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am i ee May 5
i love

Huge thunderstorm
came through
last night.  

Bright flashes of
torrential downpour
cascading down.

Mother Earth's
thirsty ground.

Puppyhead did not
love it
like i.

She took herself
off to her stair.

The thunder booming

My poor puppyhead
laid trembling there.

Unable to comfort
to make her understand
how wonderful
this storm is.

Perhaps she feels
deeper than me?

More power,
more energy
that storm
raging there?

I think I feel a poem coming on...
Many thanks this early morn to Lori Jones McCaffery snd her Perfect triolet DOWNPOUR
thought i felt a poem coming on reading hers...
Débijonne Mar 6
i knew you were in torpor.
for the winter air, just like before,
didn’t allow you to soar
nor spread your wings;
or create new beginnings.
but now we’re at an ending—
and i could just remember
how close you were
by the dying ember;
singing a tune or two,
of a melody just for you.
but the sad, cold nights are over,
maybe you have heard.
so now—rejoice and fly higher;
sing as you soar,
my little bird!
is it that obvious how much i love this season?
Pinkmoon May 2021
Her golden fingers
weave across my
cotton candy hair.

With my eyes closed
I let her kiss my face.
"Drink me in," she says
"for I am fleeting."

I laze as long as I dare
listening to the rituals,
The wave of notes and
flutter of wings around me.

I am the decay. I am the human.
Yet, Spring and her sprites
Is there nothing better than warm sun on your skin in the spring?
Juhlhaus May 2021
This dry Spring
the parched earth drinks quickly,
every cool droplet precious
as the tears of the bereaved.

The rain furrows the dusty creek banks
like sunken, careworn cheeks.
the timid water hurries
past sandbars and gravel spits,
around balding rocks crowned
with rotting riverweed.
and in the green places that remain
to be sought and found between
the highway noise and the factories,
there the shy ones grieve with us
for all those lost to disease and violence,
miscarriage and mischance.

We round the bend;
the yearlings start and bolt
through the struggling underbrush—
an exercise in their own fragility.
The mother does not run.
she moves warily
a few paces away
and meets our gaze: measured, assessing.
She takes us in, then bows
her graceful neck to the tender shoots
that break the hardened clay,
the gesture her benediction of peace.
Major Rity Mar 2021
It’s spring
So much that
It's almost like a little summer
The birds are chirping
I don't remember flirting
Last time feels so long
So teach me birds
Wake me up

No drugs
Just love!
Alena Feb 2021
Springtime and my soul blooms like a snowdrop after a harsh winter.
I feel that all the bad things slowly go away and I come to life.
I can finally walk through my native small town and hear its whispers,
So I think lifetime is not very bad and now I can try to give a drive.

Baby, let's on the run with me,
Take my warm and tender hand,
Have fun as hard as you can be,
I won't give you up 'cause I'm your man.

If you suddenly start to fall, just know that I'll pick you up like an iron wall.
Don't worry about problems, just call them tasks and keep them to any autumns.
Baby, don't worry about the things will happen, just let the river go to its own way for the rules of the planet.
And just sing Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah.
Hello. Honestly, I don't know what I need to text here, but I just wanted to say that now I have something new in my life, and this is the reason why I got the poem into my head. I hope, that you'll like it and, maybe, leave your comments below. Thank you!
Matt Aug 2020
Like the surface of a liquid.
We leave our bodies,
Becoming the same body of water,
Carried away in that great river,
Constant and flowing.
Is our ending so final?
Can we too evaporate into the clouds,
Becoming the springtime rain,
Fragile and full of life once more?
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