I am the spirit of satin stardust
and the antiquities of golden memories alive
I call to you from the rising warmth of the sun
and greet you in the misty morning light
I am the steady and rolling drum beat
echoing from the jagged heights above
I am the mysterious curves of the raging waters'
and the freedom birds of love
I rise above the white summer clouds
in lilting songs of grace
and roam with the western tail-winds
to take you home again
I am a Spirit of our gracious Lord God Almighty
of love hope and faith
I have come to tell
Dedicated To P.D.
Sad Heart, now thou art wither’d from the Sun,
What man, or god, will near thee run?
Wrought in twist like branches in Tempests' gasp,
What Comfort, or Gauze, shall be near to grasp?
True ones begotten are the ones now Rotten
And the ones now Rotten will never be forgotten
They are merely sad remains of assiduous Tears
That have been meddl’d with and tatter’d Raw throughout the years
And thou, cruel Mind, that sat’st still thru toiling trail of Night;
Must dream your broken Dreams; thou’rt a sanely flight!
Can thou extinguish passions of Fire, Disease, or Rain?
—tho thy distinguish’d influence trains to abstain
Thy Remnants brought to debris in thy Empty street,
Devour’d by Vultures, their bestow’d beaks entreat
Merely are they cleaning an inexhaustible Mess
Alas! Leaving thy rudiments of Identity to redress....
It is the old man from the threefold of life
To whom I have taken control on this
But the poet whatever
The cause should be
The one who must walk
Along the concept
For which beauty fades from
Measure of apparent
Size of naturalistic explanations
Regardless how rich your heart is
And none of us is able pass through.
It is the poet who is living
Psychologically into this burrow of guesses
And paradises within him
With reflection and with correction
Of life this creates such
A record that commands he must live or die.
Rushing Waters Stir The Soul
The water rushed by with a glow
its journey's end few may know
Just a long creek flowing west
deep into wetlands I knew best
Sunny morns I visit to renew
stir heart, wipe away the blue
Sounds so pleasing to my ears
comforting sights easing fears
Fish flopping all about in play
soul stirring sight this day
Kingfisher diving for a feast
Sun rising swifting in the East
Trees wrapping its gentle banks
my heart and soul giving thanks
Another dream I hold in my mind
of Nature and this scenic find!
Robert J. Lindley, 09-12-2014
< Cascading lakes and streams
The loon stands out it seems
Minnesota's state bird
I know it must sound absurd
Adopted in nineteen sixty one
Wails and yodels heard under the sun
Black and white bearing red eyes
Wingspans five feet can make one cry
Body lengths up to three feet
Yet clumsy on lands and moss peat
They are high speed flyers
And great underwater divers
They can dive up to ninety feet
In pursuit of fish they want to eat
They are even on our license plates
An critical habitat drawn on metal slates
Twelve thousand of these unique birds
God that has to be a lot of turds
But for now I'll enjoy it's captured views
Of this beautiful loon and it's most colorful hues
Written By Katherine Stella
Entry For Mini - Blog Beautiful Bird Contest
By Constance ~ A Rambling Poet
I am whatever you say I am...
but, let's get back to reality...
Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums.
A place of unfamiliarity that screamed,
"You don't belong!"
Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said,
"Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone."
Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me.
"no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!"
Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised.
This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real.
For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight.
Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names.
DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate? If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me.
We should welcome those who are different than us.
Words of truth inspire movement, like fire.
I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow.
There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you.
This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on.
If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License."
True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss.
I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep
She is the muse to her own sorrow;
She is the digger of her grave.
She is the painter of her ocean view
and every fatal wave.
She is the shadow of her Father;
She is the darkness in your sight.
She is the night without the stars
surrounding pale moonlight.
She is the music with no words;
She is sweet love without the reason.
She is your dreamer with submission
cold by warmth with every season.
She is your pet with cold intentions;
She is your baby scared and shaken.
She is the bold and pure- the lost and found,
She is a soul awakened.
By ears and whiskers, ain't no more
A sadder thing that being in the dog house,
On a rainy day.
Make no bones about it, when momma's
Mad I'm hanging my head low.
Jo dirt has nothing on how bad this hound feels,
But honestly instincts roller, over road wisdom's,
Howling, but I'd mean it dearest sweet mommy.
With woofs and kisses can I make it all better,
It's lonely on this side of the doorway.
With you out there and me in here.
Kibbles my bits I'd give up my
Of bacon bits for a true heart felt,
That a good boy one more time.
If I could I'd bring you a beer,
Just to see that frown disappear.
Perking these two ears up to here,
Your laughter ring out at bed time.
Or a soft whispers friendly voice, speaking
Good night dear old friend.
All four paws down I won't do it again,
Cross this canine's fury little heart.
But the rain keeps falling,
As outside the sunshine is calling,
Our names to be together,
There's no tears like these rainy days.
So I'll sit patiently,
For the sun to rise again in your heart,
When ever that maybe,
Because simply put I'm loyalties pup,
Just waiting for you to bring me
On the right side of
The door once more.
To sit beside thee again.
A companion and dearest friend,
Always letting the sun to shine down
On us forever more.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
A beach captivating deprived eyes,
Fascination, grandiose haven in July,
Keeping lovely mountains nearby,
Of Pacific, quixotic, refulgent sunset/sunrise.
Tarry! Unwind! Vast waves eXtrudes Yuletide-like Zephyr.
Written: Aug. 16, 2012
This is a beautiful beach in Tamurong, Candon, I.S. It is located near my place or compound just a walking distance from my house. Its name was officially given by the people living in that area who are mostly relatives. The word "namagyan" means "relatives." Many visitors are going to this place and enjoy the nature, their moments and most especially the whole day of Sabado De Gloria (Black Saturday) and ecumenical services are held on this beautiful beach on the dawn/sunrise of Easter Sunday! It's a very fantastic place to visit! Come and see!
Ode to a Desert Rose
Hiding in her desert place
There lives a desert rose
Not much water little rain
Yet on and on she goes...
Day to day she shows her face
To those who can not see
All her beauty hides the pain
And tears that set her free...
Still there's One who shed His grace
Upon this desert rose
Always with her shall remain
Because her heart He knows.
*(In dedication to Andrea: Welcome Back)