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Best Dianna Wilder Poems

Below are the all-time best Dianna Wilder poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The American Eagle

 I saw a poster of the American Eagle
with a tear falling from his eye.
The twin towers were in the background
with smoke hovering in the sky.

Part of the world hates us,
they want to see us die.
They use planes as bombs, send warfare,
scheme and plot and lie!

But our Lady still stands with the torch in her hand,
even though there's smoke in the sky
and the Eagle still flies with a tear in his eye,
flies strongly over our land!

Copyright © Dianna Wilder

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Listen to the Sounds

Listen to the sounds.
The sounds of a new baby crying,
the chirping of the birds.
Music in the background
from a neighbor far away.

The hoot of an owl.
the rustling of the leaves;
a horn honking 2 streets over,
the hum of a truck as it lumbers by.

LIsten to the sounds.

The chiming of my wind chime
as the wind picks upl
A child yelling in the background
as he plays outside.
A neighbor's cough,
a cat's meow.

Listen to the sounds.

Copyright © Dianna Wilder

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The White Stallion

The white stallion galloped up
with his mane flowing in the air.
He stopped on top of the snowy hill
when he saw me standing there.

He reared up on his back legs
and snorted a time or two.
Then he galloped up to me
as I stared in his eyes of blue!

He pranced around me
as he did a little dance.
He knew he was so handsome
as he pranced and pranced.

Magnificent and bold,
he was wild and free.
He knew I adored him
for he had come to me.

His gaze was like magic
as he held me in a trance.
He swished his mane--
then off he pranced!

He ran off in the wind
full of strength and energy.
I'll never forget the day
the White Stallion came to me!

Help save our wild horses

Copyright © Dianna Wilder

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Sunflowers grow
standing tall and shinning there
please don't pick me

Copyright © Dianna Wilder

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raindrops, teardrops

Raindrops are like teardrops
falling from above,
watering the surface
connecting it with love.

Rain makes the flowers grow,
adding life anew.
Tears make your soul grow
sprinkling it with dew.

Like the pangs of birth
making things grow,
each one toward their destiny
filling up the soul.

Copyright © Dianna Wilder

Details | Dianna Wilder Poem |

My Cottage

As a child, I remember riding
in the country with my folks,
in the winter, in the woods
among the pines and oaks.

I recall a little cottage
at a distance from the road,
which I couldn't see too well,
planned that way, on purpose, I suppose.   

In the winter in the twilight,
with flurries of soft snow,
it stirred my imagination
and it intrigued me so.

I'd press my nose against the window
of the car as we'd drive by.
I loved that little cottage then,
though I had no idea why!

Copyright © Dianna Wilder

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My dad was gentle,
my dad was kind.
My dad always had the time--

to sit and talk
with coffee in hand,
I'd listen closely
to this wonderful man!

He'd help anyone
who came around,
he was always there
to be found.

He didn't run
to and fro,
he'd plant his garden
and watch it grow!

Giving was 
a way of life-
he loved his children
and he loved his wife!

Grandkids were the
'apple of his eye.'
He was an honest man
taught us not to lie!

Yes, my dad was gentle,
my dad was kind,
the kind of dad
that's hard to find!

Copyright © Dianna Wilder

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Lonely girl

There was a lonely girl sitting by
the pond with long, red hair.
She sat so quietly, smiled and stared.

The stillness was deafening
in the beauty of the day.
Her thoughts seemed unveiling, far, far away.

Such a lost and loenly creature
sitting by the pond.
I wonder--shall she sit there till dawn?

Copyright © Dianna Wilder

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When the Roses Turn to Black

When the roses turn to black
and the diamonds shine no more,
when the river doesn't flow
and the thunder doesn't roar.

When the birds stop their song,
and the grass doeosn't grow
and the children don't laugh,
is when my love will be no more!

When the lightning doesn't strike
or the falling of the leaves
is when my love for you
will be no more!

Copyright © Dianna Wilder

Details | Dianna Wilder Poem |

My Mama's House

It's a simple, little house-6 rooms in all;
cozy and warm with pictures on the wall.
A nice, little place with candles all around;
where children laugh and play and run around!

There's always coffee on the stove
and cookies in the jar.
A candle sits in the window
welcoming you from afar.

It's just a modest little house
where I'm always free to roam.
I guess that's what turns this house into
"My Mama's home."

Copyright © Dianna Wilder