Sunday Morning Blues poem – A. D. Winans poems | Poetry Monster – The Poetry Monster

Sunday Morning Blues poem – A. D. Winans poems | Poetry Monster there is this kind of motionless motion
children crying themselves to sleep
the taste of sunsets for breakfast
and champagne for lunch
there is this kind of mellow music
hills made of wild strawberries
salt on hard boiled eggs
Peanuts in the comic strips
and radio DJ’s with god awful jokes
that see me through another morning

there is this kind of sadness
the feeling of dull razor blades
sliding across smooth skin
Marilyn Monroe suicides and weekends
with nothing to do
heart attacks from love or lack of it
funerals with no mourners
poets with little future
and lovers with no one
to love

Copyright ©: A. D. Winans

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To Sleep poem – John Keats poems by John Keats
To One Who Has Been Long In City Pent poem – John Keats poems by John Keats
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To My Brother George poem – John Keats poems by John Keats
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To Autumn poem – John Keats poems by John Keats
To Ailsa Rock poem – John Keats poems by John Keats
To A Young Lady Who Sent Me A Laurel Crown poem – John Keats poems by John Keats
To A Friend Who Sent Me Some Roses poem – John Keats poems by John Keats
To poem – John Keats poems by John Keats
This Living Hand poem – John Keats poems by John Keats
Think Of It Not, Sweet One poem – John Keats poems by John Keats
The Human Seasons poem – John Keats poems by John Keats

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