Land Poems - Poems about Land

Fantasy is hardly an escape from reality. It's a way of understanding it. Lloyd Alexander Starlight shown on the WHIMSY Island. So the well-equipped yacht berthed quietly Into the small harbour. Afar, Greg saw a small inn. It was in total darkness. Probably a total outage. He decided to go to...

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I drifted into a reverie, where space time unraveled into a vivid dream. I was a child again, a butterfly. Reveling in the hallucination and visualization only a child's imagination, can twist, into a whimsy fantasy. In a daydream, on a hot lazy afternoon, there I was, holding hands with Alice, of Wonderland fame. She was sipping 'drink me' slurps to re-size...

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## 1. A morning cloaked in wile and woe arrives, It breathes upon my land and leaves no light, This realm now bound in frost's cold curse, Where hearts are held in icy night. ## 2. The spirits of the blameless weep, Their voiceless cries cut through the air, For sins they never chose to bear— Their names erased beyond repair. ## 3. With honeyed kiss...

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Land Phosphorus packed Cascade slithers down Myriad of green Space Lunar Light Luminous Nebula Serpentine Discover...

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Hush now, the hills lean close in, cradling the town in green-field arms. The houses huddle, blinking from night lit rooms, beneath a dawn that warns shepherds of storms, As I lay me down in the lay of land I love. This is the land that knew me, before it had my name, before it lay me down, to sleep in lay...

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like a heavy cloak darkness covers all the land nothing moves or breathes ...

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eds are deadly dangerous more people die there no matter young or old than anywhere else in the whole wide world (or so I've been told) and if it's not too late someone should legislate to outlaw and recall them all then instead we'll sleep on the floor so before you go up the wooden hills to Bedforshire and wend your weary way to the land of Nod if you...

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I remember the land and its people, and I am concerned about the limitations of their mentality. I remember the dead and how the trees outlast them. I hear the language of the trees—the whispering sound of freedom and the resilience of human life, supported by the generosity of a mature land. The wasteland we leave...

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The leather tethers kept loosening. I had to pull at them until they dug into your body binding you to a rocking cross. It was all for nothing you died snapping at unseen knives, arching up, bending time into frozen waves. You once said you were Irish/Scots, Appalachian. You called yourself: Applachan. Sinewy girl --- wiry poppy stems in you, and engine oil to soften tenacious roots. The fever...

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In the land of hope I linger Ready to catch a bone From a dog who does not know he has lost it I am a bit lost myself Keeping this knowledge a secret In the land Where giants and princesses linger In the land of nod I bow to no one My own person Alive? Surely so. But maybe not Depends on who I am talking to I...

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Shadows of the Valley creatures of the dark pitted dome scantily clad dryads' hissing drones they rally without souls—pod like, they roam throughout forests assiduously marled awoken from the darkest depth twigs and branches splayed and snarled shadows of the valley doyennes adept distracting sheaves as straws spewing dirt they bask in on battered brain gnaws Taken in is florescent energy of the soldiers asleep wondering lost deep...

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[*Hendecasyllable: line of verse containing 11 syllables with stanzas with repeated end words and a five line envoi that concludes the ballade.]* Look as… “a crimson sky breaks the distant shore” Signaling I will see my fair home no more the ship drifts into shadows far from yon shore And soon the sky is dark night, crimson no more The...

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I heard a rumor that in a distant land, dragons live, Rivers murmur, accompanying the song of birds in flight, The symphony of nature resonates, untouched by machines, lifted by the wind, The trees are a green that shouts "I am alive!" like open-hearted people, With open hearts and unclosed hands, living without fear. There, nothing is extinct except blind...

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"Nothing changes but the date on the calendar." By Poet We love our pretty calendars holding our favorite pictures. Many pictures of cute animals, some of majestic land or sea views. Each month changes with new pictures to enjoy. We circle the dates we need to remember, never wanting to forget our appointments or events. I like to...

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He rides beneath a sky of burning light, A shadow stretching wide across the plain. His boots are weathered, his hands are stiff with dust, Yet in his eyes, the calm of open land. The cactus stands vast, hard and still— Green scars that mark the path he must make. Each choice he’s made, each trail he’s had to make Leaves dried...

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