#exuberance - Hello Poetry

I could fly Though I can't I could sing Without sound I embrace The dancer named exuberance And follow her here Amidst the internal Spinning like the clouds Round and round

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Jan 30, 2019

Jan 30, 2019 at 2:33 PM UTC

colmistoirm

Exuberant Joy

I could fly Though I can't I could sing Without sound I embrace The dancer named exuberance And follow her here Amidst the internal Spinning like the clouds Round and round

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Spirits soaring Twinkling star Love awak'ning Meteor Gay abandon Deep repose Frangrant lilac Wilting rose Tendrils seeking Drawung bacj Great abundance With'ring lack Surging upwards Windswept sray Rise to Heaven Fade away Seek a rainbow Sparkling hue Find a diamond Drop of dew Wings of silver High above Be the emblem Of my new love ^^^

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Mar 12, 2017

Mar 12, 2017 at 4:11 PM UTC

LoriJonesMcCaffery

TO W. C. T.

Spirits soaring Twinkling star Love awak'ning Meteor Gay abandon Deep repose Frangrant lilac Wilting rose Tendrils seeking Drawung bacj Great abundance With'ring lack Surging upwards Windswept sray Rise to Heaven Fade away Seek a rainbow Sparkling hue Find a diamond Drop of dew Wings of silver High above Be the emblem Of my new love ^^^

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petrichor in spring the verdant tresses waves under blossoms

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Mar 3, 2017

Mar 3, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC

christian-l-bixler

haiku no. 61

petrichor in spring the verdant tresses waves under blossoms

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And dreaming of Inisfáil, I was raised on Bolivar Pond. Sheltered in my wake, I’d coo as the dewy’d morning dove And fern in my bed, I rose to greet The song-splayed sounds of light And work, I made it dropping slow Bright in the summers swoon, I was adorned in forest eves By rings that rang from tree to rook, and flung the wingèd down, Brambled in bay, garland in violet When blades could ***** and not make bleed, And I was brindled by the moon’d many shades, that liken To a brook, and mottled in my main, noted among moss In that glow, once knighted we must serve Wood, let me comb in peace! Colored in the mantled cloth of leaves And bonny and red, I was the brave and the boon, the deer- Ants learned me, and herons stood muck, on stands spearing all mite And the vernal song sang lowly Swaddled in azure’s unfolding dream. At each turn was a season, nascent life charming in marsh Forays that brimmed the hollow rood, in clover yards, I saw The lilt of bees, sallied in clearings Brown as the yellowed beech Colored in sounds that beat the heart. And forth into the field I sprang unto that shedded loam And high was the sail that bellowed the raft that raked my pond, Bullied by the har-umph of frogs I rippled, rowing cat o’nine tailed tunes. Windy and free in the hollowed bark round the ****** bay I trailed the bear sniffing **** heard the hoo of a swooping vowel And wild in hare, dug the fox-hole up! Damp fires hailed the rising Moon, as fire-flies dinted the troutling pools And nothing I saw in my drowning sun could nettle or thorn My piney ways, nothing could rot my wood-craving ears For the kestrel’s qweet-a-quee rang holy In the skunk-flowered fields of Bolivar Pond.

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Sep 22, 2014

Sep 22, 2014 at 4:04 PM UTC

ormond

Bolivar Pond

And dreaming of Inisfáil, I was raised on Bolivar Pond. Sheltered in my wake, I’d coo as the dewy’d morning dove And fern in my bed, I rose to greet The song-splayed sounds of light And work, I made it dropping slow Bright in the summers swoon, I was adorned in forest eves By rings that rang from tree to rook, and flung the wingèd down, Brambled in bay, garland in violet When blades could ***** and not make bleed, And I was brindled by the moon’d many shades, that liken To a brook, and mottled in my main, noted among moss In that glow, once knighted we must serve Wood, let me comb in peace! Colored in the mantled cloth of leaves And bonny and red, I was the brave and the boon, the deer- Ants learned me, and herons stood muck, on stands spearing all mite And the vernal song sang lowly Swaddled in azure’s unfolding dream. At each turn was a season, nascent life charming in marsh Forays that brimmed the hollow rood, in clover yards, I saw The lilt of bees, sallied in clearings Brown as the yellowed beech Colored in sounds that beat the heart. And forth into the field I sprang unto that shedded loam And high was the sail that bellowed the raft that raked my pond, Bullied by the har-umph of frogs I rippled, rowing cat o’nine tailed tunes. Windy and free in the hollowed bark round the ****** bay I trailed the bear sniffing **** heard the hoo of a swooping vowel And wild in hare, dug the fox-hole up! Damp fires hailed the rising Moon, as fire-flies dinted the troutling pools And nothing I saw in my drowning sun could nettle or thorn My piney ways, nothing could rot my wood-craving ears For the kestrel’s qweet-a-quee rang holy In the skunk-flowered fields of Bolivar Pond.

36

Creativity is like fleeting moments of brilliance, which albeit, occurs regularly

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Jun 13, 2014

Jun 13, 2014 at 11:02 AM UTC

amitav

On Creativity

Creativity is like fleeting moments of brilliance, which albeit, occurs regularly

1

Extremes come in pairs. Happy. Sad. Love. Hate. Exuberant. Depressed. Flying. Falling. These things go together, And that's when they hurt the worst, Or. That's when they're the best. Sad. Happy. Hate. Love. And so on. The world seems to balance out, But maybe we will all end on an upside.

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May 19, 2014

May 19, 2014 at 8:24 PM UTC

drake-taylor

Extremes.

Extremes come in pairs. Happy. Sad. Love. Hate. Exuberant. Depressed. Flying. Falling. These things go together, And that's when they hurt the worst, Or. That's when they're the best. Sad. Happy. Hate. Love. And so on. The world seems to balance out, But maybe we will all end on an upside.

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