yet another dawn
simply glad to be livin'...
and lucky to be!
The dawn of life wakes me.
My grave, where I lay softly slumbering,
The darkness of life lulls me into a deep sleep.
My grave, where I lay softly slumbering,
A cat comes to the blades of grass upon my grave,
In the morning, filling its hunger upon my grass,
Under the night sky, lying down upon my grass to dream.
the bucket's cold aura
blooms in white,
though planted seeds,
already read your eyes.
one day's rain
trips out of her rust,
and holds sun,
or a northern hand;
becoming the light
for the ground, made wide
God's weeping
returns weeping —
full like water filling up steel;
pain...now a lily.
farmers cut for hay
fields smell so good driving by
as bales are pushed out
I sit near my gate
The dusk wind bends the tall grass
My old shoes touch dirt
diamonds upon grass
sparkling as the sun rises....
cooing of doves
Contest Name: Illusion of solidity
Line of inquiry:
The dream seems real since we don a form,
borrowed from elements of that domain,
but if we simply chose not to conform,
we wake up when desires to rest are lain.
Illusion of solidity
Once I saw you waiting, seated there for me,
And every day our silent love grew quietly.
Your scent stayed with my soul in every part,
You circled me like moon around earth’s heart.
Spring bloomed inside my autumn garden’s air,
And grief’s deep wound turned soft to healing care.
You were my healer and my love combined,
Joy fell like honey, sweet and undefined.
Then sorrow cut like glass with edges thin,
And showed the cracks I tried to hide within.
The dream seems real since we don a form,
borrowed from elements of that domain,
but if we simply chose not to conform,
we wake up when desires to rest are lain.
Now time has turned, the dream has slipped away,
You live in photographs and faded day.
I’m left alone, with smoke where fire used to be,
Chasing solid love that was never meant for me.
Though humanity boundlessly drifts toward death,
We reach out for the false dream, toward the emerald blades.
Hear that low, breathy whisper echoing from the leaves:
"Come to me!
Lie upon my quilt with your beloved,
And taste the fullness of love."
The sun glows above, the grass dances below, and the wild breeze blows—
What is left for you to fear?
"Though I am merely a blade of grass, I bloomed solely for you;
Knowing death awaits, yet untamed in my longing to hold you,
I was simply happy, cradled in your gentle embrace."
did not know
about my roots so researched....
grassroots inheritance assured?
Beneath the rippled, sunlit glass,
I rest among the eelgrass blades,
A shadowed world where currents pass
Through quiet, emerald-tinted glades.
A gentle pulse draws in the tide,
Through open folds, the feast is spun;
I sift the sea where currents glide,
And take the bounty of the sun.
A sudden rush—a snapping spark—
I lift and dance upon the floor,
And vanish swiftly in the dark
To settle on the sandy shore.
Here, safe within my textured walls,
Away from cruising shadow’s eye,
Where peace defines the quiet halls,
The rushing world may wander by.
Adorned in ribbed and fluted grace,
Where painted bands of pink align
With lavender across my face,
The ocean's quiet masterpiece—
A living scallop...resting.
Garden -
My den
Pristine,
And clean.
Bees, wasps
Sun drops.
Birds dart,
My heart
Does sing,
Mood swing
Green grace,
My space !
Copyright © 2026 by Crystal David John
dawn rises like an old god waking, casting silver breath across the fields
soft spirits wander through the meadow, stirring wind in tall, listening grass
a white-horned stag lifts his gaze—myth lingers where the earth keeps its hush
The look of one abandoned
Blown, and screechy, through
A rouge's aired haunt, to.
Yet no discomfort therein
Prowls, as well, thought-free
Wonderment's, knows he.
Popping out from under time's ruffled sun
a regally vested, chit-chatty Robin.
Cheerily navigating the lemon lime grass.
Perhaps looking for a beetle or crumb.
He daintily hip-hopped into my ring
on legs of beige twigs and lute strings.
Gently tilting a Tiffany-kissed beak.
Offering a daisy chain of silvery peeps.
I thought him just another avian busker
hustling up a mate and something to eat.
I'd little to offer and vigorously apologized.
He just glanced toward his robin egg sky.
Then offered me, in pastels, a Basho haiku.
I volleyed back with crayon-streaked senryu.
Before gliding off to sweet memory land,
he gifted an orange gem from his regal vest.
I considered this day to be impeccably blessed
by Lord Robin of the lemon-lime grass.
A True Story
the weeds are begging
swaying in unison
asking to be mowed
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