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A field of colors laid before our eyes.
This serene countryside
filled with so many new possibilities.

Happiness filled our hearts.
He turned to me and looked at me with those hazel eyes
that enchanted me so long ago and said,

"Sometimes you will get the chance to see a landscape so simple, yet so alluring and filled with beauty,
that it fills you with such a sense of hope."

"The fields of flowers filled with bashful greens
flaming with different shades of reds and pinks
working in harmony with the sun's rays."

"It makes you think that this world is precious,
and our future will be golden."
He grabbed my hand and smiled,
and pulled me towards our field of hope.
This poem is inspired by a painting
~In Poppyland (Poppy Field)
John Ottis Adams~
Thank you for reading! Have a nice day
duncan Oct 2018
i might leave a greener pasture
for a field of blue roses.
and some time spent
on the coast.

these hands were built
for bricks and
failure. made for
disappointment like a
bowling alley gutter.

dont even get me
started on the rest of it.
i have too much of a
bad thing and we are all
children at play.

i am known to leave
a good thing behind.
but ive never had
a great thing before,
so im not sure
how to feel.

i could start softening
the mortar again,
or just suffer in silence.
Anya Oct 2018
It’s a very difficult thing
Guarding 50 meters
Covered in
Full body pads

My teemmates
Were playing
“Field hockey rugby”
With the “goal”
Being
The
End line

A goalie
Meant to
Guard a
4 meter
Goal
Reduced
To sprinting
Across
50

A foolish decision,
You may think

Yet,
It was mine

Why?
You may ask
What could have possibly
Convinced one to make
Such a choice?

Well,
The fitness
For one

Imrpoved speed,
In my pads
For another

Avoidance
Of practicing
Boring goalie drills
At the other side of
The field,
As well

Practice,
Stalking the ball
For a fourth

But mostly,
The feeling
Of running your
Heart out
Laughing your stomach
Out
Cheering
Your throat out
And finally
Getting down and *****

Diving,
With all your might
Full body
Heart
And mind
Giving their all
With one goal
-to stop the ball
Anya Sep 2018
It's a funny feeling,
to have a conversation
with a field hockey ball

It wasn't even a conversation,
really
Mostly I just gave it a baleful glare
For being hit straight towards the cage
And stopping
RIGHT BEFORE IT

It truly didn't affect me in any way,
simply my inner angst
at my poor performance
being taken out on this innocent round
piece of plastic

Mostly, for eluding me
Yet, still stopping,
not by my efforts
But by the lack of force applied to it

It could have gone in
Or,
It could have been blocked

Instead,
it chose to rest
just before the finish line
taunting me,
Proving to me,
that my effort is completely unnecessary
That,
even an invisible entity
known as air resistance + friction
can do my job for me

Oh,
By now you're probably wondering
who I am in this scenario
Considering,
If I was an offender,
attempting to shoot
I'd desire the ball to cross
And I'd push it in
rather than subject it to my resentment

You, see
I,
am the goalie
Romann Sep 2018
There once was a farmer
Whose fields grew stale.
No matter his efforts
They would turn out to remain hopeless.

It had been years since they turned sterile
Yet the farmer still held out hope.
Against all odds, he still believed
That one day his harvest would be plentiful.

Do not become this farmer
That exhausts the earth.
Look for new fields
On which to grow your love.
That farmer really is too stubborn...
Alek Mielnikow Sep 2018
There’s a horse on a field,
grazing upon grass as the wind plays its favorite tune,
a mountain song,
trickling down upon the eastern flat plains of Colorado.
Her head hung low in soft serenity,
this black mare stares upwards towards a blue purple red sky.
She asks not why or what,
but is simply aware of the natural.
Enjoying her meal,
this black mare alone on her favorite field,
concealed by a white fence,
one more day coming to an end,
turns to her stable,
ready to return.
The sky turns a dark blue.
A September shiver rattles her old craggy bones,
but the stable shelters her from further pain.
Time to rest,
and tomorrow all the same.
A nice, little observation
Brandon Conway Aug 2018
The green field I used to frolic and play
Now shrouded in darken clouds greyed
With soil planted with nothing but graves
Vine and stone tablets with epitaphs engraved
Poetic T Jul 2018
Beneath infertile fields,
              where the breath seeping
beyond view would suffocate
the life of mans impoverished
                                           wondering.

Curiosity was a misconception
             what was submerged was
not as above. For eggs lay dormant
feeding on the impoverished fumes.
Like lullabies grazing upon it
                                              slumbering.

But local folk were wiser upon the
land, greeting the field from afar.
      For what was legend was fact instead.
When the earth did breath with rumbling
discontent they knew the land was ready
to birth new life from fields of purgatory.

Majestic wings flew from afar,
                 and villagers gazed at
this beauty of imagining, as bones
scatted like seed over a field of infertile
                                           hallucinations.
But where some dreams die, one awakens.

As the earth heaves like a **** being
awoken by birth, so seeps the blood of
the earth, alight in a concussion of vivid
hues of fire and life,
                                 graced by eyes afar.

Flame danced around this new birth,
          as it inhaled the flame, expelling
                a fountain of new born breath.
And the villagers cheered, the new born
looked, but the mother knew that there was
          nothing to fear for this place was safe.

A tradition of old, letting those who dare
wonder, treasure hunters, armies had tried
to collect the bounty of this land,  for with
birth comes riches from deep in the earth.
          But the villagers had the wealth of
seeing this every few hundred years.

But the dragon always paid its debt,
       as wings of frail flight learned the
                    dynamics of wind and wings.
A hand gestured to the well, and falling
a bountiful harvest of gem stones.
like a rainbow finding its place of birth,
so many filled the sky with there descent.

And then as before and times long ago.
       with eyes adjusted to not gaze on the
field, a mother does neatly once again
hide her worth beneath the earth.
          So long from now a new child will
see the happiness of a mother on infertile earth.
Jason Drury Jul 2018
Hope, a field,
not yet grown.
Vast, open and bright.
You shine taller,
a giant.
Clairvoyance jumps,
across your mind's eye.
Move swiftly,
tread the path.
Toward the bright,
burst of gold.

Alas, the gold is,
out of reach.
Your steps did not find their rest.
Crouched in half-light,
the darkness creeps.
The weeds take notice,
they grow steadily.
You are no longer giant.

A field now,
lost of expectation.
Overgrown with disappointment.
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