Am I this lonely boat
Docked in a few meters away
From this lonely shore
When life's necessity of living
Calls on the service for helping
I'm ready anytime for your using
In peace and rough sea I'm ready
Traversing this ocean unweary
I lay my fate to my Master
The care and love I trust to Him
The unwavering faith I call in danger
I lay my life and everything to Him
As I sail this sea of life.
Quote: Nature is flawed yet flawless, the ground likes your toes, and that your ponytail endears the breeze. (By Poet)
Sunset evolves into a dust cloud.
As the colors shift, the trees become dreary.
In the wee hours, a drumbeat of loud sirens howled.
As the sun sets, bright glossy white clouds fall utterly.
Not Beyond the earth or screens.
Nature, at her finest, is mixture of flowers and greens.
The lofty trees wore a white cloak floating the scenes.
Rather than snarling down the hill, they took it slowly.
Snow was a curse, nature was a mystery.
Ecosystem plants, alike humans, can mortify.
Even clueless people may now grasp the global natural crowd.
Men must live in congruity with nature and work unweary.
Nature and mind are always gleans.
Let's save colorful flowers swing in the homely.
Written: July 15, 2021
Writing Prompt - Fragmented Spaces Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Fair Angels of Parnassus, Muses Nine,
That on its snowy summit gay recline
With other gods, are haply the cynosure
Of poets whom inspires your sacred ewer,
O'erflow'd with the ambrosial Hippocrene,
The haunt of daughters of Mnemosyne,
And Father Jove who loves these nymphets most,
And of that gelid crest th’ immortal host.
Apollo, son of Jove, gives company
To your glad song of heaven’s euphony;
There to his lyre flourish unfetter'd throats
That bear the truest art through truest notes.
When sing ye graceful goddesses amidst
The brood of Saturn’s mighty son in feasts,
May gladden the heart of children of the plain
As well who in summer nights hearken you fain.
I heard that music mild betwixt the glades,
‘Twixt valleys old till with the breeze it fades,
Amongst the rustling youthful Aspen leaves,
From bough to bough its tender beauty weaves.
On warbler’s throat ye happy strains do pour,
Above the groves as o’er the mountain soar
They with their pinions unweary and suave,
Dispenser of all art ye fain observe.
4th April, 2017
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.