"bandied" poems - Hello Poetry

~~~ *bathed by breezes of southern gentility, sun soaped by eye-prickling, star twinkling glints, shampooed in delicious waves of white sno caps, my crazy wild hair, conditioned by the foaming bay's riffles dappled waters transformed into a Van Gogh glow of The Sower sprinkling golden seed upon fields of summer wheat glorious my little yellow rubber duckies, are now blue white snow geese alive, down from Nova Scotia, where August is already emboldened colden, so they non-stop honk tho mere passerbys, everybody is seeking a place in history, the surety, that this poem, by their inclusion herein, promises posterity the grass blades wave with endless swaying applause, at yet another attempt of poetic tribute, for once more, spell bound by the bounty of the moment, enslaved happily to the idea there is no satiation possible from the earthly satisfaction of this place, this sheltered isle the leaves are cappuccino frothy performers, unison shaking just like a roman legion of stadium fans, they offer me untold numbers of likes and reads, and other candied goodies, promises endless to root for my winter dream teams, if their presence is here prominently included, until they too fall silent, grounded, shed by their rightful owners every time I think the well is dry, swept under by a rip tide of drowning overwhelming gratitude, for here I come to a place. a station for repair, where poems are bandied about, summer fruits ripe for plucking sunroom lace, summer curtains, will hide out here in my absence, the lace, turns into snowflakes crystalline, by icy waters and gusts, that will be both untrodden and unadmired for when the poet is clad in the damask drapes of winter's inevitability, will close his eyes and will hide out here, right here, in this one of his never ending prior~poem~prayers homages, until next year's can't-come- too-early spring arrives, sparked by tendrils of meeting markers, noting that new poems have been fallow fallen, winter seeded, awaiting your watering and writing, of the appreciation of the simple majesty of this small corner of the earth*

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Aug 15, 2015

Aug 15, 2015 at 9:18 PM UTC

nat-lipstadt

bathed by breezes of southern gentility

~~~ *bathed by breezes of southern gentility, sun soaped by eye-prickling, star twinkling glints, shampooed in delicious waves of white sno caps, my crazy wild hair, conditioned by the foaming bay's riffles dappled waters transformed into a Van Gogh glow of The Sower sprinkling golden seed upon fields of summer wheat glorious my little yellow rubber duckies, are now blue white snow geese alive, down from Nova Scotia, where August is already emboldened colden, so they non-stop honk tho mere passerbys, everybody is seeking a place in history, the surety, that this poem, by their inclusion herein, promises posterity the grass blades wave with endless swaying applause, at yet another attempt of poetic tribute, for once more, spell bound by the bounty of the moment, enslaved happily to the idea there is no satiation possible from the earthly satisfaction of this place, this sheltered isle the leaves are cappuccino frothy performers, unison shaking just like a roman legion of stadium fans, they offer me untold numbers of likes and reads, and other candied goodies, promises endless to root for my winter dream teams, if their presence is here prominently included, until they too fall silent, grounded, shed by their rightful owners every time I think the well is dry, swept under by a rip tide of drowning overwhelming gratitude, for here I come to a place. a station for repair, where poems are bandied about, summer fruits ripe for plucking sunroom lace, summer curtains, will hide out here in my absence, the lace, turns into snowflakes crystalline, by icy waters and gusts, that will be both untrodden and unadmired for when the poet is clad in the damask drapes of winter's inevitability, will close his eyes and will hide out here, right here, in this one of his never ending prior~poem~prayers homages, until next year's can't-come- too-early spring arrives, sparked by tendrils of meeting markers, noting that new poems have been fallow fallen, winter seeded, awaiting your watering and writing, of the appreciation of the simple majesty of this small corner of the earth*