Posted in Poetry

Morning by L. M. Montes

Mist arises from a grave unknown here,
tickling my mind so curiously,
then winds of thought spread far yet hovers near,
covering beauteous scents tapping me.
The sun lifts high and pulls the mist away,
and now grass sparkles on the brink of day,
flowers spotted diamonds of morn’s soft dew
are natures way of mixing its perfume.
A tiny cold nips at the finger tips,
while the sun prickles with warming tickles,
and the ocean of skies set forth the dyes
of bluish color hues as if on cue.
But alas a cloud of gray comes rushing
with storm winds pelting and rains a gushing.

Posted in Poetry

Coffee and a Book by L. M. Montes

Photo by Taryn Elliott on Pexels.com

You woke one morning to rain-drop spatter
A chill in the air did nip,
Out the window wind whipped,
The day now does not matter.

To the kitchen sluggish feet shuffle
Timed coffee now is pouring,
Aroma floats and tickles the nose,
You grab a book and a truffle.

The office and work the rain it took
Home soothed you so much better,
So get your blanket and bundle up
To coffee and a book.

By L. M. Montes