Peeper Song

Spring peepers bee-deep bee-deep
Cry at dusk and early dawn
Balloon necks bellow
Singing songs so mellow
Hoping for mates to come.

Early Morning Dreams

In the darkness of early morning
Well before the dawn,before my neighbors rise
I stood and watched the clouds move slow
Majestic as they sail across the sky above my head.
The high winds have pushed them tight
They appear to be washboards in the heavens
As if a wondrous giant wash woman waits
For dawn and a new day to scrub away yesterday.

Frost is painted on roof, fence and grass
Sparkling like the stars that twinkle and play Hide and seek in the blue morning sky.
It is so quiet now, no spring peepers or songbirds
No roosters, old dogs or even the sounds of cars and commerce
Just the quiet that is before the dawn.

As I stand in the cold morning I remember dreams and wonders
Dreams of spaceships and other worlds that surely spin
Around the very stars I see in my sky.
Dreams of  fairies, dwarves, heroes and elves, giants, gryphons,
And wings that spring from my back, a wondrous surprise
 As I spread wings and reach out to the winds and rise up and fly.

Sneaky Morning

A cool and quiet morning snuck in.
In the midst of newspapers and comic strips,
Coffee and a plate of bacon, biscuits and eggs
Morning just showed up unannounced.

I looked up and wondered what happened
Why had the dawn so quickly slipped away?
When did it choose to wander out the side door
Not bothering to tell me good-bye?

Bird Song

The eastern sky is still dark
Yet birds have started singing
They seem to wait, to take a cue
And then begin to wake
Ruffled feathers, stretching wings
Then they hop to another branch
Beaks open and waiting for a nod
Morning steps in sight just then
Spring smiles gently and sighs
Dawn lifts her glory onto the stage
Then joyous, the birds begin!

Cowboy Dawn

 
 

An old cowpoke sat quiet and alone in the dark

Listenin' to the early birds and a distant coyote bark

His belly pretty full, coffee cup in his hand

Eyes roamin' and takin' in the lay of the land.

All too soon he'll be up and around

Never stoppin' a moment when his feet hit the ground.

His old dog sat and then laid down with a sigh

The old cowboy smiled quiet, his eyes on the sky

Way over yonder on the ridge stood a doe and her fawn

Silhouetted like a picture by the soft light of the dawn.

 

Wind wolves an' Dreams of Home

The cold of winter and snow thick on the roof make me mournful an' wantin' to see the hills.
When the wind blows hard an' this ol' house groans an' threatens to ease off its foundations
I lay awake an' listen to the wind wolves cry as they push agin the sides of the place
They try hard to get in, pacin' an' a pushin', hopin' to find a crack or weak spot to worry at.

Amid the creaks an' groans, howls of the wind wolves I dream, half awake of a little ol' log cabin
Laid up in the hills, deep up a holler all cozied up agin the foot of an ancient mountain
That mountain tired an' worn by a thousand an' a thousand years of wear an' toil
Tired out long before settlers wandered across the Warrior's Path to settle into a hard scrabble life.

Though their life was hard an' toilsome, that red an' yeller soil was somehow ground into their lives
It was pushed deep into their soul, into the memories of a dozen generations of mountain folks.
It became their bone an' blood, their strength an' their toil, their love an' their life
Somehow that sorry ol soil, hard scrabble life became who an' what they were, what we are.

An' now it calls to me once more as I lay awake, wantin' to find my way along frozen highways
South without glancin' at towns or sights along the straight an' narrow asphalt trail that leads home
I close my eyes to almost see each sign, each exit as I travel down through the foothills
Deeper, deeper still into the hollers, across the creeks an' down along a riverbed lined with slate.

Oh, in my dreams I am home, I am home as I stand in front of that ol' log house, covered with snow
As I look I see smoke pushin' lazy like up the chimbley an out into the cold winter that wraps around it.
It ain't much at all, not a lot to look at an' not no kind of a mansion, as plain as an ol' mud fence
Look careful there over there at that little ol window yonder an' see, do you see the light put there for me?

Do you hear what I'm a sayin'?
That light yonder, put there for me.  A light in the window, a latch string left out.  Lettin' me know...
I am welcome.  I am home.

Muddled Dawn

It is early dawn and the day is yet defined
The eastern horizon is covered in a mist
That has muddled the first attempts at morning.
Purple, yellow orange and red swirl together
Behind that opaque curtain in the distance
As if they are beauty contestants
Vying for the title of Queen of the Day.
As I sit and wonder about the winner.
Which shall introduce the wonderment?
The joy of a new day rolling along 
Toward me through the misty morn.
Flashing finally brilliant and bright.
Which shall win the prize and glow
In the eastern sky
Purple, yellow, orange or red?

Muggy Morning

The promise of dawn is already summer muggy
Trees rustle with an autumn dryness
Sinking their roots deeper into parched earth
The birds that will sing good morning are asleep still
Savoring the infrequent gusts of wind
The first hints of morning are almost unwelcome
It promises to be a hot, uncomfortable day
A farmer rises early, unable to sleep
Hitches up his overalls and steps outside
Scanning the horizons for any sign of rain
His hopes of a storm, for a cooling mist
Sink low with each blink of his eyes.
It is summer, hot, uncaring summer.

Celestial Shades

The morning sky was washboarded
With red and orange hued clouds
As if God was raising celestial shades
Pulling back the curtains on a glorious day.











 Stephen Hollen is an award winning storyteller, humorist and Mark Twain Impersonator living in Beavercreek, Ohio.  He performs and tells stories in Dayton, Cincinnati, Columbus and all through Ohio, Kentucky, Indiana, Tennessee, West Virginia, Michigan and throughout the USA. 

Winter Warble

The lonely warble of a bird,
Breaks the grip if the frigid cold
Sends a shock wave, sound wave
Bright and cheerful into the morning
Incongruous with a subzero dawn.

Morning Glory

This day is a small thing
Fragile and morning delicate
Orange, wrapped carefully
In china cup blue.
full of promises, hopes, dreams.
Morning glory, slowly unfolding.

Wet Dog Day

It is a dark and dampy, misty morning
A smelly wet dog, flea bitten day
Thunder cracker-boomer-banger
Rumble an' grumbly sort of start
Snuggle buggle under quilts an' covers
Hide your head an' roll right over day
A day for fires burnin' slow like,
Woodstoves cherry reddish kinda morn.

Dank Dawn

It is a dank and misty dawn
A morning that stirs up
Stories of ghosts and spooks
And headless horsemen.
A drippy, wet morning
Full of damp dog smells
And distant hints of wood smoke.
Coughs and fits sound thin
From an ancient rooster
Somewhere up a holler.
Along the dirt roads
Standin' under the umbrella
Of protective trees
Or in a tin roofed shelter,
Teenagers grin in the dark
As they haunt little fellers
With stories of haints
Monsters and bumpitty sounds
In the dark.

Waiting In The Wings

Though there is frost heavy
On each window as I gaze
Into the darkness
I am comforted by stars
Brilliant in a deep purple sky.
A stingy sliver, half circle of silver
Hangs low on the horizon.
Just enough illumination
To back light contrails
Straight lines in the early hours
Playing tic tac toe in the atmosphere.
Even now I smile at the promise
Of a newborn morning
As the ever circling sun
Throws shy hints over the horizon...
Pinks and ruddy oranges
A thoughtful hint of red
Serves as backdrop
To the dark and twiggy
Outline of trees in the distance.
Like a shy little mountain gal
Pushed onto a church stage
To sing for the first time,
Morning is on tippy toes
Peeking over the edge of the world
Ready to step out and sing...
Hallelujah
Morning has broken.

Morning in Beloved

As the sun rises
It is a bright
Banana yellow
With a rind of orange.
Through my window
The world is awakening
To Crayola colors
As if creation was
A coloring book.
A periwinkle sky is filled
With clouds whipped thin;
But clouds are no competition
For sun or sky.
In the distance the hills
Stand round about this holler
A ring of isolation
From a harsh world.
The morning mist wraps
Next like batting,
But more alive than
Sun or sky or even trees.
Closest to this cabin
Guardians stand tall
Oak, pine and hickory
Silhouettes against the mist.
Sourwood, dogwood and redbud
Huddle near their feet.
Guarding the low road
That leads to home.

With regret I lower the curtain
I have held ever so long
As I looked out in wonder,
Turn away with regret.
Oh, that I could stay at that window
Watching the sunrise
Watching my little holler
As the world seems to forget
I am there.