like stealing
    and cliche to say the least).
    Yet without him, we’ve no dawn,
    no light from his free wheeling
    across the sky. Life decreased-
    poetry and warmth withdrawn,
    a loss of dance and healing.
    When he’s gone, we’ll surely cease.

    https://pubwrite.wordpress.com/2012/11/09/poem-apollo/

  3. William Preston on said:

     
     
    BIRDSONG IN THE EARLY HOURS

    At the orange-tinged edge of the dawn,
    just before the day’s curtain is drawn,
    the patrolling task shifts
    from the bats to the swifts
    while the dew is still pearling the lawn,

    and for insects these moments comprise
    a sound warning to those that are wise,
    for the coos and the caws
    and the tweets without pause
    signal death to the bugs and the flies.

  4. YOU, IN THE DAWNING MIST

    The misty dawning dew-fall lifts its veil,
    the blushing bride of night begins her day,
    and bathes in summer’s ever-cleansing rays.
    Your beauty does espouse this without fail,
    my song of love and passion’s fervent tale,
    and in the shadows we recline in love,
    our blessing from the Mighty Hand above.
    For into soft brown eyes my soul will sail.

         The heart’s desires should not be restrained,
         for passions burn like fire in our hearts,
         and endless founts of love, yet so contained
         are not immune to Cupid’s “fatal” darts.
         Here in the dawning mist true love is gained,
         resigned and reclined, you and I remain!

    © Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

  5.  
     
    Of Scattered Stars

    Night’s raven bud of slumber yields and spills its rose on skies and fields
    The woes of man that ebb and flow are set on pedestals of hope
    For there is not a morning born that does not offer fresh appeal
    Time’s gift soft-wrapped in purple mist then set on summer’s sanguine slope

    Earth’s weather-beaten brow and clime beneath the ceaseless course of time
    Is like a polished ornament, not flung but hung with holy thread
    Into unfathomed galaxies; the Keeper of its season-chime
    Does not lose sight of this blue dot but melts its dark with gold and red

    See; He does not forget, no, no, but bends to kiss faith’s fault and flaw
    Forgiving Past with Future, oh, what manner of love rends the deep
    Where we of meek and mortal stance can hardly speak, filled with sheer awe
    That God grants us deliverance and scatters stars beneath our feet

    © Janet Martin

  6.  
     
    IN THE THROES
    OF LIVING

    I died again today
    in the throes
    of living
    on the edge
    thinking
    one more death
    can’t kill me.

    I’ve traded in
    this humdrum life
    so many times,
    given up the ghost,
    gushed out last breaths
    expecting wings or horns:
    a peaceful garden
    or a hell-fire lake.

    Instead, I awake once more
    hugging my pillow
    in one more summer dawn,
    scraping my memory
    for secrets I learned
    in the dreams of my sleep

    #

  7. connielpeters on said:

     
     
    Pink light glows
    Morning magic stirs
    Shadows change
    Transforming
    To trees, rocks, houses, bushes
    Until sunset’s spell

  8.  
     
    Capital F Friends

    One of us will die first, one left behind.
    One of us will remain, it’s just the kind
    of deal we’re dealt, a true fact of this spin
    of the wheel, however we feel, and it’s in
    understanding this we can have the best
    of this life, this true friendship, the real test
    not in who dies first, in who longer lives,
    but it’s the here and now which gives
    a chance for joy to the two of us, a daily win,
    not waiting for the future for our lives to begin.

  9.  
     
    Music Of A Summer Dawn

    Nacreous radiance polishes
    surfaces damp with morning
    dew. Through leaves on
    boughs, a pink lambency
    lingers, fingers of dawn.
    Hoo-hoo-hoo! of owl awakens
    neon hummingbirds headed
    to feeder for roborant nectar.
    Jay-jay-click-click-click!–
    bluejays call out, their raucousness
    intimidating, chasing chirping
    robins from lower branches
    of maple trees. See the light
    lifting as dawn fully arises,
    and a lemon pale day sings.

  10.  
     
    summer dawn

    how can it be morning
    when the moon has not
    yet gone to bed

    stars haven’t lost
    their midnight shine
    the day is too anxious

    to begin its summer job
    and the birds in a hurry
    to sing a wake up chorus

    how can it be morning
    when dreams of summer
    love linger in my heart

  11. Lovely prompt. I’ve been having some major Internet disruptions as we are making some changes but am hoping to pick and choose among your prompts, if only to post at another time or for my next book of poetry.

  12. Earl Parsons on said:

     
     
    The Dawns of Summer

    As I wait in the blackness of night
    Waves kiss the sand endlessly
    Like the heartbeat of the ocean
    Ever calming even in the dark
    Together we wait patiently
    For the arrival of a new sunrise

    The waves and beach serenade me
    As gulls fly and sandpipers race
    In haste to capture their breakfasts
    Completely oblivious to my presence
    As if they would care anyway
    To them it’s just another morning

    But to me it’s a chance to capture God
    As He wakes up the world once again
    He lifts the sun from the depths of space
    Cresting the horizon with awesome splendor
    And beauty that words cannot describe
    A beauty that only He could create

    Every dawn is uniquely distinctive
    Never one like any other before
    He paints each one with a new brush
    His color pallet is never quite the same
    For He is God and the sunrise is His
    As is the sunset and all other moments

    © Earl Parsons

  13. Earl Parsons on said:

     
     
    Another sunrise
    Another chance to thank God
    For this is His day

  14.  
     
    Lather, rinse, repeat

    Summer morn
    The sun rises bright
    Temp climbs up
    Sweltering
    Nightly storm soaks, booms, and cools
    Resets overnight

  15. Pingback: Poems: Lather, Rinse, Repeat – Wanna Get Published, Write!

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