Meadow Poems - Poems about Meadow

A pale ray bleeds across the swamp. Slick ivy coils tangled tight, choking voices into damp grass hissing...love? —drowned before heard— They say Mother Nature provides but she doesn’t shield— we live for ourselves, as the swamp feasts on our marrow. She taught us: you either hide from or become the man-eating ripples. You have to get your shoes dirty to not be swallowed. “The water,” my mother warned, “takes...

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Upon the meadow where you were born, I make a vow to stay by your side, And though my heart in anguish is torn, Tear-filled eyes remember our last ride. You breathe hard as you lay in the grass. Your heart beats like the thunder of earth. In its own time, life will let you pass To look for the mare who...

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flowers that have flourished in winter made beautiful in the frost, from the same chilling breeze they have grown lost. one flower stands out in its sunny meadow, the other still frozen in a field, envying the other flowers that get to grow along in that meadow, waiting to be revealed. every once in a while the pollen of the flower...

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In God's Book of Hours this meadow in which I lie in not constrained by a singular purpose... how then may I discover its meaning?...

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where the green seems to have un-rolled itself . . . marigold wealth ...

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The depth and breadth of our love passes through portals of perpetual beauty where its majesty wraps around us like a silk cloth and poetry is scribed upon the flesh of our hearts where emotions are luxurious colors flowing in our veins when we journey the flower-filled meadow of our yearning to find ardor in alluring eyes tethered to each kiss and...

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“Escaping from life’s wasteland into the serene introspective depth within I discover the treasure of emerald bliss” – Quote by Poet Walking in weary steps along the amber wilderness, the lone life wanders despondent on the worn-out path. I absorb the embedded emerald grandeur of reposed bliss from the conjured cauldron of the tranquility trove within, strive...

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Written: March 14, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann *********************** On that obsidian night, I found your flawless face, echoing with illuminated breaths and hushed whispers from Mulberry Trees The sunset swan song lingers. in a warm twilight embrace. Springtime ushers in butterflies, dancing in a...

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Spilled from dew drenched petals, an overflow of laughing ferns warring with the still forms – graceful amazed by the atmosphere of light softly woven through the inklings, aglow stirring winds beneath shadows pouring from the twilight’s joy softly threaded into the horizon, a sky worn gray by the gentle hope arising beyond the meadow’s charms leaking, a trickle of melancholic born of grief...

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In the twilight of time, In the serenity of my mind, I am inspired to write, I write about my journey through the day, From what I have seen through its lens, About all that I have learned and understood. When my soul returns from its journey, I reflect on...

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Written: January 03, 2025 ___________________________ What we love, we’re bound to fear, Caught in the gloom current of our making. How else could we hear the percussion of our pulse?...

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Enchanted meadow With a sunflower glow, It's a dragonfly's delight. He's so pleased to meet A princess sweet, There on the florets, before her flight ...

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Stretched upon the meadow of memories, under the sky that spreads like a blue velvet canvas, I think of the men who buried their dreams under the damp and cold earth, those who let their souls drift on rivers of despair, seeking solace in the face of storms of tumult and darkness, who no longer knew how to catch...

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Summer breeze, bones at ease. Schedule clear, mind clear. Belly full, tea at hand. Love and cat both sitting near. Hawks aloft, quietly. Bats asleep, naturally. The half remaining moon climbing up to the Eastern horizon. Cedars busy not rotting, cattails busy decorating, ever so briefly, the not-there air. The wind shifts...mint and meadow flower. The winds shift...now the horse manure. The Dào speaks and whispers, roars and...

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The cold fog rises from the meadow like smoke from Poppy's pipe... ... ever upward with the sweet savour of meadow grass. My bare feet, like mortar and pestle, smash out the green scent as I walk through the wet dew, chilled and sprinkled with drops of water. ...

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