A lonely wind tells me its secrets
Treats me to its scented memories
Apologizes for its inconsistencies
While hiding in a slow rising fog
She claims she is but a pawn
Held hostage by the sun and sea
Warm vapors stir the forming clouds
Icy waters chill the air below
The battle sweeps her into its path
Spins her in a tornadic dance
An unseen sun calls the devils tune
A drumroll as warming waters roil
And yet her sister lifts a falling leaf
Sets it gently on a chilling lawn
Riffles the marching rows of corn
Colors the cheeks of school bound children
Thus, she bids a hurried farewell
For stillness is the harbinger of fate
On leaving blows an icy kiss
As friends arrive in hoar frost coats
September glistens like her Harvest Moon
Draped in lush sapphire gown, she reaps
Bounty's finery, corn and foliage abloom--
And prancing to welcome autumnal grace
This Lady Virgo bestows wind its crisp air,
Then drifts off, leaving a kiss of soft farewell !
they take me for granted, I feel ignored and small
Six live in this house, and no one thanks me at all
they use me every day, I am imperative to them
They slam my door and give me a headache; I’m Jim.
I keep their food cold, my freezer keeps them healthy too.
They have allowed me to get filthy, I am full of sticky goo.
When was the last time someone washed me? I really don’t know.
The little ones sometimes stand inside on my edge, hurting my toe.
I am tired of this treatment, would run away if I could to the moors.
I snicker a bit, thinking about how this would feel to these boors.
Twenty years I have been here, keeping their milk ready to drink.
I am not alone in these thoughts, ask the oven and the sink.
step …
across the sill
this haunted house
walls of torn paper, dripping
crumbling plaster ceilings
hanging like rotten vines on a gaunt
and bony frame
dark, broken windows, the
empty eyes that stare -
once aglow with
the bright from within
life and light … and love
made a home
until …
just an ember -
one flame of your kiss -
and it was gutted
burned raw and ruined
with no thought to what filled these rooms
or graced the facades
or warmed the meager marrow …
now all phantoms
howling in the barren halls
sodden and saddened
for sake of the abandoned -
the threadbare -
dilapidated … desolate
welcome to the
vacancy …
your fool.
Copyright © 2023 Gregory Richard Barden
( artwork is a number two pencil sketch of the cottage from “Summer of ‘42” by the poet )
the fork thought the knife and spoon were against her
A conspiracy was in the works, their mission impure
She used her ring finger and accused them of a conspiracy
The spoon pointedly ignored her and stirred up his green tea
The knife was not as wise as the spoon and argued most of the day
It seemed to give them satisfaction said the spoon named Gray.
They are used to arguing, it is their way to be romantic he thought.
He had heard his parents scraping and hissing since he was a tot.
"For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed." - beautifulnow.is
Autumn tiptoed in after summer.
I reminisce of the silent kiss
she left as droplets on the delicate florets
of one beautiful, bright chrysanthemum.
Her early morning tryst went undetected
until the evidence of it glistened
in the light of a sweet September dawn.
I spotted that lovely mum blushing pink
from the visit Autumn made just before King Sun peeked down
from his throne of gold on high in the brilliant sky
when he caught the goddess bidding a fond farewell
to the flower she had been deliciously romancing.
Too many times to count has Autumn visited
other flowers, leaving her fleeting touch of love
which puts a glow on their pretty petaled faces,
but each of her kisses is evanescent.
In that moment I recall, one chrysanthemum
glowed most gloriously from the silent kiss.
two gleaming shiny cars
how much do they know?
they have taken our family on many journeys
they have seen our anger
Do they make fun of us
Behind our backs?
Maybe in front of our faces?
How can we shame or punish them
if we don’t know?
I stare at the cars in my driveway
resenting their feeling of superiority
COMINGS AND GOINGS IN
THE DAYS OF OUR LIVES
In all life’s seasons,
Each day has its three
To be: yesterday, today,
And its tomorrow:-
Today was yesterday’s
Tomorrow, and will become
Tomorrow’s yesterday,
Which will become a today:-
No matter the day or
The season, give God the praise
For today, which was yesterday’s
Prayed for tomorrow:-
Thus, be the blessed days
That are bestowed upon us
In travelling and overcoming
Life’s trials and tribulations:-
If you look at a still pond,
you’ll see your reflection,
but it’s more vivid or unclear to see
because it is not meant for showing your reflection.
A mirror was created for that job,
but why do people like to see their reflection in water
when it’s not as clear as a mirror?
Because, at the end,
people like the imperfect thing
in which they see goodness.
A DOG'S LIFE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I reign as king in a sovereignty supreme.
I sit by your side gazing, the world whizzing by.
From a rolled down window, a kaleidoscope of colors mesmerize.
My ears flapping wildly, a joyful delight.
The rush of air, a thrill to my canine soul.
As we speed along, the highway our open road.
The engine purrs, a tranquil hum.
The sun beats down, a warm embrace.
The miles fly by, like autumn leaves dancing down a street.
I feel alive in this wild, open space.
The scent of freedom, a fragrance so sweet.
The thrill of adventure, a canine story to tell.
My tail wags freely, a happy beat.
The wind in my fur, a soothing caress.
Surely this canine has been blessed.
The sun begins to set, a fiery glow.
The stars appear, a twinkling show.
The engine slows, a gentle ease.
Our journey's come to an end.
I snuggle close, a contented sigh.
For it's a dog's life, and I am hypnotized.
I wish I was the wind
ruffling oak leaves
wafting through a verdant meadow
traveling through the night air
gently kissing the tips of grasses
the lightest of songs
a whispering wisp
refreshing in the rain
rejuvenating the earth as I pass by
She sways as her petals flutter about in sync
In beautiful blooms of petals in magenta pink
Her legs are long and thorny, as she sits up high
A delicate floweret, basking under the sunny sky
She welcomes the summer breeze with its light caress
and dances as her petals fully open, on display to impress
A hummingbird stops by for a visit, and for a quick feed
And he drinks her sweet nectar while hovering in speed
The day soon ends, and the dark nightfall brings crisp air
She sadly watches her petals drop as she sheds a tear
The next day she warmly awakens to a delightful surprise
To her new pink blooms starting to open right before her eyes
water gives us life
she uplifts us
rejuvenates us
keeps us connected
her baptisms
her wet coolness
her willingness to share
keep us fresh
essential loving water
as important as air
they both keep us alive
without them, we would not exist
we owe much to water
she is our hero
our queen
our connection to faeries and angels.
You feel the whispers slither down the long corridor,
each murmur coiling around your thoughts like hungry vines.
They scratch at your calm, sharp as claws unseen,
and fracture your resolve until your heart cannot stay silent.
You sense the walls themselves lean, curious and burdened,
their cracks breathing echoes of every stolen word.
Even the chairs groan beneath an invisible weight,
worn by secrets that slide across the floor like restless ghosts.
You watch as daylight winnows through frosty windows,
afraid to face the truth those whispers carry.
Driven by iron tongues that drip with accusation,
you remain—a flicker of light defying their hush.
You are planted in this room, roots deep in purpose,
a silent sentinel despite the whispers’ might.
And though whispers may rise, their reign will fall to dust—
when your truth, at last, breaks free and echoes with light.
The walls lean in, murmuring secrets of weary days,
while chairs sigh beneath tired bodies.
Words from hollow lips strike like stones—
they refuse to soften, echoing in empty corners.
My lessons pulse with purpose, glowing faintly in the dust,
each one breathes life into silent desks.
They wait, expectant—hungry for curious eyes.
Even the blackboard leans forward,
eager to share every truth I’ve etched across its surface.
Though some voices build barriers—cold, unyielding,
my teaching-self stands firm,
a steady heartbeat among shifting shadows.
I may not linger here forever,
but as long as education breathes,
my footsteps leave a soft rhythm—
a promise echoing beyond my departure.
Until my final exhale,
I become the silent sentinel:
each wall, each chair, each lesson
alive with all that is just and right.
Specific Types of Personification Poems
Read wonderful personification poetry on the following sub-topics:
animals, food, 4th grade, funny, life, love, kids, metaphor, nature, onomatopoeia, simile, tree,
and more.
Definition | What is Personification in Poetry?