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Brian Turner Sep 29
O'er the Causway road
To the lands of the giants
We smile as the Atlantic roars below
The path is green, our hearts says go

Past the rope bridge we sidle on
The skerries frighten us with their brawn
Careful o' oncomers
Breath in,  they're vaughn

The architect's house
Provides little shelter
The harbour fights
The seaweed felters

Near the hill, the Scots and Rathlin anew
No time to stop, no time for a brew
The waters rage
No traffic, no queue

We reach the beach
'n cross the stream
The weather draws in
The water's sea beam

Back home via Bushmills
The Inn is a stop
Guinness and mussels
The head, what a top

On reflection we drop our pace
For this happy journey is not but a race
What a joy those places are for me
What a joy for you to see
The beautiful causeway coast road from Portrush to  Ballycastle in Northern Ireland. Home to the Giants Causway, Bushmills whisky, Rathlin island a view of Scotland .'Vaughn meaning youth, felters is the German for gather or mat".
Valentin May 16
The lights of the night through my eyes
By the beauty of our sky I am paralyzed

In my body a shot of freedom
In the snow I forget about the cold

Shutting my eyelids is now impossible
The aurora borealis bring me peace

I walk alone in those dark mountains
I want to spread this full happiness

The uniqueness of this moment is addictive
The drunkenness I feel is flawlessly attractive
05.15.20
Traveler Feb 21
It’s as bright as hell
my eyes are squinting
Due-east the sun is rising
The shining snow welcomes
a break from days of overcast
Banshee and I aimlessly walk across
the frozen lake to avoid the traffic of the winding slippery busy roads
Dead critters feathers and fur
cars and trucks slip and swerve
Ice fishers on the horizon
year rounders in summer cottages
Far and few people but hardly alone
So I sit on this ice and write this poem
...............
Traveler Tim
Black stone juts out over greying ice,
A mass of alpine greenery,
Half bare, half masked in white;
The motion of a turner painting,
Colours cast through Lowry's eyes.

Camouflaged upon a riverside
With no sign of Lutheran ambition,
As faith faltered, medieval to Christ,
A small church modestly mirages,
Casting simplicity into Nordic pride.

The excitement of the northern lights
Over the precipice of these continents,
American and Eurasian plates collide.
The Langjökull Glacier screams
Witnessing its own untimely demise.

The remoteness captured in the landscape
Starkly contrasts to us who bear witness to it
And in the mirroring of the landscape
A lonely civil dwelling knows nothing
Of war between nature and humankind.
Mark Parker Feb 13
They say all is fair
    In the chase after the wind.
        As it blows to the North bringing frost
                Snow falls upon my love as war and lust
                                          become bed mates.
All is fair in love and war.
Valentin Nov 2019
I gave her a call this night
When the sky was green
She didn't pick up the phone
Suddenly the sky turned black
10.09.19
Colm Sep 2019
So you think my storm is done at last?
Just watch and wait till summers end.
When, with a quiet rumble I return.
As a single jar of lightning left.
To speak the words of thankfulness.
And to spark one more glorious storm to pass.
Nothing lasts forever. But for one more year. I'm just a notherner bringing one final southern storm to pass. God give me the strength and focus to do my best.
Jesse stillwater Dec 2018
In a distance an emptiness echoes,
another lonesome dove's sigh
is carried away with the leaves

silence annulled by tempest gusts
as late autumn winds
belatedly lay bare the trees;

the sad song in the wind
repined for golden days
bowing sun ripened amber fields
dancing with the moment's sway

now windswept wild feathers  
chase after the waning sunlight
bucking prevailing headwinds
just beneath heaven's glow

sail away! — sail away!
way up on high!
O' birds of a feather
sail away!

begone — bygones — begone
homeward bound
from north and south
on  an algid heavenward flight


Jesse Stillwater ... winter solstice ... 2018
Slei Robs Oct 2018
It is in the middle of the year
when everyday seems like a marathon of rain
He sits in his chair, starts writing his affair
And every beat of his heart, turns into a song of art
He makes music that can make a soul be brought back into life
He can even make a song that can turn a woman into a wife

In every song he makes, every music he creates
A piece of his soul was added, the secret ingredient was padded
How I love how he holds his guitar, he does look like an action star
how he sings with his six strings, slow dancing, my body swings
to the beat of his heart and now I can't depart
how do I start when you already have my heart

Passionately I pray to hear you sing every day,
I know you don't feel the same way
With or without your guitar, you will always be my Northern star

S.J Robs
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