RIVER deep MOUNTAINS high
A babbling burn
in feathered ferns
into rivers unseen
a stream
of
freshwater
clean
silts against
sloping banks
& current
slows into eddys
of
rivers
deep
every yearning
creativity sings
the inner self
emotes
lives life
with hope
hesitates
ideas originate
acts
as inspiration lasts
the inward veil
draws
to
let imagination sail
& exploration starts
from mountains
high
Categories:
silts, inspiration,
Form: Free verse
*Image of Flying Cranes by Pixabay.
Zoetic Long-Legged Birds
A crane flew down and stood still on its stilts,
their necks straighten in flights,
a heron too would stand in silts,
of lakes or bights.
Heron's neck forms an "S" shape when they fly,
functions like some egrets,
beak's long versus shorten ally,
character sets.
The contrasts between herons and egrets,
are plumage and their hues,
cranes only eat plants--they're dead set,
holds distinct views.
2023 January 16
*3rd Place*
Writing Challenge - Zip, Zig, Zag, Zing
~~Constance La France: Judged 2023 January 17
*RZ & HMS.
Categories:
silts, bird, character, image,
Form: Rhyme
Winter melts
&seeps
deep below
permeates
cathedrals with snow
in spate
nature's blood
in flood
in moorland
gorse
new springs
become
a tumbling
source
a babbling burn
in
feathered
ferns
to riverine
unseen
a stream
of
freshwater
clean
in rivers
soil silts
against
sloping banks &
the current slows
into
eddys
where fat chubb doze
deeper waters
then
running free
winding slowly
to
the sea
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007
Categories:
silts, river, seasons, spring,
Form: Verse
Inspired Thinking
Inspired, I’m thinking
I haven’t an inkling
From where it comes
And where it’s going.
Crawling from a rock
Laid down atop
Fossilized dream silts
Beneath the rivers of
My mind?
Inspired, I’m thinking
Somewhere a clock is ticking
Keeping time to the echoes of
My mind.
Drifting weightless into sleep or
Waking as if popping into a dream
Inspired thinking leaves its tell-tale
Aroma,
An elusive waft upon the
Breath of my rising and falling
Consciousness.
Just a hint of cinnamon sugar
Epiphany, or
Bitter-sweet smoke of
The long dark spark of genius
Striking metal.
The memory of a taste on my tongue.
Giant leaps of intuitive solution,
Cures for mankind’s deepest ills,
Kisses of “Paradise Lost” whose tickle
Quickly fades from my lips.
Maybe there is an “other side.”
Have I in moments of
Inspired thinking drifted too
Closely to the invisible thread?
Have our most brilliant minds
Simply found the way, a state of
Deep mindfulness where they’ve
Learned to hold on to the thread,
The “high-tension” line, of consciousness
Beyond the veil that separates us from
Truth with the illusion of reality?
Categories:
silts, dream, imagination, perspective, philosophy,
Form: Free verse
hedgerows greenup-
nature's pastiche
awakens from winter sleep.
Quiet greets the Spring morn,
a shaft of light diffuses night
snow melts slowly-
a trickle,unseen,runs free
begins a new spring
#
A babbling burn ,riverine unseen,
a stream of freshwater silts sloping banks
the current slows to-
eddys, where fat chubb doze.
Quiet greets the Spring morn,
a shaft of light
diffuses night into -
a dawn chorus.
Amid the eerie dayspring light
yesterday's memories glow so bright
#
blossoms a welcome
springtime emblem-
the foretast of fruitage
to come
Categories:
silts, imagery, spring,
Form: Imagism
inspired by Ricks contest theme
Winter melts and seeps deep below,
permeates cathedrals with snow,then
in spate,nature's blood in flood .
A babbling burn in feathered ferns
to riverine unseen,a stream of
freshwater clean.
In rivers soil silts against sloping banks
the current slows into eddys,
where fat chubb doze,
deep waters flow ,below
Categories:
silts, nature,
Form: Free verse
The waves lick the pier-deck beams,
a boat has passed upon the lake
to shuffle the song upon the wind,
ebbing whooshes.....
The smoky waters still to tease
slow with ancient whispers,
The Loon leads upon the woody melody,
some sylvan songster
too beautiful to languish,
still sleeping....
Not floating upon the dawn
through misted peace;
all ears have heard
the first kiss of throngs,
Gentle as waves upon the tide,
from the very earth it seems....
the sweet haunting cry
echoes souls through silts
leagues deep,
The very marrow of stone,
and pine and leaf,
A morning hushed but for its
pretty plea, a male perhaps
(so tender with feminine appeal)
They all call so, pillowed
their first-light throngs,
Angels upon the deep billowed morn,
Where the very clouds above
have seemed to hover
above the lake along,
Their soothing cry
fills the waking wood....
hushed waters, still as stars
feeds the twilight with song
(pining through hovering hats of mist)
Categories:
silts, beauty, music, nature,
Form: Rhyme
Between a sky of pale blue, streaked with white,
and a glassy sea of royal blue,
there lies a land of lavender rock,
where wind blown grasses grow in briny
patches around weather beaten houses
brushed in pastel shades of yellow, pink,
and green and blue.
A grey fishing shack stands on silts
beyond the waters edge,
deep in rippling reflections of itself
and the sky that shimmers across the inlet
to the other side, where a dory
tethered to a dock stacked high with reels
of blue and orange ropes and buoys,
rests peacefully in the noon-day sun, with me,
on these long cold winter nights.
~~~~~
Categories:
silts, placessky,
Form: Prose Poetry
The day flows by just like a slow moving river
washing over all in it’s path
carrying away the cares of those in need
of this moment in time.
Moving down and away forever
as far as you can see until the night
when thoughts turn to a new day that might
flow by just like a slow moving river.
The day just like the river flows it’s determined way
as the river silts the bottom covering it anew
the time of the passing days likewise hide what once was true.
A flowing river is more or less changeless.
The seasons determine if it’s surface will be calm and slow
or fast and choppy or perhaps frozen over.
It’s below the surface that history flows and is recorded
Categories:
silts, lifeday, day, river,
Form: Prose Poetry
Winter melts and seeps deep below,permeates cathedrals with snow,in spate
nature's blood in flood .In moorland gorse new springs become a tumbling
source.A babbling burn in feathered ferns to riverine unseen,a stream of
freshwater clean.In rivers soil silts against sloping banks and the current slows
into eddys, where fat chubb doze.Deeper waters then running free,winding slowly
to the sea.
Categories:
silts, nature,
Form: Prose Poetry