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ClawedBeauty101 Aug 2018
There is no rain to bring relief to our sweating bodies...
only the reign of arrows... and their offering of stabbing pain

There are no stars to put on a display of dances and twinkles...
only the rotating show of the thrown daggers

There is not a river to reflect the beauty of life...
Only the blade of the sword... that reflects my possible death

There are no clouds in the sky to soften my spirit
only the low cumulus smoke of gunpowder and ash

There is no sun to shed its bright flame upon us
On the flickers and flashes of light of ignited bullets

There is no difference between night and day... they are the same...
Only the difference is who the enemy is.. and who is the Savior...

The grass no longer grows full and abundant in luxurious green
It is constantly trampled and stepped on... leaving it withered and tan...

There is no snow...no soft white snowflakes to give us a cold kiss
Only the bites of thrown, bitter, cold shattered pieces of glass

There are no vast variety of colors to adore... only two hues
Light and Darkness... So we can tell who is for us... and who is against us

    *

The weather... and landscape wasn't always this way...
It wasn't the Lord's intentions to have such a horrific display...

What? What did you ask? What is it like on the battlefield?
Well...sit down dear child... and I will tell you...
Another Poem Relating to this will come soon... Thanks for Reading <3
Mary-Eliz Aug 2018
in synergy of sky and sea
shadowy clouds bestow the rain
the gracious sea accepts
then gives it back again

filtering through the clouds
sunshine warms the scene
dancing on the ripples
creating a resplendent sheen

endless sky and water deep
all but a seamless view
who gives color to the other
which one is more blue

allies in a great expanse
their grandeur is sublime
their waltz remains unchanged
as they measure out its time
Inspired by a landscape/seascape in which clouds over the sea in the distance appear to either rain down or draw up mist.
Jo Barber Jul 2018
Stars in sky,
Plane flys above.
Lightning thunders below,
Flashing and dancing
From cloud to cloud.
Silence and darkness,
Then an explosion
Of light and expression.
A Colorado summer night.
Helena Jun 2018
The flat pasture was disturbed by a dip
A markèd groove in its dark, mossy surface
I tipped my head over the hole, inching gradually towards the centre
Smooth and immaculate
The water served as a perfect mirror; my face against the dusky sky
I squinted into its inky eyes, searching for familiarity
But curiosity got the better of me
And I fell.

The initial contact was the worst:
A shock of cold slapped my face and I saw nothing
But an ominous blur of dappled green light
The heavy water pushed me further – down, down –
To uncertain depths
Movement stung my skin, so I decided to freeze.

Unconsciously I drifted to the mouth again
And shot up
Spluttering and gasping; the air was damp and heavy
Pathetic and sopping, I crawled out and sat beside the edge
The sky had darkened a little
Though there were still enough streaks of blue for the pool to reflect back at me
Pure as before
I tried to emulate this static perfection
But drops and tears ran down my body in a restless stream
And I couldn’t control it.
I don’t considered this to be finished and would like to edit it further. I want it to flow nicely and I feel the phrasing is a little clunky in parts. All suggestions/comments for improvement welcome.
listening out for the catch, through the ordered lines
then running into familiar counter-melodies
that hit the gut like surprise meetings with old friends

pushing against the current
you write the soul’s ebb and flow of discovering
break and breakaway, meet again

figuring it out along the way, slipping back,
humble, soft vulnerability of emitting,
rolling out in music and codes interior landscapes
A poem about how it can feel to listen to Elliott Smith's music and lyrics
Adam Lawler May 2018
A barrel cast of porcelain I bear
A white-furred bull upon my waist reclines
The alabaster eggshell buried there
A hollow suffocated by design
I am, by ring, the oldest living tree
With form bereft of grace or limber charm
A prairie pale rolls forth atop my knees
Of silent waves composed into my arms
But ring and ring again supplants my will
As heat with yeast and dough will slowly swell
A tabby cat loved lazy, sweet and still
A sleeping pulse within a clownish shell
The valley miles above my buried chest
A place where, lying still, his head may rest
Mary-Eliz Apr 2018
time
without
sunshine
means
dull
and
gray
landscape
gray
and
dull
means
sunshine
without
time
Another short palindrome...
Mary-Eliz Apr 2018
the formation of the rain
on the window
recasts the landscape
into a kaleidoscope
picture
a glossy eight by ten
viewed through a prism
Alister Benn Mar 2018
Never more so than today
I see me in you and listen

I understand now why it’s so hard
When not even you can withstand

In the crackling dryness of your stems
I see nothing but rigidity and death

But at my feet a ****** reaches for heaven
Naked and pure even as the rain spits on her delicate face

The mightiest ground to dust, the solid made weak
The weakest cracking rocks and the ice crushing all

The sun, the moon, the waves, they dance
Their joyous frivolity that teases the air

Even as darkness engulfs me
I know the dawn will bring hope

I nurture your weakness as you give me strength
I cherish you for your gifts, challenge and sight

You are and I am, I am you also, we are
And that makes me smile, itself a gift to all…
I am a landscape photographer by profession and spend all my time outside. It gives me great insight into myself and my relationships with the environment.
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