Aubade Poetry
How many of you have seen the movie "City of Angels" and remember the scenes where the
angels gather in the morning. Perhaps this meeting can be considered an Aubade. An Aubade
is a poem or song that greets the morning, and wild life celebrates or lovers wake, and
sometimes waking to reluctantly part. Here is what William Shakespeare had to say.
HARK! Hark! The lark at heaven's gate sings.
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chaliced flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their eyes;
With everything that pretty bin,
My lady sweet arise!
Arise, arise!
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Sir William Davenant (1606-1668) elaborates further on what his rumoured father had to say;
THE lark now leaves his wat'ry nest,
And climbing shakes his dewy wings.
He takes this window for the East,
And to implore your light he sings--
Awake, awake! the morn will never rise
Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes.
The merchant bows unto the seaman's star,
The ploughman from the sun his season takes;
But still the lover wonders what they are
Who look for day before his mistress wakes.
Awake, awake! break thro' your veils of lawn!
Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn!
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However, in the poem below, we see Jenny Lewis take a different view of the subject.
She seems more concerned with the carnal than the vista.
She thinks of bread and butter sliced thin;
a brown egg, smooth as a knuckle;
a cup of milk, slightly warmed,
already forming a brave new skin.
Then later, chocolates, sweet wine,
maraschino cherries, shiny in syrup,
reflecting squares of brash light; cream
whipped into an adolescent frenzy.
But lying here with him, the budding light
is so far painless. She waits for him to wake
with appetite refreshed by sleep - knowing
that what he enjoys most is her hunger.
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Nocturne Poetry
As the name subjects the Nocturne is poetry suggestive of the moods of night, pre-eminently
romance as is depicted by the wonderful Sonnet XLIII by William Shakespeare;
Sonnet XLIII
When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
For all the day they view things unrespected;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed.
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,
How would thy shadow's form form happy show
To the clear day with thy much clearer light,
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made
By looking on thee in the living day,
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay!
All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.
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In the Classical period, the form used was usually the Italian Notturno, and there is a plethora
of inspirational work with musical accompaniment, perhaps intended for late-evening soirée's.
However, there are other moods that a Nocturne can convey, the Gothic mood comes to mind immediately,
but there are other moods and here is Walter Wingate's evocative picture of a magical walk at midnight.
Nocturne
A sense of stolen joy is mine
To leave the village sleeping,
And with the music of my feet
To wake the echoes down the street,
Where ne'er a light is peeping.
'Tis fine to hear the steeple clocks
With weary voice and hollow
Discharge their conscientious twelves
As if they knew within themselves
Of easier hours to follow.
Beneath the dim poetic moon
The houses seem enchanted;
Their unromantic yesterday
Is charmed a thousand years away,
And each is beauty-haunted.
And even the thoughts that come to me
The strangest shapes are taking,
And smack of dream and shadow too
As if the night would claim her due
From slumber or from waking!
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Far from being magical is this one, perhaps even whimsical is more the mood.
Nocturne in a Deserted Brickyard
STUFF of the moon
Runs on the lapping sand
Out to the longest shadows.
Under the curving willows,
And round the creep of the wave line,
Fluxions of yellow and dusk on the waters
Make a wide dreaming pansy of an old pond in the night
Carl Sandburg
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Aubade Posts
Carly Svamvour
The Midnight Sun
Praise be to this sun's rising,
hail to the light that is upon us
after fifty-one days of the ancestors'
spirits dancing across Alaska's star-
studded darkling sky. Though I have
had the pleasure of the moon's pale
face, shivered down the coldest hours
in the warmth of my crude hearth though
I have had the solace of night fires among
the people of this northern land, I bask
under the warmth of this rising, this light
that will be with us for eighty-two days,
I welcome same. Just as much as I will
welcome the return to my own land come
the winter months again, I will rejoice
the days through under this strange,
but wonderful Midnight Sun.
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Edana
Midnight Til Dawn
Gasping in the twilight of love
the whisper of infidelity
memories of forbidden fruit
Harvested in the shadows
lingering upon my tongue
dripping from vermillion lips
down the palatable shaft of night
While the shimmering gloss of moonlight
touches the curve of desire
within the tunnels of passion
Filled with delectable pulp
oozing down the brow of darkness
like a scarlet river
flowing into the mouth of dawn
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Etain Druantia
A New Day
A soft summer breeze tickles
white-capped gently lapping waves
illuminated by the moon as it hovers
amongst the dark cloak of night
while stars flutter nervously in the pre-dawn sky;
Slowly,ever so gradually
the sky alights with purple and passion
and the moon, the stars
fade reluctantly into a new day.
Old decayed wooden dock
perched over shallow shore
bears a solitary searching soul,
lower limbs cast over the edge;
as they dangle, free a spirit witnessing
the birth of a new chance.
Purple and passion fade as hope
crests a shield of hills and trees,
gold pervades the ever-changing dawn
and the delicate warmth of a lover's touch
on morning-chilled shoulders
signals a new beginning.
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Lorraine Stark
Lady Dawn
Lady dawn at
the precise moment
lifts night’s shield
where the broken
hearted,lonely,aged,
homeless, pimps, prostitutes
and gamblers mingle as
one
Her first light signals
the birds to sing
while marquis fade
the truth is revealed from
city streets their names
unknown till dawn forgives
each one for their mistakes
before night returns
once more
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Lilliput
It was not planned
Just happened
Sometimes it is best
That way
We made love beneath
The stars our blanket
Mutt grass
Naked as prey
Two lovers
Passion satisfied
Collapsed and
Fell asleep
Night passed
A warmth stirred
My senses
I heard the meadowlark
My eyes would not open
To see it or the frogs
Croaking on lily pads
Across the pond
Beetles, butterflies, ants
Grasshoppers, crickets
Ladybugs danced upon my
Skin I did stir nor move
For I was the intruder
That morning like Gulliver
When the sun began
To rise
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Petruchio
Curtains Aglow at Dawn
Seeing one day fold upon another
the sunrise so far away from the 'set
and the lover's sonnets told in moonlight
the romantic sigh of spooned wakers in morn
one day folds into another
for one without the other
foretells a sleep that has no rise
and the dream
ah, the dream goes on forever
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Sal Coraccio
Last Thing
If I must choose
one thing -
one last thing to do
before my time is done,
it would surely be to greet the sun
with you in my arms.
To see again the aura of it
upon your shoulder;
its golden touch upon your cheek
as with parted lips
you softly breathe;
a living dream in deepest sleep.
Just one more dawn -
once more to rise with love,
with the hope it brings.
One last embrace
to behold your face beside me;
if it must be
then let it be
the last thing I see.
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Teagan De Danaan
Dawn
As the sun arises
its yellow ray kiss the sky
and in return lights the earth below.
Slowly he creeps upwards
like a lover rising from his bed
reluctant to leave his love.
The angels stand aware
singing their praises to their God
welcoming him to the world again.
The moon bows to the light
and softly bids adieu.
Knowing that with the night
lovers will once again make their vows
for just as the sun rules the day
the moon is the mistress of the night.
Lovers still praise the moon
and vow their love to each other
only by moons light.
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I Want
I want
to wake at dawn
and find you wrapped within my arms
a long wanted presence.
I want
to feel you tremble
in anticipation
as I untie the ribbons to your soul.
I want
look in your eyes
the gateway to your soul
and light the passion ablaze within
I want
to hear you call out my name
when the flames are at their peak
as if the world was born within my tongue.
I want
to writhe with you
as your body meets mine
a blazing fire burning through the night
I want
with dawn to sleep
my head against your breasts
content until night comes once again
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Theneva
Winter Blues at Morning
Surprise of dawnings glow glimmers
evoked into ravishing dark dreams
you held at bay in love's lightening shimmers
travel the roads of offerings
imagined into reality so softened by daystar
touches of moon-dark profferings
Shadows of eros plead for mornings
to rally for days on end
till energy runs dry in our blendings
Faded memory shades to dawns beckoning
forgetting to take the test of time
shaken by the by with remembering
Cold speaks to breath with wisps of whisperings
breezes that never shall offend
in ears lent to friendships meld of caring
Snow flecks on windowpane eyes seering
with heat of passionate storms streams
and dreams endless pursuit so nearing
Winter blues for an unknown dayling
star held at arms length thus far, and yet
for strengths returned we beget new savorings
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Nocturne Posts
Etain Druantia
Love's Joy Dances
Lamp's light vaguely illuminates
casting shadows in corners
as she whirls
filmy negligee floating behind
love's joy dancing
slight smile tickles lips
eyes softly shine
as she pirouettes
he stands in door watching
love's joy dancing
breathy sighs mingle
they melt into One
as lips rendezvous
negligee hovers and falls
as love's joy dances
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Tomorrow's Train
Sleep eluded her
as dreams ran astray;
tomorrow he'd leave
though she wished he'd stay.
as night crept silent,
she quietly rose,
floated towards window
wearing forlorn pose.
she watched as full moon
smiled sadly at her
aware haunted thoughts
possessed with no cure.
when she heard him shift,
she turned 'round to gaze
upon his still form
through bereft tear's haze.
draped in moonlight's shawl,
she reached out to touch,
stroke hair from the face
she loved too damn much.
withdrew with choked cry,
afraid to give in;
his hand caught her wrist,
he pulled her to him.
his arms circled her,
he kissed away tears,
murmured assurance,
released those old fears.
soothed by his strength,
she allowed eyes to meet,
saw love shining there
beside passion's heat.
with delighted cry,
she kissed him madly,
full heart and soul, she
surrendered gladly.
and though he did leave
on tomorrow's train,
she finally believed
they'd make love again.
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Sal Coraccio
Cadaverous Bloom
Like the bloom of a black rose
night rises from the moor;
pulls light from the heathery floor,
thus it feeds as it grows.
I wait for you near shadow,
in the cool twilight mists
where nothing quite exists
in this vague penumbral glow.
Darkness calls, and I resist,
but it feeds upon my soul -
embracing me with cold;
I'm asleep before its kiss.
Perhaps you'll stumble on me
or my pillow made of stone,
entranced in dreams alone;
my spirit floating free.
Place a flower on my breast
then whisper my name -
and we will never be the same
in the moor the moon possessed.
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La Lune Divise Le Ciel D'hiver
(The Moon Divides the Sky of Winter)
Crisp and bright: the winter night.
The Moon is full with reflected light.
With tilted head I view the scene:
planets, stars and the space between.
Do constellations - those strings of stars,
view our planet from afar?
As if the souls who walk on Earth
were stars themselves, less fiery birth?
We float alone, or aligned with others
patterns of lovers, sisters, brothers ...
Pulled, repelled or eclipsed;
better on ourselves we'd wished.
Heavenly bodies, terrestrial too -
I'm blessed to share this space with you.
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Not Sleeping Yet
The window is open -
a moonspun breeze.
Awake with the whisper of memories:
Sounds like love,
reminiscent of pain.
Like you and I;
they're one in the same.
The darkness keeps on seeping in,
through the curtains on the wind.
Can't close my eyes,
so I blink them dry
and trace your face in silhouette.
I may slow my heart,
relax my breath;
but I'm not sleeping yet.
The darkness keeps on pushing in;
I feel it press against my skin.
I wish that I might rest my head
and drift into the dream.
With the three words that you said,
it's not as dark as it might seem.
But it's not as dark as it can get,
and I'm not sleeping yet.
I've done nothing here that I regret;
but I'm far from sleeping yet.
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Teagan De Danaan
Stellar Thoughts
The night is not dark,
It's lit by a million stars
Stars which kiss the earth
Like the million kisses we have shared
And an infinitesimal number we have yet to share.
So near to heaven we have risen
In our time together
And each time far less
Than light from that star will take
To travel to light our love.
Perhaps in time we will ascend together
And as one become a star.
Our light will kiss this earth,
And who knows perhaps
Two star struck lovers like ourselves.
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Wrong Number
On the stained green wall of the Laundromat
a telephone sounds
burr burr, burr burr.
burr burr, burr burr
burr burr, burr burr.
continually sounding
the light from the street lamp outside shines in
and in the shadowy darkness
we see the outline of the old lady lying on the floor
her head nestled in a pillow of laundry
the black pool of blood still pulses out
staining the newly washed and folded garments
and socks and underpants framing the scene.
On the stained green wall of the Laundromat
a telephone still sounds
burr burr, burr burr.
burr burr, burr burr
burr burr, burr burr
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Teagan De Danaan
Stellar Thoughts
The night is not dark,
It's lit by a million stars
Stars which kiss the earth
Like the million kisses we have shared
And an infinitesimal number we have yet to share.
So near to heaven we have risen
In our time together
And each time far less
Than light from that star will take
To travel to light our love.
Perhaps in time we will ascend together
And as one become a star.
Our light will kiss this earth,
And who knows perhaps
Two star struck lovers like ourselves.
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Wrong Number
On the stained green wall of the Laundromat
a telephone sounds
burr burr, burr burr.
burr burr, burr burr
burr burr, burr burr.
continually sounding
the light from the street lamp outside shines in
and in the shadowy darkness
we see the outline of the old lady lying on the floor
her head nestled in a pillow of laundry
the black pool of blood still pulses out
staining the newly washed and folded garments
and socks and underpants framing the scene.
On the stained green wall of the Laundromat
a telephone still sounds
burr burr, burr burr.
burr burr, burr burr
burr burr, burr burr
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