An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
" A Stream of Healing Water"
A Pastoral Poem: I walk to the water’s soft edge, and place my feet on the ledge. My feet reach down to feel the cool liquid toe to heel.
There you are!
There you are! I know the ledge of information about Faith; and I have been completed but by day's night will gift books upon this to know what may cut.
After the Rain
The rain has stopped now, A welcome and sudden reprieve From the blanket of summer’s swelter. It vanished as quickly as it appeared,
I do not want to dismiss those quiet moments at five in the morning before the sun has even risen— her moon sister savoring those
What once seemed like an endless summer, soon became winter. In all this time, I wonder, if we too, can begin anew. We carry the embers of a passionate romance.
Praying for Rain
In days like today, I will pray for rain. It can wash away the feeling of pain A subtle coolness of wet skin meets the warm air surrounding me.
I see a cloud
I see a cloud pass, all alone no place to be, nowhere to go And wish that I could fly away And wonder why I stay The next day the snow came
LIFE'S SHORT It seems like only moments ago I was born into this amazing place called Earth. With the sun on my face I spend all of my time flying everywhere in search of food. The wind carries me past grassy, flower-covered fields and through thick forests with trees reaching towards the sky. Will the wonders I see ever cease? Up ahead I see something. They are large objects and they speed past me. One after the other whizzes by. I know that I am a bug of some kind but I can't remember what those fast moving things are called. I'll get a closer look at the next one that approaches. Here it comes. Now I know! They are called cars and they are driven by humans. And I am a...a...gnat- SPLAT!!
A Nightly Walk
I wind my way along the concrete trails each evening. I am not filled with sadness to be in such a place. I feel serenity and peace.
The Siren of Silence
In my darkest hour when the night is the quietest, I hear not the beautiful voice of silence for my mind roars with thoughts.
The father of lies
Dwelling in the shadows, lurking in the midst of the trees, A deluded mind, a conspirator, in the narrows as he sees, Territorial murderer, whose presence brings fear and fright,
Red, soft green and sharp, it has a sort of thistle part, the fragrance that flows on the air, so simply sweet you cannot compare,