Best Weather Beaten Poems

O April
how I’ve longed for your return
to breathe new life 
into this gnarled body..
for these roots to be unfettered 
from the grasping earthen frost -...

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weather-beaten sign
driven down in dying weeds
forsaken headstone
oh nameless, forgotten soul
the Savior knows who you are...

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Like a beacon on a hill
The white church steeple gleaming still
For all the many years gone past
It marks the path for home at last

Up and...

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In my travels late one night 
upon a country road
Across the fields and in the distance 
something surely glowed
Perhaps a fire over there? 
Though I...

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I can see the past glory, though it is humble now and all the more reverent....


With thoughts of deep ocean bliss,
that comes with fading hope,
I...

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Wrinkled, worn, and weather-beaten
one old hat sits a loft a dusty shelf.
A witness to individual history,
a vision of days gone by
of both good and bad...

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Who are you, my Lord?
And what am I standing here as a weather-beaten tombstone,
O Lord, reveal yourself to me on the tombstone standing here alone.

Long,...

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*spot poetry written in 15 minutes or less about any random subject


There lay a button,
'neath the weather beaten tile,
Lay in it's dust, shadowed crust,
it had...

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I caught him staring at me
From the corner of my eyes
I turned to a cloud’s mist
His eyes had a grey pastel sadness
A white fog had...

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The enclosed porch framed a weather-beaten door.
The door was slightly opened when I knocked on it.
I slowly set foot inside the musty dark drawing room;
little...

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On the wind-swept Nebraska prairie sits a building in wretched shambles,
Surrounded by a sagging fence and overgrown with prickly brambles.
It was once a bustling one-room...

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Between a sky of pale blue, streaked with white, 
and a glassy sea of royal blue, 
there lies a land of  lavender  rock,
where...

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With brew in hand, I step into a dew laden atmosphere that lies beneath a veil of grey, through which a huge, radiating circle of...

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My wife and I 
Visited our daughter and her husband in tiny Rhode Island
Newlyweds living in 
The city of Providence and hope
We got up early...

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Hear the clip-clop of iambic beats
Sounds like Shelley with a side of Keats
Is that the scritchity-scratch of a goose quill flickin’
Or just the tippity-tap of...

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