Saturation Poems - Poems about Saturation

The sea Saturated with the sun's heat Evaporates To release the burden The sky Satutated with the thick clouds Rains to release the grief But I Saturated with love Will never Think of Leaving you alone...

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Initialising silhouettes submit to midwinter dawn Beginning willingly to swallow colour of choices Fledgelings' flamboyant campaigns display oblivion Audacious adolescents distribute chafing thoughts Attach entire esteem to securing peer approval Frivolous get transfixed in youth's lurid allure Bustling balloons launch from high vaulting hearts Adventurers revel in joy during jaunty occasions Concerned observers avoid havoc's banquet Money cascades proportionate to patrons' appraise Circumspect...

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Saturate the living soul with depth, clarity and compassion.. Escape the mindset of the dreamer with vastness of reaction. Counsel the greiver with wisdom, love and nobility.. Express to the seeker the excitement of agility. Write to the world the words that spill the page.. Sound out the rhythm with no restriction to age. Gift is the ability to express communication...

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snow sits on spring grass lazy storm sheds arctic tears swallowed by sunlight September 4, 2019 One Haiku Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Rick Parise...

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The faded vibrancy of your smile Through the exposure we set Knocks the breath right from my chest Life through the viewfinder keeps focusing on you Unsaturated love turning shades of grey I'm still adjusting to the light of a life with you nowhere in sight...

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Four, six, or seventeen tulip buds grinning. Of course not on a salt marsh. Leave that alone. Misted aromas of ancestral graves should be cared for not dug but if a slug us in power then a lemon woman could do much damage to lochs, lands, fields and mountain so do not discuss paperwork with...

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Saturation Point Dirt under my nails A withered feeling I did not notice the sun Until I succumbed to a weakness In by back and knees My shoulders sagged My eyelids were Like those lead fishing lures I found in a corner of my scrape yard I’d like to call my garden old The simplification of watching the Process of spring Is a spring Daffodils sprout from...

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the bloodstained clothes that just wouldn’t wash out (just like cranberry juice spoken of by p. bateman), the watered down t-shirt contests (precursor to mardi gras), the hair drenched in the shower (humans looking like drowned rats in the streets), the wool coats worn in the rain that no one remembered to take off (now shrinking! now shrinking!), the little girl’s bear that got thrown in...

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