Respite Poems - Poems about Respite

The Sands of Time ...

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wind groaning in pain quite chilly winter gloaming ~ cozy near the hearth ...

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melancholy days approach; escape where? In naked woods? where do winds wail around the hilly slopes? where ash, maple, and oak abound? I see a dazzling blaze, a kindling world, as fires leap everywhere all over the hemispheres, where fatal booby traps are sprung, where bombs fall without respite. now, where can I escape? Suddenly, night fell, and everything was quiet; from somewhere, a bird sang. I remembered...

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[Part 1 - Day 1] Oh what my wearying world has wrought... Mind and soul and body aged - broken before my time. How many burdens can I carry? Crosses can I bear? The decade passed drew like a rasp, as slivers of my outer skin dissolved. Those strands and pieces can't protect me now... From family: progeny, severing spouse; Autism, ADHD...

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The sun is out, the sky is blue; I’ve done the things I’ve needed to, So I can sit and watch the flow And how the river sparkles so. I can’t stay long, but while I’m here, Before I have to get in gear, I’ll soak some rays, my mind serene, As I enjoy this urban scene. I’m rarely calm, so times like...

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Crystal eyes gleam at the prospect of scintillating sapphire blush gliding films of wonder dilate bliss driven lilac haze spasmodic orbital earth spinning obtuse lumen tangents of night mist droplets whilst baton passing relay to a fledgling bronze dawn casting nirvana plume upon dream realm bloom ecstatic as it relishes omen rich tinctured contrast between charcoal sky nocturne palettes as they filter and flit twinkling star navy seamless scant that segued so obscure ...

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Come cover me with taffeta blue and and my cello's hue and let the warmth rub onto you when they join the cotton of my handkerchief Nature's discards in their pure state are put to good use I love the touch of man-made materials the feel becomes pure joy when cloth unites with painted wood with its contours, the touch is...

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Cities have weekends, us unable to function, Once vibrant and lively, now yearning to function, The hustle and bustle, now fades to a hush, As urban dwellers seek solace and a safe place to rest. Streets that once roared with life, now whisper low, Echoes of laughter and footsteps, now come and go, Weary souls seek respite, a temporary release, From the...

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Thunder threatens to split open scared sky, Lightning lightens up the moody madcap weather, Delightful downpour plashing patters, Sultry summer cools down, God's blessing bestowed, Refreshing rain drenches driveways, Shifty showers gush from dark-grey clad clouds, Raindrops' respite from heat helps us wind down. Syllable count: 10.12.9.11.8.10.10 ('driveways' counted as 2 syllables, HMS wrongly counts it...

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Poetry knows no age, as thee Marcia Abramsohn (the former ex lady friend of my late father corresponded with me some years back) wrote (by hand nonetheless, a long lost art) inlaid with ambidextrous zealousness impossible to identify, which hand crafted artistically colorful epigrammatic ghostly hint emblematic of former exuberance toward English Language..., perhaps other once vibrantly familiar tongues wagging less as tempus fugit slithers unseen stealing...

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Beneath every roses, I searched for your petal... That last leaf is my respite, You are a beauty in my heart... The soil that shed my tears, Created that lost rose... That last leaf is my respite, You are a beauty in my heart... Beneath every hearts, I searched for my soul... A last respite in my heart....

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blue sky and white waves where sand meets ocean's water . . . hot summer's respite June 25, 2022 for Tania Kitchin's Summer Nature Themed Haiku Poetry Contest...

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In the thrill of afternoon I sit, lost in daytime's colorful abstraction, And garden blooms sway in the wind, giving passersby satisfaction. Lost in deep musing and memory as I am, and they are all fragrant, It's a wonder I notice billowy clouds above, but they are all vagrant. An apricot sunshine respite, in the company of big beautiful...

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Jesus replied, “Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.” Matthew 8:20 NIV PLACE OF RESPITE Cheek-tinge of pink dawning in the murky skies. Blandness of deep-earthed bark, stretching, touched by birdsong…long overdue, it pries the stirring of tinctures, heart-revival fetching. The soft cooing of dove-white countenance behind the adventurous...

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jagged icicles ...

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