Best Green Poems | Poetry
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The Best Green Poems
One leaf fell from a tall, tall tree
and subtly kissed gnarled roots beneath;
a lover’s kiss below sunned-sheath
of greenest leaves, a jubilee.
One spiraling leaf brought playful mirth
to sullen earth of trodden dirt.
A flight of hopeful shades of spring,
for hard, hard ground, an offering
One leaf dressed in a sparkling jade
glided with grace to green grass blades
and rested near a bubbling brook,
then waited for warm breeze that shook
its flirty skirt on green, green glade.
An arc of bright green canopy
warmed my heart in bluest mood,
and one leaf blew a kiss from you.
It twirled and pranced and floated by,
then with a touch it came to lie
green in my hand, a dear surprise.
Like emerald hills of Irish tales,
I marveled at how one leaf sailed
green In my hand that blue, blue day,
a kiss from you on Patty’s Day -
The gray clouds parted shining green,
a beauty like I’d never seen.
for Francine's Show Me the Green Contest, 3/18/15
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015
I Death Wood
My skeleton, the trembling tree,
hit by the axes of ambulances
due to the decay of disease.
My muscles languish as wilted leaves.
My organs are rotting red apples.
My soul is the searing wind, while
my thoughts tick like termites.
The ivy of MS illness wraps with
waste around my twisted trunk.
Suddenly, spiders of suicide
descend onto my branches.
They crawl across my broken bark,
crackling my rustic eyesight.
The sun, a golden unicorn, gone
into the forest of healthy laughter.
My wilted wood wanes in a cloud coma
with no moon, stars or watercolor sky.
Where are my wildflowers?
Where is my green gleam?
I wait and wish for black lighting.
II Birth Wood
My family, the fog where most
float in the underworld as veiled
ghosts along the grassy grounds.
My thirsty roots reach for them
like wild hands hungry in ebony soil.
Sometimes their memory perfumes
and pollinates my heart with prayers.
My friends are a flock of birds that
become singing bracelets upon my bark.
Their feathers grace me like silk hope.
Their beaks devour the suicide spiders
on my weak wood, and their cheerful
songs encourage me to bloom once again.
Full moon flashes as a white wizard,
wearing a cloak of competitive clouds,
while moody night smolders as his black hat.
Spirals of opal light make my bark bright.
Spirit moonbeams weave within my wood,
healing hollow shadows, and allowing me to
taste the monthly midnight milk of magic.
III Rain Wood
Spring steams with saturating rainfall,
sealing my splinters, washing away webs,
and the dirt of daily depression.
My sap slides like a slow moving sea.
My tree bends and bows in all
directions, sprouting with joy.
Jade fire erupts along my branches.
Raindrops beat like crystal hearts
upon my boughs and my blossoms.
These clear spheres of nature inspire
rebirth and germination of all life.
My apples sing as flutes, my leaves
clap hands, and my trunk plays harp.
My lover, the lone eagle, appears and flaps
his feathered wings upon my wooden nest.
Our love is best lived in traveling weather.
My limbs taste the last drops of dissipating dew
as the crocheting clouds release final rivers.
Deer court in the fermenting forest,
while golden unicorn grazes upon me.
February 7th 2008
Sponsor: A Poet Destroyer
Contest: 100 in a ROW contest--3
Copyright © Chantelle Anne Cooke | Year Posted 2015
Enchantment of magic’s sweet passion has bound me
With minutes and hours I now must reclaim;
Spellbound, love calls to the spirits around me
And drifts into dreams at the sound of his name.
The breath of his memory awakens from slumber;
I hear the soft whispers of a loving refrain
That stirs in my heart such an infinite hunger
With incense to scent each exquisite strain.
The face of my love comes back in a vision
With sounds of his voice in the soft grey gloom;
In a twilight of stars when the scent is Elysian
I wait for him under the plum tree in bloom.
So hushed is the flute of a love song enchanted
With music he played when his mouth was stirred;
I now hear the song so tenderly haunted
Invading my dreams with all that I heard.
As green leaves and blossoms twine and are braided
The strings of my heart have come undone;
When the lush of the green vine is woven unfaded
The binding of my heart with his is as one.
Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2011
Happy Saint Patrick's Day!
The Glory of Green
Green hues denote the healing of our earth,
That special season of springtime’s rebirth.
Green grasses growing o’er the hillside's face,
Embracing greening trees in leafy lace.
While amber fields engage in heaven’s kiss
As raindrops splash into emerald bliss,
I watch amazed as tender shoots abound
With daffodils and tulips breaking ground.
A floral scent begins to fill March air.
St. Patty’s I’ll wear flowers in my hair.
So many varied hues that can be seen,
This Irish lass loves every shade of green!
© Connie Marcum Wong
Contest: Go Green
Sponsor Poet Destroyer
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2015
Emerald forest hiding from man's curse
if found, its never better , always worse.
Wretched destroyers we are in this abode
in our arrogance we are firmly sold.
Greed for taking everything in our path
we in our false pride deliver our wrath.
Astonished that some may in this rebel
when seeking their deaths, damn them all to hell.
If true, the meek inherit this sweet earth
then our dear souls must love for all their worth.
Where river and bend meet with shining sky
Nature teases us to ask how and why.
Shall we pray that emerald forests hide?
Take action on that we can not abide?
Robert J. Lindley, 11-29-2016
Syllables Per Line: 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Words: 108
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016
Green - I have seen you somewhere within my evergreen soul
Where the Omniscient plays his flute
To rejuvenate the tired ones - scattered by the humdrum of daily chores
His idiosyncratic tune soothes my heart
Green - I have seen you somewhere within the desolated dry lands
Where you assure us of a definite return
Spiralling with the next rain to come - with the seeds of new love
Sprouting with our endless hopes - in the hands of caressing farmers
Farmers of life too
Green - I have seen you somewhere within the falling leaves
Burnt by the desires of their own - dejected souls
Still they fall on the ground from where they got nourishment
Mix them with their mother to make her fertile
To maintain the perpetual flow of love
To the next progeny
An evergreen dream
Green - I have seen you somewhere within ...
My desperate hopes
Copyright © Anindya Mohan Tagore | Year Posted 2016
Continued from Part 2
Ah Consuela! I’m watching as lightning at midnight in green Spanish eyes
kindles cracks within crystals like flashes from pistols
residing inside of the gloom
as it hovers above us betraying a dove as
she flees from the fountain of doom.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching, distilling despair in her green Spanish eyes,
and the bitterness stings like the snap of the strings
when a mystical mandolin sighs
as the vampire shades suck the life from charades
neath the resinous residue skies.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she looks to the ledge with her green Spanish eyes,
for the terrace hangs high and she’s thinking to fly
and abandon fate’s merry-go-round.
At the edge I perceive her and rush to retrieve her –
she stumbles, falls far to the ground.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching the sparkles a’ spilling from green Spanish eyes.
As I peer from the railing, with evening exhaling,
I cry out a lover’s lament –
there she lies midst the crowd with her spirit unbowed,
but her body’s all broken and bent.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she beckons me hither with green Spanish eyes,
and I’m slightly amazed being snared in her gaze
and a’ swirl in a hurricane way,
but the seconds are slipping, my courage is dripping,
the moment is bleeding away.
Ah Consuela! I touch her - she weeps tender tears from her green Spanish eyes;
as the breezes cease blowing, her essence leaves, flowing,
in streams neath the ambient light,
and the droplets drip swarming, so silent, yet warming,
like rain in a midsummer night.
Ah Consuela! I hold her, am hushed by the hints in her green Spanish eyes,
while her whispers are breathing the breaths of the seething
electrical skeletal winds,
and the words paint the poems that rivers a’ slowin’
reveal where the waterfall ends.
Ah Consuela! I’m fading in fires a’ flicker in green Spanish eyes,
as she plays back the past, she abandons and casts
away matters that no longer mend.
And she reached out instead, as she lifted her head,
and we kissed as she parted, my friend.
Ah Consuela! I’m tangled, entombed, trapped in tales of your green Spanish eyes,
in forsaken cantinas beyond the arenas
where night-time illusions once flowed,
for the ash neath my shoulder still throbs as it smoulders
some place near the end of the road.
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012
Along a fence and out into a field I amble;
seduced by a tree surrounded by flowers, I stroll toward a small hill.
Gentle is this grassy slope
redolent of sweet birch and the wildflowers birthed from fertile
earth. I’m at ease as my eyes embrace a valley
extending endlessly with emerald enchantment.
Nature’s nakedness is lush!
Auspicious day! All around me is the ambiance of
spring and scent of grass where sheep now graze.
Gathering sun’s rays, Nature glistens, for she’s become
radiant from her recent rendezvous with Rain!
As Sun in azure sky arrives with all his ardor,
sparrows sing in my shady tree, soothing me.
Sanguine is my soul amidst green splendor.
Written March 1, 2016
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
and in my green dream, I find myself in a green lush forest
dripping wet with life, steamy and sultry
I am one with nature and with the emerald drifting water
oh, the chartreuse moss and the wet lime green ferns
I float in tranquility and beneath me seaweed grows, swaying
so many greens all united in harmony
juniper, sage, olive, shamrock, pine
emerald green of a little frog and the dark green of a crocodile
small green fish kissing my toes
a lovely green flower, a green snake slithers
a fluttering green butterfly, a green bird sings sweetly
green twining vines, meandering in the dark green foliage
my sage green eyes, whisper come fall into the green depths with me
I will take you to green, green world full of utter peace
all beautiful shades of green, mingled and entwined, united in nature and life
February 29, 2016
Poetry/Free Verse/in my green dream
Copyright Protected, ID 16-762-889-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, United Colors: Green
sponsor, Silent One
Copyright © Dear Heart | Year Posted 2016
Green is serene.
This color of nature
resurrects in early spring
to paint our landscape again,
from drab brown to soft fern haze.
Slowly, spring deepens into a sublime
mixture of emerald, and Shamrock hues.
Mid-summer, our lovely trees, and shrubs
are bathed in luxurious velvet forest green.
Later, summer paints with a deeper Viridian.
Our forests, mountains, valleys, hills, lawns,
trees, and plants...all saturated in greens.
Tranquil, flowing greens, soothe the soul,
as silky grasses, like waves of the sea,
ripple gently in the summer breeze.
Lush tree tops kiss the blue sky.
Green embraces every lake.
Green paints our lovely
landscape of nature.
Green is serene...
Sandra M. Haight
Sponsor: Kim Rodrigues
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016
Enchanting melodies call me to the lush green forest, the
calls of soprano birds singing to my spirit, heart, soul, blissfully.
Sweet rhapsodies enthrall me to dwell within this intoxicating forest.
Trancelike and enraptured, I fall into the emerald and the lovely wildflowers,
and the forest has a magical spell on my beauty. I dwell in this green dream.
Stillness, you will find with me in the lush, do not be afraid, just step into rapture.
You will find euphoria and peace, now take my hand and you will be transported . . .
June 28, 2016
Poetry/Acrostic Free Verse/Ecstasy
Copyright Protected, ID 16-804-823-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Ecstasy
sponsor, John Hamilton
Copyright © Dear Heart | Year Posted 2016
On a walk after the worst of the Sandy storm
I slogged down the still dampening
Green grass valley rutted between
The moldering fences of the shadowed alley.
Under the low, ominously rushing, soggy gray clouds
I saw so many black birds silently
Clinging against the stiff breezes
To the broken branches of the skeletal oak on the corner
As if they relished the fate of the cruelly stripped leaves.
I saw a hundred crows there.
How many make a murder?
Black pointy wraiths;
Scattered commas lined up like
Iron shavings stuck
To magnetic branches.
Dull steel skies slid in vast arcs around them.
Sprinkling windy foreboding,
Their clouds reached down
To Collect their talons.
So many eyes I know they see
Spiny black needles poking out of me.
Bloodless murder, muffling gray gauze No need to caw…,
A hundred crows see it all.
Copyright © Kevin Lawrence | Year Posted 2018
Spring has a special place within my heart
A breath of warm air
She dispels despair
I'm anxiously waiting for Spring to start
I miss Her so much
Her soft gentle touch
I long for the sensual perfume she'll wear
A blend of sweet smelling flowers everywhere.
I cannot wait for Spring.
At first, She is not much more than a wish
Not really here
No reason to cheer
Yet, She's such a tempting...delicious dish!
I can hardly wait
Circling the date
Upon my calendar... I cross off the days
Whiling away my time in a thousand ways.
I cannot wait for Spring.
Finally Winter's wings are in full flight
The snow melts away
And Spring's here to stay
The sun's light lengthens day and shortens night
Tulips start to grow
And the rivers flow
Nature dabbles the landscape in shades of green
The air feels invigorating...fresh and clean
And tweeting songbirds bring music to the scene.
I cannot wait for Spring
She taught my heart to sing.
May 20, 2018
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2018
The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013
Listen to poem:
“The October night comes down; returning as before
Except for a slight sensation of being ill at ease
I mount the stairs and turn the handle of the door
And feel as if I had mounted on my hands and knees.”
----- “Portrait of a Lady;” T. S. Eliot
A golden afternoon,
Late October, and my thoughts
Are all of you, Suzanne…
Vestiges of your being
Appear on visages of
A hundred different people;
But none are you, not one
As green, as golden.
Hard it is to know no miracle
Will mend, no giddy hope assuage,
The scourge that slowly puts an end
To our valiant green and golden girl.
Memory takes us to days of indolence,
Of innocence, of children lying on a levee,
Deep in lush, green, summer clover --
In sunlight almost as golden
As your hair -- beside a flowing river
Bearing away our golden hours
And the painless green of youth.
Now, in your green room, reclined
In shadow, our golden girl reposes.
Your courage lights the coming night
That does not dim the gold and green
You always shared, and still you share.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2013
Run, run, run as fast as you can...
I'm still gonna get you, my little green man...
I grabbed on to the gold buckle on his waist...
I held him down, with no time to waste...
I tied The Leprechaun to a hollow tree,
Broke off a branch and poked him on the knees.
I kept on poking him with a stick.
I kept nagging him to reveal his magic trick.
This little shamrock kid would not break.
He kept insisting THE LEPRECHAUN legend was fake.
This little odd dwarf kept lying about his mythical pot of gold.
I kept repeating all the stories I've been told..
Nagging him and nagging him~ FOR HIS POT OF GOLD!
He lied, about the fables, telling me his gold does not exist...
The Leprechaun refused to hear the clover list...
It's been 7 days!
And, still he won't give up, what's at the end of the rainbow.
Tickling his little Eskimo toes,
Running feathers underneath his nose.
"Look you little green treasure troll, I've captured you, and demand the gold!"
"You won't get me with your tricks!"
"So don't even try to outwit me with your silly MAGIC!"
I suppose his silver-tongue, will have to do,
And the little gold buckles on his shoe.
I got tired of trying to make him see, my point of view.
I got a better deal and trade for a monkey at the zoo.
Now the lions are enjoying a Pot of Leprechaun Stew.
Nothing I did, made him unfold.
All I wanted was his pot of gold!
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012
I love it when Spring finally comes
The buds showing their little sprouts
Yes indeed from this seasons of four
I'm awake many sleeping plants shout
I love it when I walk through the parks
When these buds turn to a sea of green
Forgotten are the plants being so stark
This birthing season just has to be seen
I love it when I sit on the park benches
When the breeze caresses Sakura trees
The airs scented by their pinky blossoms
Mother nature and man in total agree
When I retire I'll grow a green thumb for
I love it when Spring finally comes
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2015
For thousands of years, ice giants were sleeping.
But now, these dense “blue ice” glaciers are weeping.
Warnings that in many ways bear repeating.
Global climate change speeds glaciers’ retreating.
In Alaska and Glacier National Park,
The melting of ancient glacial ice is stark.
Half the world’s glaciers – in Land of Midnight Sun*,
But in Glacier NP**, soon there will be none.
Years hence, will Alaska have any at all?
Loss of these ice bodies a clear wake-up call.
Value majestic Alaska, like Seward***?
Care for glaciers; each of us a good steward?
Alaska’s Exit Glacier – leaving for good?
Will black stone stand where Blackstone Glacier once stood?
In Montana, Blackfoot Glacier shrinks each day.
The other twenty-four headed the same way.
Glaciers’ demise may get more than them crying.
Their loss may mean earth’s human life is dying.
Glacial and polar ice death no mystery;
If we do nothing, glaciers are history.
Signed, Saddened for the Sobbing, Shrinking Glaciers
* Alaska is known as the Land of the Midnight Sun.
** National Park is often abbreviated “NP”.
*** Then U.S. Secretary of State, William H. Seward, negotiated the United States’ purchase of Alaska from Russia in 1867.
Copyright © Bartholomew Williams | Year Posted 2017
Green…you always reflected in my peripheral
And kept watch as I tried to color my world
But there I lay in my blacks and my blues,
lifeless and faltering In monotone hues.
Through kaleidoscope eyes, I envisioned my skies
But the pot at the rainbow was storybook lies
so with nothing to gain and nothing to lose,
I just shuffled around In my blacks and my blues.
Never did I imagine you!, Green… to be my savior
But there you arose, out of my dark abyss
With your bottle green dress and scarlet kiss
Your emerald green eyes and unbridled bliss.
Now my kaleidoscope dreams have all been unfurled
Since you Green, have colored my world
You rescued my heart, Green
You rescued my heart.
Copyright © Bernard Colasurdo | Year Posted 2013
Inspired by a Art gallery and a poem by Shelly.
A room full of mottled multicolored butterflies
captured within a creative space
of artful design
to inspire and aspire
Flirt and flutter a delicate ballet
among the pot plants
A splash of color
among a drab row of urban gray
The door is opened
and the butterflies are released to freedom
flying high above
lush green trees
in clear unblemished skies
floating like autumn fallen leaves
in a gentle breeze
that rested on my heart for a while
and made it smile
bringing pleasure to my eye
A symbol of freedom and eternity
filling my dreams
with all the treasures of summer.
Peter Dome.copyright.2013. Sept.
Copyright © Peter Dome | Year Posted 2013
O dried up leaf lying there on the ground
Fallen from the top of a sturdy tree
Where you viewed everything that was around
While you bathed in the sunshine's glory
You manufactured food from the sunlight
And together with the help of the roots
Faithfully nourished your parent just right
Creating a sturdy tree bearing fruits
In spring and summer you wore brilliant green
And supplied shade to others from the sun
In autumn you became more colourful
and before winter dropped off one by one
Even now as you lay there on the dirt
Nature must move on in its cyclic line
You shall soon become a part of the earth
And become food for others of your kind
Copyright © john beharry | Year Posted 2014
By Steven Cooke
My Brave ancestors of England,
Look away, for I offend thee.
For your England is no more.
Decay eats away at this fallen empire.
Your people divided,
Its laws weakened by Europe’s power.
Its leadership, protecting the few.
The fresh air of your Country gone,
Only the stench of anarchy remains
Heroes of The Somme look away for I offend thee.
Stock Market Parasites, take without producing
Corporations overwhelm, the weak,
Without paying their due.
Their off shore havens digest the life blood of this once great nation,
Leaving the scraps of minimum wage for the masses to beg.
The dead of Pashendale look away for I offend thee.
Government legislate to keep us in bondage to 66
Over the hill at 50, to wonder the dole queues
Youth denied education,
Universities at a price,
Qualifications for the chosen few,
Unemployment, for the poor.
Our brothers of Gallipoli look away for I offend thee.
Our Cities are in pain.
Hopeless lives, with hopeless dreams,
Hopeless choices, drugs, crime,
Or silence behind closed doors.
Babies born to fail,
Children, exposed to depression and chips.
The ghosts of Arnhem look away for I offend thee.
A voice in the darkness, shouts its rage
The iron curtain of youth descends on England
This is no Lennon revolution,
This is youth with no future, abandoned by government
No rules here to obey, No Civic pride,
No sense of History, no Country to protect
The Saviours of Goose green look away for I offend thee
But fat cats beware, for there is a dream,
That cannot be bought.
A warning from history.
A country cannot go forward,
Without learning from the past.
Your greed will self destruct
Your Paradise a lie
For a Dangerous wind now blows,
And common sense, will fail.
For England is Broken,
And life will never be the same,
In England’s green and pleasant land.
Now It is my turn to look away,
for you see this offends me too.
Copyright © steven cooke | Year Posted 2011
When I was just a little girl
With mind as always, in a whirl
Me and my cousin, we would roam
Far, far away from my sweet home
We'd make our way to some rocks we knew
All covered by green moss, we two
Oh it was such a magic place
And left huge smiles upon my face
To us it was a fairyland
With imagination vast and grand
We both saw fairies, little elves too
Dancing daintily as they do
When that time came, we had to leave
Both our little hearts would grieve
We'd leave that haven, her and me
Our minds brim filled with memories
So we went back to normalcy
And though it made us both unhappy
We knew that soon we'd go back there
And see those we folk everywhere
Copyright © Vera Duggan | Year Posted 2014
A stone round standing fortress crowns forever beauty
The name translated to english Grianan means sunny spot or sun temple
The land bows down inspirational the view
seat of the high kings dating back to 1700 B.C
Overlooking Lough Swilly and Lough Foyle
Eogháin, after whom Inishowen is named
was baptised at Grianán by St. Patrick
where they imposed Patrick's rule
Eoghan was a leader of the Ui Néill's
the northern clan descended from Niall of the Nine Hostages
Eoghan began a dynasty that brought forth the High Kings of Ireland
for more than 500 years
our crowned jewel rings in the heart of Donegal
High up on a massive hilltop
it was a place of sun worship
or the place of hibernation of Gráine
a Celtic sun-goddess
In Celtic mythology Grainne was the sister of Aine
goddess of the sun, and though Grainne was known as goddess of corn
or grain (springs from the earth after being nurtured by the sun)
both sisters are said to have been birthed by a sunbeam or “of the sun
There is also a tradition that the temple was built by Daghdha
the good god or god of the earth
He was known as the King of the Tuatha dé Danann
a race of supernatural beings descended from the Goddess Danu
They inhabited Ireland before the Celts
This tradition has Daghda building the fort to protect the grave of his son
A variation tells of giants building the hill and the Grianán on top a residence
for the shining ones who gave birth to the children of the sídhe
All of these traditions link the hill and the fort on top with supernatural beings
to unseen energy and power and a link to the Otherworld
With one breathtaking scene
overlooking spanning miles awestruck
sweeping below beautiful country side our forty shades
of emerald green jewel of Ireland
From inside outwards the pen flows golden precious
Here stands a kingdom
dating back to a time of tuatha de danann
one dynasty sings over centuries
Legend states that the giants of Inishowen are lying sleeping
but when the sacred sword is removed
they will spring to life reclaiming their ancient lands
Our ancient ring stone clad fort in Irish folklore sings
One such tale relates that Niall Frasach
he was born when these freasa or showers fell
honey silver and blood
A high-king of Ireland
Son of Fergal mac Maolduin
Brother of Aodh Allan
It is said that, when a famine occurred
they carried off by force the one cow
that the solitary hermit of that church had
the hermit cursed the king and his host
there was an earthquake
people devoured one another there at this time
A great cow-plague existed
he prayed and the famine was lifted
with showers of food and silver falling from heaven.
(High King of Ireland 743-770 AD)
to me it stands out one fort in a test of time
On a clear day one can see five of the nine counties of Ulster
from Grianán's parapets.
A truly magical wonder to behold
still standing in our midst
sings enchanting sweet beautiful
magical music to this heart
Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2015
Hidden past the highway bend,
a bench clings to a shallow cliff
above a beach where banks extend
across the bay in sandy drifts.
When tides are low, the sea withdraws,
to flaunt the treasured ocean floor,
and anyone can walk across
the sand to reach the other shore.
With green paint peeling like old flesh,
the bench is baked in salt and sun.
Remember when the paint was fresh,
and in your arms I came undone?
From here, we watch the water snag
in grooves of sand like buried mirrors.
The sky is pink as sunlight fades.
Come close, my love, I need you nearer.
*This poem is based on the green bench (yes, it really exists!) at Sand Dollar Beach, located in the Rose Bay area of Nova Scotia, Canada
Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2013