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Jessica Feb 2
I am most alive on a warm summer night at dusk
Walking through a field of tall grass
With a warm gentle breeze blowing
Stars just starting to fill the sky
The sound of the frogs and crickets in the air
No one know I’m there
Mark Toney Dec 2021
winter solstice comes
bare trees, long hibernation
~ don’t risk bleeding lips

gardens lie fallow
field mice attempting entry
~ long dark frigid nights

Mark Toney © 2021
Poetry form: Haiku (for you) - Winter solstice—Tuesday, December 21, 2021
The December solstice marks the start of winter, when the South Pole is tilted closest to the Sun, and the Sun’s rays are directly overhead at the Tropic of Capricorn. (The seasons are reversed in the Southern Hemisphere.) The winter solstice is the shortest day of the year.
Brett Jul 2021
I want to build a rocket ship, but this full moon blanket,
keeps me tangled up in bed.
Maybe a sun shower ,will birth a rainbow,
and I could build a bridge with that instead.
A walk with the weather, may be what I need,
to clear the clouds above my head.

The soggy sounds of rain, strum the chords,
that sing a song inside my brain.
A violin or guitar riff, to untwist the tornadoes,
my heart’s stuck with.
Who needs the stars, when I’ve got the sun,
to shine for me when bad times come.

My sandy feet always have the waves, to wash away,
the darker shades of cloudy gray.
These lonely lips even have a kiss, and the warm caress,
from her outstretched fingertips.
I want to build a rocket ship, but today,
I’ll just exist.
Brett Jul 2021
Youthful exuberance never grows old; I suppose, until the creeping ivy cradles your gravestone.

This life; to me, is a passing train that always makes its way back around. Just not for you.

Every stop lets off the lost and picks up a child; weary, on their first day of school.

The hero in my mind rides, toward the destiny where he dies.

The wink inside his smile; resigned, for one more longing look up at the deep blue ocean canvas, where he penned the story of his life.

In his fading grin, he whispers one last nothing to wind. A cool breeze carrying his freedom. The silence, his last season.
The silent season
Alone he sits,
in the field,
waiting for the birds to migrate,
from an eternal winter,
he hears their song no longer,
except when she smiles,
only when she's around,
does the sun fulfill its duties,
warms him,
for he is cold from the rain.
I'm alone.
Jamil Akram Oct 2020
The birds sing silently,

the flowers start to cry,

you ask yourself why,

in the field with no privacy.

The trees whisper to you,

'you're a fool',

'look what you blew',

What you did was so cruel.
bloodKl0tz Oct 2020
1.  Headlights glowed like cigarette ends in the twilight

2. As soon as they winked out in the warm, weedy field, and the harsh engine noise snapped into silence, I began to cry.

3. Father stepped quietly towards me and I sniffed as I smelled the earth I was digging, the sweat I was dripping, the carcasses I was covering.

4.  Beneath the distant moon Father paused, watching me sift dirt over the remains of two limp goldfish.

5. The morbid scene glittered as moonlight sparkled off my tears and the half-buried scaled.

6.  A small tribute to their salty home.

7.  As if on cue, the wind ruffled the tops of the grain in the neighboring unshorn field; the undulating stalks mimicked the ocean.

8.  Their grave remains unmarked.
Written for Creative Writing class in 2008, the exercise was called Syntactic Gymnastics.
Carlo C Gomez Sep 2020
The wetland red
Cranberry fields
Ripe and glistening
Like the morning dew
That forms on wild thicket
In anticipation of harvest
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