Rustic Poems - Poems about Rustic

Energized by the rustic cave it's cold moist nature calling echoes gurgling from within its depth dark algae clinging to its walls the water slowly trinkling into pools shimmering like gold specks a delight for any adventurist diving into its depth...

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Gentle sea breeze Beautiful trees Feels life with ease....

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In a world of synthetic dreams, Where nothing is quite as it seems, Emotions emanate and rise, Painting stories across the skies. Swirling thoughts in a misty haze, Drift through memory's rustic maze. A timeless dance of then and now, Where past and present somehow bow. Illusions play their tricky game, Reality's not quite the same. Yet...

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Dazzling, synthetic lights emanate from polished silver, Penetrating my deep, chemically induced sleep. Blinking sensitive eyes, I raise my swirling head. I sit up and walk into a corridor of glass display cases. Rustic farm tools, mannequins wearing clothing from the past and present fashions, pottery from long ago… A collection of some kind, featuring timeless...

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Browns and oranges scattered Free Spirit wind whistles through naked shuttering trees the ground covered in scarlet and harvest yellow...

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We are beautifully made Our Father has given us Another New Day He did this for us Died on a rugged old wooden cross We who are not worthy He kept us saved us from being lost At this cost Gave His life for us Hallelujah, blessed beloved woman of God I thank God We thank our Daddy Jehovah-jireh Thanking Him for now A new page in...

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There was a dear November long ago Tucked on the top shelf with my good stuff Along with the other fond sentiments Good books and pictures go hand in hand But that first Fall in college was a keepsake Now and then, I open that box I see graying skies over a football field And our losing season in the mud And...

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reflecting off purple hazed sky as white pillows float harvested trees full of brown, burnt orange, yellow and scarlet leaves the ground turning into a play field for leaf fights for young and old...

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RUSTIC BEACONS overgrown   crowded busy shrouded in mist understated     austere stark subtle      undulating stripping away to near abstraction a motif an echo pitched    touches the tonal unity   until  disposed unseen   interrupts the minimal mood      in the shadows closely  exploring   this moment THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived...

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Strains are carefully prevented with a tangle. Were you eager for me to return to my angle? It restored its fiery vigor due to the treble hook. As a result, I wiggle akin a fish in the hope of a look. In this yet another piece, rusty tones overrule. On a grimy patio, a rusted-out rock bewails. Your deft touch...

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The Rusticity Greeted by a cool morning breeze, I'm unfolded to a place so serene With a scented fragrance around, and The vastness of blue canopy so exalting Pleasing chirping and twittering Replace the maddening modern melody Patterned dew peeks at me with smile Emanating fragrant air, just right. The glorified sun creeps in majestically Summoning me in whisper, to my daily toils My...

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Bagpipes in short high sounding squeals that loudly play to the ears appeal some haunting distant melodic foreboding malaise, stretching across an isle of green-blue ways, freed open and gingerly along the lochs and rivers Clyde, Tay, Tweed, and Dee; a glistening jewel of history unshelved with ghosts, monsters, fairies, and elves upon the southern shore...

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The Rustic Crusts of Manna Davie J Walker I am the one who stripped the Sponsor from my jersey And the number meaning nothing But an identity recorded in a dry book Making me invisible to the Odd gods of your reality You speak my own language In ways that defy life or death Or the direction of the...

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Straight moves the locomotive train miles Traveling over desert flatland forging ahead, Coal steam engine Number 9 chug, chug, chug, Sound waves rolls through, satisfying sensation is said. Locomotive whistle sounds station steam rolling in, Little one hears repeats ‘choo-choo’ rolls to stop, All aboard! Rolls locomotion moving, snack on tasty Peanut brittle, readying for dining car delicious hop. Mom holds little...

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AUTUMN'S AUBURN RUSTIC DUST When with closed eyes in Autumn's eves of gold, She breathes in the blades of orange-yellow, Looking for that 'something' called auburn rust, Halting mid suntanned trees hundred years old.. Who is like her, amiable yet bold? Tenderly she walks on slivers of brown, Silently searching through caramel paths, Out there with the rustling leaves hundredfold.. What in the crimson...

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