Meadow Grass Poems

On Feathered Wings

In the midst of this starry night
I lie upon a bed of meadow grass
Moonbeams providing ample light
To watch the world silently pass
On feathered wings, a lark took flight
I feel like Alice inside her looking glass

Foggy Bottom

     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. 
     Goosebumps chase each other up my legs to tender, pebbled breasts. I cross my arms for warmth and blow out a quivering cloud of warm breath. 
     Revealed now,  the rugged brown trunks of the trees surrounding me in the distance.
     They wave the fog away, as I've seen Mamaw do with Poppy's pipe smoke...
... with twisting limbs that sway in the breeze.

Rotten Fruitlet

Fruitlet is dangling on branches of trees.
Trees’ branches bearing leaves.
Leaves, green, yellow or brown dwindling.
Dwindling due to vicious strong winds raging.

At the tree’s foot, rotten leaves and fruit snooze.
Leaves snoozing dead fertilize the earth.
Earth to receive falling fruit to break.
To break and deliver her stone alive.

Alive, stone will sprout and feed on dead meadow.
Dead meadow grass will fodder fruitlet’s stone.
Stone to spring young from rotten ovary;
Ovary’s filth to produce a clean shrub.

Shrub, cruel humans will chopper.
Chopper to assassinate mother trees.
Mother trees who are the ecosystem.
Ecosystem agonizing human’s vicious attitudes;
Vicious attitudes of us hominids shatter the lot.

Poem by Ndabuli Mugisho

Sitka Sunset

The setting sun of Sitka cut through the sky
like a dull knife
to reveal a watercolor wash of bright colors
that lay upon a backdrop of blue canvas

where my eyes of wondrous wonder
sweeps across the sky
like a summer breeze bends meadow grass
to and fro

I see ships in the harbor bob up and down
in rhythmic motion, as they bounce against the dock
like two cymbals coming together
before the night crushes the sky's colored ash
in a display of darkness
that drapes the harbor in silence
as the sun disappears with the red-threaded horizon

5/17/23 contest Sitka Sunset

Violin

My soul floats on the musical strings
   of a violin
like a lover feels a tender touch
from a passion's prison of beautiful bliss
which paint blue and gray memories
   that drift through my mind
the way a cool summer breeze
caresses the tops of green meadow grass
   with a soothing sound of sensitivity
which helps to create worlds of words
in the poetry, I hear from the violin
   as I silently sit
and surrender to its sensual serenity
from each string touched by the bow

4/19/23
contest Writing Challenge "V" words
sponsor Constance La France
   "Violin"

It Was Not Her It Was Me

I lay there on the meadow grass
she lay there
on grit and dust.

We would have made love
if the sun had not been raining,
if the sky had not been split in two
by a word said
and worse,
a word not said.

Eventually I sighed
this triggered her sadness
and she cried for the ocean
she had lost.

Sparrow claws scratch over my eyes
every water-well in my desert runs dry.

Turning to me
she said: "now you know."

I could only bobble my head
in the rearview mirror
of her absence.

Zephyrs

Zephyrs

     ‘I cannot tell you how it was
      But this I know it came to pass.’
      Beneath the broad and spreading oak,
      Warm zephyrs sighed through meadow grass.

      They danced among oak tree’s leaves
      And sang a vibrant summer song
      Of how we would love and love again
      And to each other would belong

      They sang among the budding flowers
      And told in the ringing chimes 
      Of how thinkers while away the hours
      And of how lovers write in rhymes.

      But then they spoke of Autumn’s chill,
      When secret mists would hide our way.
      How playful spirits toss the leaves
      When warm summer fades away.

      Then ancient zephyrs breathed a sigh 
      And left that pleasant summer land.
      Now blust’ry winds of Autumn came
      And took us by the hand.
 
      Our love was lost in hidden ways
      As drifting mists obscured our view
      And Autumn spirits tossed our dreams
      And left nothing but the dew..

1st two lines are opening lines from
'May' by Christina Rosetti

Barry Stebbings
July 2022

It Is Not Greensleeves

Please remember this is England.

It’s not the many, it’s the few.
It’s not democracy anymore because you’ve given Carte blanch for us to screw you.
It’s not Greensleeves you hear over the meadow grass. We don’t create anything good - that time has passed.
We want all your money and we intend to take it all. We’re happy to see you suffer, to see you fall.
This is now England under Tory rule. 
If you think we give a damn about your children’s future or your parents health then you’re bloody fools.

Drunken Fairies

Drunken fairies flutter by hedges,
Friesian heifers graze grass to the edges
Of fields where tufts of meadow grass grow,
Smothering weeds and roots below.

Cowboy Carousel 4

The two of them exchanged their vows
And Billy kissed the bride
He danced with her among the cows
To cowboy songs outside

They said goodbye to all their friends
And both their parents cried
The only thing that never ends
Is what you feel inside

He promised her a honeymoon
She said be more specific
He said the Great Salt Lake in June
Is like the South Pacific

The honeymoon this couple shared
Was totally terrific
For no amount of love was spared
To help them be prolific

Their love is like the meadow grass
That grows by morning dew
The miracle of what you pass
Is greener by the view

But like the pretty carousel
That children answer too
A lady's love is like the bell
That keeps a cowboy true.

Whispers of a Moonbeam

Sentinel, through cloud cover, as a lover discovering each other, 
the moonbeam cuts the stillness of the secret night. 
Illuminating nightjars in flight and denizens 
of the dark embarking on their nocturnal ramblings. 
Shambling, snuffling and shuffling 
through fern and field and briars unyielding 
thorny embrace, they race the dawn, 
whilst the sleeping fawn dreams of sweet meadow grass. 
Alas, the beams light is transient and ambient blackness is restored, 
as dark, rolling clouds once more enshroud woodland, 
moor and rocky tor until, once more, 
the clouds are rent and another beam is sent. 
Stabbing, grabbing the dark in stark illumination and yet, 
it softly settles on bog cotton and nettles as a whisper to an ear, 
translucent and clear, endearing itself to artists and lovers, 
poets and others and mothers night feeding their young.

January Dawn Watch

You roll over the edge of an eyelid, measuring your body 
through a window.  
    Once you fit, you go outside of yourself
    where the sky is rising. 

A part of you is stirring coffee. Another part is beside the 
windowpane 
            glancing edgeways into your tongue.

Crows crash out of bare branches. The wind is in 
from lost town.

You find yourself observing the nerve endings of bare branches, 
even though the trees you are watching 
               are made of blood-filled dendrites 
pushing through thoughts. 

Robins flush out snow drifts, leaping like tigers. You shake 
mist out of your shoes, follow claw marks. 

You can see clouds swimming in the dim fathoms, 
where geese fish for meadow grass. 

Roads are passable. Wind-whales plow through 
narrowing perspectives, 
                       pushing insomnia ahead 
of a dark sleep. 

Freezing rain wrings eyes into hands that hide inside 
closed fists.

Because of the cold, there are warm regions of you 
that will not surface today. 

Dawn hovers in-between night and day. 
                     For a long moment 
gray ghosts pluck the ground like scavenging gulls.

Seasonal Transitions

Proud daffodils have bowed their weary heads
And roses shed their petals one by one,
Green leaves transform to gold and fiery reds
The gilded reign of autumn has begun.

Farewell to fragrant bluebell woods of spring
And summer’s lush and verdant meadow grass,
In vain, tenacious leaves to branches cling:
The changing scenes of life must come to pass.

As nights draw in, the silver harvest moon
Shines boldly through defenceless, naked trees
And pirouetting leaves will settle soon,
For winter’s riding on the autumn breeze.

The reaper’s joyful song in golden fields
Begins to fade as Fall to winter yields.


26.10.19


New Fall Sonnets Poetry Contest  : sponsored by Emile Pinet
 N-A Rerun 4 Poetry Contest :sponsored by John Hamilton

Meadowlarks

meadow grass swaying
as larks serenade their mates. . .
wind softly sighing


June 20, 2019
For Tania Kitchin's Birds Or Bees Haiku Poetry Contest
Syllables: 5/7/5 checked by Howmanysyllables.com

Impacts of Oneness

Here, our love was first cast in impacts of oneness ~ ~
now mocking meadow grass clasps me, chained to numbness.

Vast tears rip me with shaking-grips of steady spill ~ ~
heartbreak and tears weaken me, beat from their drummed trill.




... CayCay
March 24, 2019

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