Gratitude Poems Start With Morning
So much to be grateful for on a Tuesday morning —
At 5am, coffee and words from Brandi Carlile;
the hope that her words will help me with mine.
At 6, thick slices of homemade bread
slathered with butter and cherry jam;
an orange’s sweet citrus and the spray
from the peel like sunbeams.
A little after 7, a walk to the bus stop
and chatter about Latin, and band,
and that the frost on the leaves looks like sugar.
Before 8, I will arrive home
and the light will shine so that inside I will know clearly
all there is
to do
and
all there is
I’m not doing.
Out here on my driveway
we are the only house on the street
that hasn’t raked the leaves.
I am grateful
that I have never felt the tug
to clean up all this yellow.
Try It: Gratitude Poems
For Thanksgiving, let’s write gratitude poems. Try to write one that starts with morning.
Photo by M’s Photography Creative Commons via Flickr. Post by Callie Feyen.
I have been a fan of Callie Feyen’s writing for quite some time but I finished this book in almost one sitting. If you have ever been in 8th grade, fallen in love, had a best friend, or loved reading, you will love this book. As the mother of an 8th grader, my other genuine hope is that my son will one day have a teacher as gifted as Callie.
—Celena Roldan
- Poetry Prompt: Courage to Follow - July 24, 2023
- Poetry Prompt: Being a Pilgrim and a Martha Stewart Homemaker - July 10, 2023
- Poetry Prompt: Monarch Butterfly’s Wildflower - June 19, 2023
L.L. Barkat says
Morning—
the red maple
after rain.
And me
wishing I could gather
all this treasure,
keep it
forever.
Callie Feyen says
The red maple in this poem makes me think of the red maple in Walk Two Moons. Have you read that one?
And, maybe you can keep all this treasure forever?
L.L. Barkat says
I LOVED Walk Two Moons. 🙂
Callie Feyen says
It is THEE best.
namada says
morning-
a good beginning.
Megan Willome says
turquoise bench, coffee, moon tan
walk in the dark, cold water–tall, story in my ear
oatmeal, last light before dawn, brew tea
take Night inside
word Lightning awakes
Callie Feyen says
“take Night inside” sounds like a call to me. I like it.
Rick Maxson says
Morning on the porch swing I see a pond
and a deep timberland of lodge-pole pine
in their thirtieth year since planting.
They are majestic and linear as Iowa corn.
To walk the length of a row
is like going down the center isle of a cathedral.
The fragrance—intoxicating. My footfall
silent on the decades of fallen needles
that lay like copper snow and render a depth
to the woods that makes them sacred.
Callie Feyen says
“copper snow” – I like that a lot. I also like the way you paved the way (pardon the pun) for the word “sacred” at the end.
namada says
there is gratitude in this vision. and the words had me walking in the stillness of the trees.
namada says
Gratitude is knocking at the door
and the cat is wanting out.
There is no sleeping-in.
I open the door to the whirlwind.
Callie Feyen says
This poem makes me think of the urgency of gratitude, or maybe the obligation to be grateful, especially during this week. It also makes me think of how overwhelming it is to acknowledge how much there is to be grateful for. No time to sleep in, indeed.
namada says
I like your thoughts. Thank you.
Katie Brewster says
Monday morning of Thanksgiving week
my son texts that he will drive up on Tuesday.
We will go with he and his sister
to their brother and sister-in-law’s house
for the feast on Thursday.
Can’t wait to see the grands
enjoy their uncle who they haven’t seen in two years.
And to see three-year-old Gideon dance to the Gobble, Gobble song again:)
Callie Feyen says
What a sweet image of three-year old Gideon dancing to the “Gobble, Gobble” song!
Katie Brewster says
Made a video on my phone of him dancing to Gobble, Gobble and have just about had it on repeat;) I show it to everyone:)
Maggie Campbell says
Morning dawns with the gift of a new beginning
Wipe the dreams from your sleepy eyes
Breathe in the breeze that gently crosses the room
Stretch like the tabby resting on your sheets
And welcome rays of dustlight dancing in the air
Embrace the silence of the moment before chaos reigns
Savour the seventh day that encourages rest
Roll over, pull up the covers and, with gratitude, sleep soundly until the next new beginning
namada says
i still carry the feeling of the resting that came with sunday. it is part of me.
Callie feyen says
“dustlight dancing” sounds like music. I like that.
Maggie Campbell says
Thank you
Stacy Bronec says
The sky is black, with no sign of the sun on the horizon.
The wind is calm.
Coffee, hot.
My words feel stuck as my pencil hovers over the page.
But then, the furnace kicks on,
reminding me of the blessing of a warm home.
My toes wiggle
inside well-worn slippers.
My glasses slide down the bridge of my nose, the only way I can see.
My planner to my left is full of holiday to-dos.
Make pies.
Clean guest room.
Wash sheets.
No school.
Soon, the sun will rise, a promise of a new day.
The house will be filled with grumbles from the kids,
“Why do we have to get up so early?”
And clanging of spoons in bowls.
Some days, I feel annoyed at their loudness, the way they wake.
But then, the small note on my planner:
Send tree.
Send tree to a friend whose son didn’t wake last week.
A tree to plant in the dark, cool earth. The ground to be split open, like my friend’s heart.
A tree to grow tall and wide, to remind him of his son.
As if he could ever forget.
I pull back the curtain,
looking for any light on the edge of the horizon.
For some, the sun won’t rise.
A door creaks open,
the spell of a quiet house, broken.
The sun has risen at my home.
I release the breath
I didn’t know I was holding.
namada says
awaking gratitude as thought comes to light.
Callie Feyen says
I have the shivers from the line, “send tree,” Stacy. Great build up, to this. You have us settling into the atmosphere that we know and are kind of tired of, and then you take us deeper into the pain real breaking. Powerful.
Stacy says
Thanks, Callie.
I loved your poem, I felt like I was right there with you with the bread and jam and yellow leaves.
Deborah Campbell says
On this November morning I am grateful for words like these. They lift Tuesday from ordinary to sparkle with the possibilities of a day filled with wonder. Thank you
Callie Feyen says
“ordinary to sparkle” – well, I just love that, Deborah. Thank you. And thank you for reading!
Kim Knowle-Zeller says
A poem of the night leading to the great light and morning of my daughter’s birth //
On the night you were born
we waited and waited
I bounced on a ball
sat in whirlpool
whispered prayers over and over:
“We are waiting for you.”
On the night you were born
I wondered about your eyes
and how you’d smile
and what would bring you joy
all the while we waited
and gave thanks for you.
On the night you were born
your first cry told me you were alive
living and breathing
now on this side of the world
I whispered your name:
“Charlotte, Charlotte, Charlotte.”
On the night you were born
you laid on my chest
your daddy next to us
all of us waiting to rest
in one another
and our new name, family.
On the night you were born
how could we know
how we’d grow
and change
how our hearts would fill with so much love.
On the night you were born
God chose you to be ours.
On the night you were born
your story just began.
On the night you were born
we whispered your name:
Charlotte, Charlotte, Charlotte
you are loved
the world is waiting.
Katie Brewster says
Kim,
This is SO beautiful:)
I love the name Charlotte.
On this reading these lines stood out to me in particular:
“all of us waiting to rest
in one another
and our new name, family.”
I won’t be surprised if other lines impact me more on subsequent readings.
Grateful you shared your joy with us:)
Katie
Kim Knowle-Zeller says
Thank you so much for your kind words!
Callie Feyen says
Kim, this is beautiful. I particularly like the rhythm of it. Because of the image of bouncing on a ball, and the repetition of, “on the night you were born,” it feels like a lullaby.
Thank you for sharing this.
Alyssa Silvester says
Thanksgiving Morning
The sun begins its ascent, barely coloring the sky
my babies slumber, unaware of the day’s festivities
kitchen is still –
soon the flames will dance, the ovens will heat, the dishes will pile
turkeys swim in their brine, the roasting and smoking to come
Did the pie trifecta set? Will the mashed potatoes reheat? Will there be enough space?
Table rests unadorned of navy napkins, rust tablecloth, candles, and guests
wedding China waits to be unboxed, to shine under the chandelier
wine is still corked, glasses are washed, empty, and ready
cats’ meowing is the only talking.
For now, I savor the silence
as pumpkin coffee swirls in my cup
and my heart fills with what is to come –
laughter, gratitude, conversations, affection – a feast.
lynn__ says
I love the anticipation of a feast of laughter, gratitude, conversation, and affection! Pumpkin coffee (of course!) and navy napkins on rust tablecloth are a nice touch too.
lynn__ says
Thanks Living
grateful to waken early
with breath in my lungs
brew savory cup of tea
hear ancient word speak
layer leggings & jeans,
turtleneck & farm coat,
wool hat with braided
tassels, insulated boots
grateful to leave house
in dark under moon sliver
glance of morning star on
walk to vintage white barn
feed (pet,referee) cats first
measure buckets for cows
clean out bunk and pause
by old hay shed, hear moos
of sunrise, watch that scene
unfurl glorious promises of
another fresh day above the
silhouette of neighbor’s farm