The wind rustles through the roadside bushes
The spicy scent of the field tickles my nostrils
As far as the eye can see, there is greenery,
low hills, narrow roads,
with cars crawl along, going about their business.
I don't understand where the wind comes from
on such a calm day as today.
I look back at your house
It's exactly the same as in the photograph
Taken years ago, only the ivy
Has perhaps grown too much
on the panel next to the window facing the road.
I feel as if I'm inside that old photograph
Where AI imitates the moving
And the foreground suddenly recedes into the distance
The field and hills disappear beyond the horizon.
Cawing crows fly by
The day draws to a close, the light changes
And slowly fades, like in a theatre
But the curtain hangs motionless
No public enters inside
Today is a bank holiday.
If there was an alien in my bushes
I would not call the police
They'd commit me
If it was real
or not real
I would not approach it
All those movies with humans
being friendly to aliens
What if it had a contagious disease
or spat acid that melted my skin
Maybe it would hump my leg
or throw up on my carpet
I already have a dog that does that
No Sir, I'd leave it be
for someone else to see.
My puppy is eating my bushes
One twig at a time
Bushes I have babied for ten years
They suddenly have a new purpose
When he is bothering them
He is not chewing on me
steps in veiled autumn
rose bushes sad crave for warmth
sprawled leaves create art
nature's spree over
glimmering streaks of light spread
on glorious fields
pumpkin patch dazzles
birds end yearly rendezvous
time to fly back south
The rustle of bushes means what
a squirrel in search of a nut --
something more sinister
awaits the inquisitor
In nature's realm, where life can bloom,
Bushes dance with trees, in nature's room.
With branches strong and leaves so green,
The trees stand tall, a wondrous scene.
But look closer, through poetic haze,
A hidden tale, where metaphor plays.
Bushes, soft and lush, they do entice,
Vibrant and alive, like paradise.
And trees, they rise, with vigor and might,
Symbols of strength, reaching the light.
In harmony they sway, a sensual affair,
Nature's passion woven, beyond compare.
Yet let us not reduce, to mere crude words,
For nature's beauty needs no borrowed birds.
Let bushes be bushes, trees be trees,
And in our minds, let love find its ease.
In a world of scents, a peculiar tune,
Red lips linger, as if sung by the moon,
Amidst the air, a fragrance does bloom,
It dances, it teases, like a playful monsoon.
'It smells like tuna! ' cries a puzzled passerby,
A curious aroma, painting the sky,
Mysteries unravel, as flavors amplify,
Tickling nostrils, a sensation awry.
A feast for senses, a whimsical surprise,
A savory symphony, where wonder lies,
'It smells like tuna, ' the chorus replies,
An enigmatic scent, beneath azure skies.
A quiet place beneath garden's old oak.
I sit and listen to bird's peaceful call.
Behind are tall bushes, magical stroke--
a secret hide-away to watch nightfall.
Quail had young in tall, flowering bushes.
Birds of all sizes have made feather beds.
Singing lullabies mid soft breeze rushes
soon, wee wings will fly above clouds ahead.
In the cooling dark, I watch comets fly.
Stars cluster together, then fall apart.
Moon glistens and I hear Summer sigh.
A part of the night I loved from the start.
Distant lightning flashes across the night.
Breeze whispers adieu, she's wanted afar.
My soul peaceful communing with quiet.
Such magic, I can almost touch a star.
July 16, 2022
Rhyme
"A Quiet Place" judged 7/20/2022
"Writing Challenge - X'd Poems Second Chance" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
sunlight creeps along
glance across berry bushes
faeries tittering
Charisma! Charisma!
pondering the Problem!
Charisma! Chasima!
Let me try and solve them!
Passanate about what I do!
Strapped and ready
you know that's true
can I get ah
Ruh-Ruh!
can I get ah Aye-YO!
Strapped and reaady
we going steady
Baby Get me to the ring!
masked on-say
ah superstar!
Primetime
and right
taped fist
Jaw jackin brudda
ready to
wrestle or fight
jive talking fools
i won't lose my
cool
when it's time to get it on!
scribble down the name
I'm ready for fame
let's just get on!
Trim the bushes
So that
It's not too high
Like hiding yourself inside a jail
Trim the bushes
So that
It's not too high
For love and help to rush in
In times of critical hours
Trim the bushes
So that
You can see
The bustle and rustle of your lovely neighbourhood
MIRACULOUS DOWNPOUR
Exuberant, miraculous downpour spreading its wings ,forming a canopy above
Seems benevolent Almighty showers hugs and cuddles
Breezy, green bushes head over heels in love
I immerse in healing bubbles and scurries off all troubles.
DATED:12.08.2021
CONTEST: YOUR BEST QUATRAIN Poetry Contest
SPONSORED BY: L.MILTON HANKINS
butterfly bushes
brilliant orange blooms delight
roadside distraction
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Brian Strand's "July" Contest on Poetry Soup
written July 4, 2021
The bushes are spread
Along a winding roadside
Spread dark green lime green
Rose bushes in the front of my blue house
stand trimmed, and not one flower peeks its head,
so I no longer need to give a douse
of water to the bushes; they’ve been bled
of all their lovely hues. I miss them so!
Sometimes around this year, they bloom just one
more time before I see the autumn go
as if to celebrate the last gold sun
and for a week or two, those roses thrive
before the freeze sets in, but now I fear
red roses in November can’t survive.
I think it’s going to be a colder year.
Bright colors from the trees around me burst
but my poor bushes – for the time – are cursed.
Oct. 26, 2019
Writing Challenge, October, 2019 - Flower or Flowers -
Sponsor: Dear Heart - Wiishkobi Ode
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