Poetry Group

Wednesday 11th July 2012 10:30

Subject   ‘Morning’

A Summer Morning

Never was sun so bright before,
No matin of the lark so sweet,
No grass so green beneath my feet,
Nor with such dewdrops jewelled o’er.

I stand with thee outside the door,
The air not yet is close with heat,
And far across the yellowing wheat
The waves are breaking on the shore.

A lovely day! Yet many such,
Each like to each, this month have passed,
And none did so supremely shine.
One thing they lacked: the perfect touch
Of thee–and thou art come at last,
And half this loveliness is thine.
Robert Fuller Murray

 

Poem by Bill Potter

N I G H T

A difficult subject about which to write,

To record my thoughts, I need a light

Of dawn, or man made source, bright.

So. Down with the switch to bring it on,

Jobs domestic have been done,

To hand pen, paper for words may flow.

Night?  It comes from or goes, I do not know.

Something called dusk began the event

No stars or bright moon as yet, to consent,

For darkness has no depth as yet.

Where night comes from or goes, if such is relevant

Science surely knows.

I’ve heard it said; it hides behind the moon

Creeping around the heavens of afternoon,

Until just before the dusk.

Then, shadows slowly cross my world,

show how darkness unfolds, as it must.

Crossing my path, I try a dance upon its edge,

Futile steps of rhythm in time and space,

Is difficult for my brain to embrace.

Night has left me now, and gone elsewhere

As dawn breaks through.

I stand and star.   In disbelief, for relief

I close my eyes, and my night is light

Full of flowers and scenes of delight, a puzzle for one not bright.

So. I leave to others to tell the why and wherefore

Of  NIGHT. For me it remains a difficult write.

w.a.p.
7.9.11