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Sharon Peeples Poem
Gazing over the plains nestled far below
Inching our way over rock-strewn trails,
The words resounding through our thoughts
Keep silent...like ivy growing wild, reaching
For moisture in several directions at once.
The attention we give these mountains needs
No conversation to make a point or hold
The soul rapt with an abundance of peace.
Air is as light as heaven when the nights
Rehearse their lines in circles of tranquility.
Silence fills the canyon walls...it is hope on a
Short string tied to quiescent ambiance. Stillness settles
Over us like shadows on the craggy back of Longs Peak.
Watching the dawn clothe massive cairns with a purple
Mountain majesty, our mute response serves only to affirm....
To speak would be a sacrilege.
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Copyright © Sharon Peeples | Year Posted 2013
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Sharon Peeples Poem
PRIOR DAYS AND DISTANT MOONS
In early morning misty haze,
Where horses stood to graze...
I found myself 'neath lodge pole pine,
In wonderment and praise.
The dismount from my patient steed,
Was painful...yes indeed!
These aching joints and stiffened knees,
Were grateful for reprieve.
My prior days and distant moons,
Have come and gone too soon!
And I'm just wonderin' what to do,
To make me feel less blue.
Guess I could get myself a rope,
And tie it 'round my neck...
I'd end my misery once for all,
'Twould be no joke.......oh heck!
Now that's no way to treat my bod...
I AM a child of God!
So I'll just get back on my horse,
And gallop through this sod!
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Copyright © Sharon Peeples | Year Posted 2017
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Sharon Peeples Poem
BENEATH THE BROKEN WINDOW
His appearance was one of perfection.
His hair lay neatly combed,
His clothes neatly pressed,
His shoes buffed to a transparent shine...
And he had the kind of smile
An angel would be proud to wear.
But....appearances can be deceiving.
No one would ever guess what lay lurking
Behind the scenes, or where he went
In the darkness of a winters' night
Or what he did when no one was looking
Or what lay buried beneath the broken window.
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Copyright © Sharon Peeples | Year Posted 2018
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Sharon Peeples Poem
WITH PEN AND HEART
With a writer's pen and a poet's heart,
I long to craft a piece of art.
But sometimes words don't want to play
And I am left with aught to say!
Perhaps a DIFFERENT pen might work,
I think before I go berserk.
The ink went dry some time ago,
Because my thoughts were much too slow!
I'll get a pencil....that will do.
But where IS one I fret and stew!
I've tried and tried to use a pen,
But errors are my PERMANENT friends!
So what's a writer then to say.....
Or write, or think this wretched day?
Just when did play turn in to work,
And why is writing NOT a perk?
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Copyright © Sharon Peeples | Year Posted 2018
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