Winds blow in the Meadowlands
Flowers bloom as bright,
The sun warms the land;
Oh, that angelic light.
A fox is seen roaming;
Eagles flying high;
A bear is fishing by the creek
A deer is watching by.
The freshness of the morning spring;
The greenery of the trees;
Ah, you can smell the freshness
amongst that morning breeze.
Untouched and full of nature,
A land full of life;
All is natural in that grand land
So pure and so precise
Stuck in the sands of time
(The beauty of life)
Meadowlands
invoking flowers
velvet soft and ever sweet
aromatic peace
Poem 2 of 2
5/12/2024
A conch shell idles
on a serendipitous shoreline
a nearby sea furthers
as an ebbing tide yields its hold
a sudden breath
of mountain freshness
swoops through the meadowlands
then out to sea
merely ere it brushes
a fortuitous shore
indulging its way about a conch shell
breathing a chord
of harmonic bellows
in suite succession
of a favorable staging
a retiring star
aweigh to setting
yon receptive horizons
The calendar counts the weeks and months of COVID.
Yet, every pensive daybreak I am granted that for which I never asked.
Of course, suffering sickness and death tolls are endlessly morbid.
Still, my morning strolls find dazzling nooks where wonder is unmasked.
Plentiful pansies splash passion rainbows over meadowlands unrequited.
Common Windmill palm trees display fan palms like broad hands.
Neighborhood lawns spawn hankerings for cornucopias delighted.
Each new day contains unique complexions, signature ambient wavebands.
I am an animal of textures, but the relentless pandemic compels tactile chill.
By what right am I awarded these winsome private moments on each stroll?
Rain drums on the roof like an invocation, and I touch the palpable thrill.
Nature’s rhythms are carried on wings of monarchs and in the birth of a tadpole.
At last, I am not alone but connected to rugged bluffs and smooth beaches.
Finally, I realize without these endowments, existence would be impossible.
I am meant to discover all the simple prodigious self-ordering reaches.
In understanding them, I see no beginning or end, only that I am tangible.
Meadowlands
invoking flowers
velvet soft and ever sweet
aromatic peace
August 20, 2020
11:30am PST
I love meadowlands
And kasie where africans
Celebrate their
Ghettorization
In the land of their birth
Kasie:townships in south africa
Twilight's blessing; soft shades kiss
the meadowlands adrift in blissful silence.
Windows glow like welcome beacons
hailing ships on storm-toss'd oceans
sailing safe to harbor's rest, as villagers
repose, so soon to sleep.
At the edge of town the church is still.
Strangled gravestones mark in mute remembrance
struggles of an age gone by.
Ivied walls and crumbling steeple,
signs of venerable decay, where kinfolk meet
to greet their Gods and beg forgiveness
for their many indiscretions.
A haven for the wealthy and the ne'er-do-well alike,
it welcomes differences of race and creed.
All worship embraced in its sheltered precincts,
all sinners accepted according to need.
Twilight's blessing.
Soft shades kiss the meadowlands
adrift in blissful silence.
Windows glow like welcome beacons
hailing ships on storm-toss'd oceans
sailing safe to harbor's rest, as villagers
repose, so soon to sleep.
At the edge of town the church is still.
Strangled gravestones mark in mute remembrance
struggles of an age gone by.
Ivied walls and crumbling steeple,
signs of venerable decay, where kinfolk meet
to greet their Gods and beg forgiveness
for their many indiscretions.
A haven for the wealthy and the ne'er-do-well alike,
it welcomes differences of race and creed.
All worship embraced in its sheltered precincts,
all sinners accepted according to need.
Twilight's blessing; soft shades kiss
the meadowlands adrift in blissful silence.
Windows glow like welcome beacons
hailing ships on storm-toss'd oceans
sailing safe to harbor's rest, as villagers
repose, so soon to sleep.
At the edge of town the church is still.
Strangled gravestones mark in mute remembrance
struggles of an age gone by.
Ivied walls and crumbling steeple,
signs of venerable decay, where kinfolk meet
to greet their Gods and beg forgiveness
for their many indiscretions.
A haven for the wealthy and the ne'er-do-well alike,
it welcomes differences of race and creed.
All worship embraced in its sheltered precincts,
all sinners accepted according to need.
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