“Outside the open window

The morning air is all awash with angels.” 

― Richard Wilbur, Collected Poems, 1943-2004

Hello Dear Poets and Welcome to Quadrille Monday-

Are you ready to pen some beautiful poems? For those of you that aren’t familiar, the quadrille is a 44 word poem (not including the title) where we provide one word to use within the poem. 

I love mornings when the world is fresh and new. Depending on the season, the air can be crisp and cold, damp and muggy, or hot and humid. And then there are those rare perfect mornings; the birds are singing, the air is soft and breezy, the trees are freshly washed from an evening rain, and you know in your bones it’s going to be a spectacular day. 

So in case you haven’t guessed yet, the word today is MORNING, with all its marvelous possibilities. 

Here’s a lovely poem by Billy Collins:

Morning

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.

And one by T.S. Eliot:

Morning at the Window

T. S. Eliot – 1888-1965

They are rattling breakfast plates in basement kitchens,

And along the trampled edges of the street

I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids 

Sprouting despondently at area gates.

The brown waves of fog toss up to me 

Twisted faces from the bottom of the street,

And tear from a passer-by with muddy skirts 

An aimless smile that hovers in the air 

And vanishes along the level of the roofs.

Here’s a beautiful poem by Mary Oliver:

MORNING GLORIES

Blue and dark blue

rose and deepest rose

white and pink they

are everywhere in the diligent

cornfield rising and swaying

in their reliable

finery in the little

fling of their bodies their

gear and tackle

all caught up in the cornstalks.

The reaper’s story is the story

of endless work of

work careful and heavy but the

reaper cannot

separate them out there they

are in the story of his life

bright random useless

year after year

taken with the serious tons

weeds without value humorous

beautiful weeds.

Source: Poetry Foundation

Just a quick FYI– I have a cardiologist appointment this afternoon, and will not be here for the first couple of hours. The door is open- feel free to come on in, help yourself to a beverage of your choice, and I’ll catch up with you all when I get home! I’m looking forward to reading your poems.

Here’s how to take part in the Quadrille Prompt:
• Write a 44 word poem containing the word morning(or variations)
• Post your quadrille on your blog and link back to this post.
• Place the link to your post on the Mister Linky page.
• Don’t forget to check the little box to accept use/privacy policy.
• Please visit other blogs and comment on their posts! 
• Have fun!