While walking through a meadowland,
wild flowers kiss the tips of my hand.
There's pollen where the bees descend,
dreams sail upon a gentle wind.
Into the sky I smile so bright,
I could stay here past evening light;
take refuge in trees round this place,
where sun rays color each leaf's face.
In shades of green my true love's come,
his eyes leave my passion undone.
Tho, nothing here's what it might seem,
passion soars high in shades of green.
In deep dreams he takes me there,
our passion shared without a care.
I, as tall grasses kissed by the wind,
sway when he sways, bend when he bends.
A scarlet tanager sits primly on the rail
Of the new fence erected near the meadow,
He eyes me stroll as I take in every detail
The path to the woodland is rather narrow,
Infrequently used, it is rapidly overgrowing
I am brushing against the yellow yarrow,
As hottest of summer is fast approaching
The meadowland has nary a cooling shadow.
Happily, I note the salt lick has disappeared
I hope its purposes were well-intentioned,
Certainly not as the hunter’s ploy, I feared
In a previous post, I am sure I mentioned.
I feel the coolness of the pleasant breeze
As I approach the edge of the tree line
Where meadow gives way to aspen trees,
And further on, a stand of taller pine.
I shall follow the trail through the wood
To the river which I can faintly hear, ahead
Where I saw a huge buck in full manhood,
And I have seen signs of where he bed.
It is a good two-mile hike, not exhausting
But I stop to examine new growth along
And for moments to reflect, I am pausing,
I’m encouraged by the tanager’s song.
Written June 18, 2022
When the leaves are budding on the trees
It is said love blooms in the springtime,
Meadowland critters are going on sprees
When the leaves are budding on the trees,
We hear the soft whisper of the breeze
From our warm hearts we pen a rhyme
When the leaves are budding on the trees,
It is said love blooms in the springtime.
Written March 26, 2022
Over in the meadowland the birds are singing
Warm weather portends the returning of spring
The bees have set about their pollen bringing.
Hopeful, bright spring days with excitement tingling
Cause our voices to shout out and lustily sing,
Over in the meadowland the birds are singing
While with glee my life’s breath is mingling
So happy I feel like life is gaudy glitter and bling
The bees have set about their pollen bringing.
Spring to me reminds of Barnum and Ringling
The colorful memories of childhood bring
Over in the meadowland the birds are singing.
I can reminisce about the high school flinging
The loss of my first love that brought a sting,
The bees have set about their pollen bringing.
The season of spring brings to me self-healing
More than anything else, a welcoming thing,
The bees have set about their pollen bringing
Over in the meadowland the birds are singing.
FIRST PLACE WINNER
edited April 7, 2022
written January 21, 2022
for "Springtime Villanelle" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Sotto Poet
Snow melting, icicles dripping from the eave
Hint that winter’s frigid air may soon leave,
Replaced by warm breezes from the south
In swampy bayous return the cottonmouth.
When mulberry buds are ready to burst
Buttercups turn upward like they thirst,
My lawn will glow with sweet dandelions
In nature the colors change like chameleons,
Spring flowers present as a lovely bouquet
While the hibernating animals come to play.
The meadowland beckons me for a stroll
And a newness of spirit refreshes my soul.
written January 19, 2022
submitted to "A STRAND" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Brian Strand
The meadowland is dry and desolate now
Cold and dreary, for it is mid-wintertime
Yet I know vegetation survives somehow
The meadowland is dry and desolate now
Enough for the critters nature will allow
Still, I find the barren fields quite sublime
The meadowland is dry and desolate now
Cold and dreary, for it is mid-wintertime.
written January 15, 2020
These fields were once the green of grass, meadowland nature full.
These streams were once the babbling water working their natural way through.
Now smoke and pain live on this land, stained by blood bone and sinew.
The screams of despair and fear bleed into this soil, death sows its seeds again, again, anew.
War commands with no respect for land or beast, for the nature of this world, the lives of soldiers fighting in the fields, for your children, for me or you.
Awash in golden sunshine is jade meadow,
Beneath snow capped mountains all aglow.
Carefree breezes wander through the blooms,
Discreetly scattering the sundry perfumes.
Enamored of sapphire skies, cottony clouds,
Fabulous noonday, far from thunderclouds!
Green grass so deep, in late springtime,
Harmonies of birds, all over the daytime!
Idyllic lake, with a duck swimming there,
Jolly in his crystal world, of sky unaware.
King-sized grasshoppers bound the green,
Lavishly jade, in native grass they gleam.
Mellow, melodious and memorable morning,
Naturally lovely when the sun is dreaming!
Once or twice, brown bunnies come in view,
Perky on the picturesque, emerald avenue.
Quivering butterflies, endlessly wandering,
Restless, as is common to those on the wing.
Spicy blooms, of various kinds and colors,
Teeming in the meadow, make exotic covers!
Untouched by time, the majestic mountains,
Vast, and with beauty enjoyed by thousands.
Whimsical ladybugs, chance to roam around.
Xenial is the meadowland, without any sound.
Yellow-tinged is everything that's in sight.
Zealous sunshine shares with all his might!
Shakespeare,Turning over in His Grave
Spaghetti can, sardine can. soup can?
Why, hell~~
Any man can!
Do what?
Think poetry is just words!
Like eggs, "any style"
Tossed in a frying pan.
William would totally, fail today!
So, brutal and painful to say.
His beautiful words too long to read.
We live our lives whose watchword
and god is speed.
Speed of our devices, our cars.
Speed of being served in bars.
Time to slow down, me thinks,
And write some sonnets and odes,
with glorious, gleaming ink.
On parchment..written in our glorious
blessed hand.
Poetry that comes ever so softly and
sweetly,
From our mind-hearts' own infinite
meadowland.
Panagiota Romios
3/23/2019
Tears drenched her pillow,
When everyone sleeps in her villa.
Formulae whirl in her mind,
theorems threaten her like the wild wind.
She turns the book pages faster,
thinking of her strict maths master.
"It's all my mistake,I've wasted my days
If I get an additional day, I will go through,"She pray
She realized her mistake,but she can't ignore.
On the Monday Morning,she hears a knock at the door,
Her mom smiling with a coffee mug in her hands
"Dear,Have you seen the nearby meadowland?
"The raindrops embellished the grasses
and painted our window glasses,"
She cried" nothing enthralls me
and I cannot smile with glee"
Suddenly the clouds burst and it begins to rain heavily
News channel reads"Due to heavy rain,the schools declared holiday"
Her eyes filled with tears again but happy tears
and now the rain enthralled her...
Feb-21-2018
For silent one's contest....
Timeless motion from sea and land
curious men who came before
who crossed the lands to find the shore
They left footprints they traced in sand
that washed away with pulling tide
with their motion of forward stride
From caves with walls of ochre hand
their red imprint became stained stone
from ancient worlds of skins and bone
To great forests and meadowland
across vast seas where they explore
they found new worlds not seen before
To plant a flag where they command
and make a plan to travel space
one day they'll need to leave this place
Timeless motion from sea and land
To leave footprints they traced in sand
From caves with walls of ochre hand
To great forests and meadowland
To plant a flag where they command
11/16/17
Splatter painted, Pollock blessed, leggy I stand,
among the green grass and healing Plantain
in a kaleidoscope of color panned.
A walking canvas in the meadowland
stems, humorously stippled to entertain
splatter painted, Pollock blessed; leggy I stand.
Blush brushed by daylight, a cheeky garland;
a stand bloomed within thin skinned constraints
in a kaleidoscope of color panned.
Pistils between petals unknown unplanned,
joyous the sound of honey bees restrained,
splatter painted, Pollock blessed; leggy I stand.
A plantigrade intrusion, a new brand
surface mounted digits adorned prearranged
in a kaleidoscope of color panned.
So bright the upright parts, so very grand
one can but dream the crown gloriously manned
splatter painted, Pollock blessed; leggy I stand
in a kaleidoscope of color panned.
Mused: Bella online Literary Review Winter 2015
Don't Give Up
When friends forsake and promised love dies you still have purpose.
Who could leave the Summer and her moon drenched country stream,
Where pilgrims bathe when tired in body and soul?
Who could leave the splendor of the Sun's glorious might,
That penetrates the darkness and enchants the earth with light?
Who could leave the Winter and her sweet snow white grace
That shelters every shrub and tree with clusters of glistening lace
And is the motivator of Blue Ridge and Rocky Mountain sport,
Persuading both friend and lover to coze 'round fires of blazing warmth?
Who could leave the Autumn and her discarded crispy leaves,
That afford the ear such pleasure 'til recalled by melancholy trees?
Who could deny eyes her intoxicating colors or nose her rare perfume?
Autumn banishes from the soul every bit of gloom.
Who could leave the Springtime that births a tingling in the toes?
And with her healing fragrances and gift of Gypsy Rose,
Woos you deep into green forests and magic meadowland,
Where flowers sway taking one's breath away,
And inspire's the poets hand.
By Joan May (Donnelly) Ellis
Walking along the trail he thought about days past.
They were told they had to leave, but never were they asked.
The morning dew was cool as they began the long walk west.
When his father said don't look back he knew it was for the best.
Leaving his home was hard, he couldn't begin to understand.
The place they were going was said to be grassy meadowland.
As the days turned into weeks many of his people perished.
The hope they felt in the beginning had already vanished.
It's impossible to know the horror they were forced to endure.
Without John Ross however, they'd have lost more to be sure.
There's no doubt they were forced to endure heinous barbarity.
However, he walks with head held high because he is Cherokee.
I invite you to go wild,
laugh till your sides nearly burst.
And act as you did a child,
letting raindrops quench your thirst.
Start a fire with scraps of wood,
or sculpt castles made of sand.
And pick berries that taste good,
or stroll through a meadowland.
Go splash in the creek barefoot
or chase frogs that swim away.
And track monsters like Bigfoot,
while you enjoy this play day.
Giggle at the dog's kisses,
or run, like, you'll never stop.
Poke a snake till it hisses,
or climb a tree to its top.
Gaze at the clouds sailing by,
as they slowly drift away.
And treat yourself to a pie,
while having a fun-filled day.
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