Perhaps you hail from verdant coastlands,
or from rolling hills blanketed by trees,
or from the lofty perches of the mountains,
or from the banks of some strong river.
And though I was born in marshy coastland,
and have known the comfort of swaddling trees,
and felt my heart surge at the glories of the mountains,
and been hypnotized by the hidden tongue of the river,
my heart was forged in the plains.
Naked to the sky,
daunting and inviting,
stark and raw.
A soul can grow strong there,
where there's nowhere to hide.
Where truth burns like the shadeless beams of sunlight.
The eye that roves the horizon
and finds little there,
must turn instead to the contours within.
Such beautiful, dangerous features
to be found
in the heart.
27 November 2022
Categories:
coastlands, heart,
Form: Free verse
She waits with her aged, folded hands
Hands with deep veins and those age spots
Hands that picked and shelled beans so grand
After her trips to garden plots
Where the sun bakes those who have-not
Only they, her hands understand
Watching; sips tea with bergamot
She waits with her aged, folded hands
Now she rests, thinking of coastlands
As a young one within earshot
Bored, thinking inheritance lands
Hands with deep veins, many age spots
Keep on loving, like it or not
As she toiled in the garden and
Fed hungry mouths with money-squat
Hands that picked and shelled beans so grand
Rest sometimes, and understands
Restlessness of youth in Camelot
Seeking their own life, in fairyland
After her trip to the garden plot
She felt quite ill, but did not stop
She needs to tell all, life she understands
As they lower her in the plot
Her dress neatly lays and demands
Her aged, folded hand
Written: June 18, 2022
First one like this posted on soup.
Categories:
coastlands, life,
Form: Rondeau Redouble