Paint me,o Sun,with your
crimson hue
& make me robust just like
you;
O skies,pour some blue in me
& give me a little of your
infinity;
O pretty & colourful butterfly-
The king of colours,delight
for the eye;
Drop in me your cheerful stuff
& fill my life with joy enough;
O forests-give a little green
To infuse calmness & humble
mien;
O rainbow-the eternal
colours-shop,
Teach me the art to stay
atop;
Each colour of Nature is
beauty-filled
That saves our life like a
shield...!
Liquid drops roll of verdant leaf
as pungent scents
deck the forest with languid motion of etherial time
this moment stands still
etched in my memory
a moment of
sublime beauty
that is intermingled with natures' truth
the filigreed backdrop holds the secrets of the
sawdust path as it stretches forth in mysterious seclusion
to the left of me grows red speckled mushrooms
while to the right
ferns overcome their shyness and branch out under a protective tree
and it feels so good for me to be here
wrapped in a cocoon of woodland
held in a magic spell that
refreshs my spirit
while transfixing my soul
Gives me a sunburn
Bleaches my curly red hair
Makes me nice and tan
Tell me your story
And ill jot down your life
Lend me your eyes
And ill show the world through blind eyes
When I was a mere five years old
An Alsation dog was never controlled
As quick as a flash
It bit me on the ass
It's reaction was never foretold
Since then dogs have scared me quite a lot
A resolution needed to be sought
As I grew to be older
With dogs I became bolder
So a Golden Cocker Spaniel we got
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/humour-5.php
At first my feet would not allow
Myself to feel her dashing charm
But once inside of her somehow
I came to joy with no alarm
She always let's me take a swim
And sail upon her salted streams
At night when light is dark and grim
Her beauty blossoms mid-night dreams
She's clear and cute and calm and cool
I'll love her to the very end
My Pa wants me to buy a pool
Maybe I'm just a rivers friend
7-2-11
As I lay in the grass I feel the wind sweep through me-
I stare into the face of the sky, he stares back at me with his swollen face and yet
looks as if he’s wants to cry-
the clouds race by without looking back there’s a storm up ahead-
still laying there, I hear the thunder roar and listen to the sad song the sky has to
offer-
trying to understand, I cant quite comprehend and out of the sky it starts to rain,
his tears of sadness soak my clothes-
as I stare blankly into the open field drops of rain stream down my face-
a flash of lightning fills the sky, and wakes me from my daze the rains starts to
quiet down,
I’m some how mesmerized, Such a mystery, that song, to what exactly he was
trying to say I’ll never know, or understand, But to be there in the moment, was a
chance in a lifetime, And I will never forget it
I Stand tall and strong with hundreds of feet,
I spread my hands and give others a seat.
I would chatter with the wind my hair would flow,
And standing beside the moon I would glow.
Rain would come and go as we are good friends,
And to me many gifts they send.
They don't let me live as long as I want.
As they say they want to fulfill their wants.
At last when I enjoy my life,
They want to cut me with a knife.
I sacrifice my life for others,
But it is about me that nobody bothers.
I felt the pounding of the yam
Deep,deep down in my bones.
I know the pistil is doing me harm
When my body creaks in hushed tones.
I've seen the fire start
Watched the embers glowing
I taste the burn in my heart
As my pain continues growing
I hear the pepper grinding
And it turns my mind to mush
I see the red so blinding
Staining my soul in a rush
I cry when the onions are sliced
And when the rice husks are blown
I shouldn't have been enticed
But I was-and now I'm alone
I brought the fire,I gave the wood
I took their life and now, nothing stood
I made the knife that stabs me so
I caused the pain and it promises not to go
It was me the Earth
I am my own death
Blank pages fill my notebook,
while music so divine
comes from the birds, the bees, the brook,
and all of this is mine.
My husband built the stream bed
and the steps for waterfall.
He carefully installed the pump
and then bequeathed it all
To me and Mother Nature,
and bees and butterflies.
The herons, frogs and raccoons
consider it a prize.
My garden's rippling stream
is where all nature comes to call.
My notebook pages will be filled
when stream dries up this fall.
By Joyce Johnson 6/3/11 one of three firsts in contest.
For "Write Me a Rippling Stream" contest won first
Sponsored by constance LaFrance
Ah, to spend a languid summer afternoon on the bank of a rippling stream,
Lying on my back watching vagabond clouds as I reminisce and dream!
I hear the soothing sound of the water's hymn as it plays its merry tune,
Blending its musical melody with that of a meadowlark and loon!
Did you begin thy sea-bound odyssey in yon mountains as melting snow,
To form a rushing mountain stream, later to grace these verdant leas below?
Or, were thy banks filled with tears from Heaven by some distant tempest?
Whate'er your source, with thy simple majesty I am truly, truly blest!
Look! Even the beautiful rainbow trout leap with joy in a placid pool!
There! A doe and her delicate fawn sip thy life-sustaining waters so cool!
You have provided this mere mortal with much needed peace and rest,
Flowing so gently past me as thence you pursue thy meandering quest!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 1 in Constance La France's "Write Me A Rippling Stream" Contest -
June 2011
Flowing 'neath the shade of Elms,
dancing over time worn stones.
Following a path of languid grace,
soft whispering waters, call me home.
~
Not more than fifty yards away,
down a pebbled path I've known,
amid the roses, now gone wild,
cool whispering waters call me home.
~
In sunny days or misty realms,
my mind is free to roam.
For I can feel the love embrace,
as whispering waters call me home.
~
I think, this time, I shall stay,
its very essence is in my bones.
I've been returning here since a child.
Whispering waters have brought me home.
6/1/2011
Paula Swanson
Placement: 1st
For the contest:
Write Me A Rippling Stream
Sponsored by Constance La France,
The eerie fog enshrouded all.
It conquered my vision,
with it's menacing creep.
It rolled in so dense,
so self contained.
My imagination, ran wildly
in this thick mist.
Just when, I though it abated
It consumed me again.
Gravitating me to the spot
move I could not.
Like a master of illusion
Things appeared and disappeared
from my sight.
Moving slowly, catching glimpses
as it opened a window for me.
The flowers, trees, grass or bees
Each of these can make me sneeze
Even knock me to my knees
Careful if you please
Mdailey 5/21/11
Francine Roberts contest – Flowers, trees, grass or bees
5th place finish in contest
Dodoitsu (7-7-7-5)
i was dining with the river that took my life then gave it back
it called me to its mistaken gentle waves. Never did i know a river could be wise so that
it could spot me a thief without eyes. Wether it was the too good to be true grin the
missing teeth or the torn ratty clothes the river temped me with a golden watch lying in
the river bed. LIke a cat catching a mouse i pounced and the river pounced back. With the
might of a god its full force came crash and thrashing at me. I was a match for stealing
golden trinkets and strange diamonds but no match for a rivers might. It was feeding off
my oxygen and i knew only in death then would it go away and before i did leave the river
said silly boy to think you were the biggest thieve. Then there was nothing i was gone. At
least it felt that way like i was passing away. There was nothing. Or was there was that a
bird i heard. Dirt i felt under my skin. fresh air. Oh how beautiful fresh air was.
Everything was as it should be. And me later i would dine with the river that took my life
and gave it back a changed boy forever
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.