Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
The silver moon
from sight
as the rising tide
adjacent piers.

The cool morning
over the gentle bay
as clouds
covering the light of day.

Brown thrashers rhythmically
stolen song
as they
the canal.

Barefoot toes
frequenting familiar

Minute minnow mouths
with the bait
the cork.

Experienced hands
adopting its scent
while the blue *****
into crimson.

Afternoon showers
the earth
as a mysterious moon
the tide.

in Mississippi.
Returning to Mississippi
The Kimbeaux May 25
I am an osprey.
Waves of hate roll off my wings.
When I am happy,
I like to sing.

I soar through life
as the queen of the sky.
There is no limit
to how high I may fly.

When I plunge down to earth
and dive into the sea,
the strength in my wings
again set me free.
A reflection of my nature, my resilience, and strength.
The Kimbeaux May 1
A bird is just a bird.
It was real.

It was there
just being a bird
in a time of my distress.

It brought me joy,
but it was not mine.

The cat was just a cat.
It was real.

It was there
just being a cat
in my time of sadness.

It brought me joy,
but it was not mine.

My friend was just a friend.
We were real.

He was everywhere
just being a friend
in my time of loneliness.

He brought me joy,
but he was not mine.
snipes Apr 18
there was a time
where I needed love
the seconds counted as
my bottle was pouring down
I was so high up
I was fixed in a frame
hunged up
shouting for fame
I put the bottle down
the phone was static
who’s to blame
the birds? let them chirp
even so I talk nonsense
dollars own your nouns
the fingers do the bird calling
calligraphy off the pen unread
what do you call the written
love was lost
love was announced
glad you got found
sad I got frowned
I had more in the pond
my thinking treads of threatening
my voice retreats
I’m on vaca
sleeping effortlessly
i would love to
be able to identify
a bird from its call
or the shape of
wide-spread wings
as one flies overhead
in theory
it may seem impressive
but if i were to
successfully distinguish
a chiffchaff from
a willow warbler
based on the patterning
and colour of
its plumage
or the shape
and length of
its tail feathers
i struggle to think
of a single person
who would respond
with more than
an indifferent
mocking or
pandering "oh"
The Kimbeaux Apr 12
When I see quite the quiet quail,
I quiver.

When I spot the proud peacock prancing,
I ponder.

When I hear the wonderful warbling of the wood warbler,
I wander.

When I feel the reclusiveness of the rail,
I remember.

When you retreat into the reeds,
I reset.

When in Reason’s nest,
my mind may rest.

You were a feather in the wind,
when I
was the young breeze
beneath your tired wings.
vanessa marie Apr 12
waking up to the birds chirping
the sun peeking through the trees
there really is no better feeling
than that of a soft spring breeze
Dylan Mar 16
Hummingbird on a foxglove petal
sipping from a nectar pool.
Our watercolor jewel
flutters on a linen page
as turquoise mist and viridian waves
curl beneath an emerald spool.

Hummingbird on a hawthorn branch
waiting for a brush of breeze
from limpid seas
across the stony shore.
Springtime serenades crest the summer door
as sunlight is cradled by sugar trees.

Hummingbird on a pale-white zephyr
gliding toward a wooded grove.
Our watercolor cove
brimming with blue
as dandelions rise from filmy dew.
Hummingbird, in the summer shade,
continues to rove.
When spring arrives, it touches nature’s heart, and awakens it into a new life
Trees are blossoming
Beautiful Lilly flowers are blooming
Fields are dressed in a green garment
Blue butterflies are flying
Bees are buzzing
Baby bunnies are playing
Birds are chirping in backyards
Water springs are bursting
Water waves are dancing
Nature is burning love

I wonder, if we as human being could bring out the best in us, and show the whole world our inner beauty by the touch of spring?

Hussein Dekmak
Dylan Feb 28
February starling on a mulberry bough
it's been so frigid these recent months
but we can hear you now.
Black wings glide on a windy cradle,
nestlings call from the alpine brow.
February starling between the gables,
it's been so long but we can hear you now.
Next page