"creeks" poems
When we were young, all things were new
The rising sun, the morning dew.
Through you I saw the ocean first,
From stormy eyes I saw the surf.
I tasted summer in your lips
The flavor of the brackish mist
That lingered on with days and years
That veil of time was thin and sheer.
When we were young the summer months
Seemed everlasting, endless once.
Heated asphalt, mosquito'ed creeks
We dipped our toes to beat the heat.
When we were young, immortal then
I never thought there'd be an end...
I never thought I'd move away
I never dreamt you wouldn't stay...
I never thought when we were young
Your final song would go unsung,
I never thought there'd come a day
Your final words- you'd never say.
When we were young
When we
Were young
When
We
Were
Young
I never thought
You'd die.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 3:29 PM UTC
Time sails around us,
leaving the present left to rust.
All my love is written below the earth
and spaces between the stars,
in the oldest language.
And we lay on our backs
crushing the grass.
You told me to wait,
but I can't wait forever.
so you said, "come along and travel
among these childlike places with me."
I said I'd follow you as far as to the moon's oldest side.
And then all at once, I'm a child again.
A child who would waste their time playing
in the naked creeks and thought of the unthinkables.
I was always trying to find my way to you
yet I was never scared of getting lost
for I followed the stars you mapped out for me
on the back of an old construction paper
that you scribbled across with stardust.
And on the night of the blue moon
I found you on a piece of paper
written 70 years ago.
you wrote to me telling me to always
keep looking and wait patiently
for the days that are to come.
and wait I did.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
We were poets,
Once,
Hearts etched upon our sleeve
The lords of our intent,
Words bloomed for all to see.
Each branch of thought considered,
Chiseled,
Whittled to express.
Carving the forest in our likeness
We paved the landscape with our breath.
Woods would sway in idle days
Sunkissed glades lay bathed in gold.
Nights waylaid by dancing maids
Cheap ale and tales of old.
Fires burn, flames unfold.
Though
Embers remember
Tender clutch of the cold.
We tend to forget the bargained,
The sold.
Up rivers and creeks,
Paddles, disowned by the meek,
Cast away to distant shores.
Glades decay,
Fade to grey.
We become poets once more.
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 4:01 AM UTC
Paper thin top soil
Cracks seep through
Red dirt.
Bloodless gashes
Simmering summer soil
Baked turf.
Rolled gold haze
Aches as the
Country stretches its skin-
Near breaks
******** teeth
Tight white itches
Red earth fit-
To burst in a
Dark cloud of dust,
Choking soft as to soak
The moisture fresh
From your lungs.
Blinding blue sky
Set for worship
On a tall horizon
Too far, too high
For common souls-
To float on a
Breath of sweet dry air,
Eternal journey to sunset
Small piece of a dream
To chase a grey cloud
From sky to west.
Where subterranean
Creeks used to slip by
Rise in a slope of land
Where water once carved
Its roam
Now the winds sweep
All traces away
Back toward the sea,
And fair beyond
The aching dry eyes
Of the sons of
This red earth,
A mist lies awake
And prays for rain.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 5:19 AM UTC
Crying is not a sign of weakness.
It’s a sign of strength.
It’s a sign of letting yourself go
and not holding yourself back.
It’s a form of expression
a silent expression
an emotional expression
a vulnerable expression
a brave and strong expression
letting everyone know that you can’t
take it anymore.
Small drops of water
coming from your visual peripherals
come tumbling down
the sides of your face
like an overflowing waterfall
From eye to chin
each watery teardrop
represents and symbolizes
you breaking free
from the pain you experienced
in the past.
No matter what pain
you’ve gone through,
every time you cry
you let your past
stay in the past.
You don’t let it go to the present
nor to the future.
You let it stay in the past.
What I’m trying to say
that it’s OK
to let it go.
It’s OK to
break free
and be free.
It’s OK to come alive.
It’s OK to create
your own personal
overflowing waterfall
all over your beautiful face.
It’s OK to cry.
Don’t listen to other people
that tell you that you’re
weak, a baby, or a crybaby
for that matter.
Don’t listen to other people
that tell you that you’re
hopeless, worthless,
or that you are
not good enough
for them.
Don’t listen to other people
that tell you that you’re
never going to make it
through life
no matter how hard
or how many times
you try.
Instead, show them.
Show them that you’re
just a regular
human being
and prove
to them that
regular
human beings
have real
emotional feelings.
Show them that you’re
never afraid to
show off and
let go of your
vulnerable feelings
that you’re
hiding inside.
Show them that
they too can
let go of
their own
emotional and
vulnerable feelings
that they’re
hiding inside.
If they can’t
let go of
their powerful
and moving
feelings,
they will have
cold, frozen hearts.
Bottom line,
we all need
to shed some
beautiful and
powerful tears
every so often
in our lifetime.
We all need
to create our
own rivers,
lakes, streams,
creeks, ponds,
seas, and oceans
full of one of
the most moving
and powerful
human senses
that we shed
throughout our
lifetime.
And it all starts
with a overflowing
waterfall
coming from
the most important
visionary living organs.
Our eyes
are the window
to our emotional
and vulnerable
soul.
That soul is
willing to come out
from the visual
window
and it will do
whatever it takes
to do just that.
But it needs
your permission.
It’s time to let it go.
It’s OK to cry.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 1:15 AM UTC
Grayness swells and burns as ice
Coldness fills hollow creeks
My mindless ghost of a shell
But drifts ever so quietly
Ghostly shells as mine
Follow the current
Follow the breeze
Too weak to fight
To swim upstream
Now I am told the sun returns
But will it return without help?
Without artificial dawn?
Will this dusk be everlasting?
Never reaching devil's hour
And never returning to shiny morning
My ghost ever mourning
A loss of some unfamiliar friend
Sick for a home that has never existed
I forever dwell on my oscillating waking
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 5:44 PM UTC
Snow. . . covering each and every branch of every tree
the ground now slumbers with blankets of snow on top of her
Winter now dances through the bitter cold air
with a crown of snowflakes in her hair
and with a robe of grey to match the dull sky
her fair white hands reach out to touch the dazzling snowflakes
which fly through the air
and land upon her hair
snowdrops hidden under their blanket of snow and ice
and all the world is sleeping
all except Mother Nature, the Snow Queen, and Winter
who stay awake to give some light to those who are still awake
dogwood blossoms haven't even opened their buds to greet the bitter air
and the bleeding hearts have never yet greeted Spring
for it is still Winter
and all the birds have flown south while Winter's birds
have flown north to greet the cold
while other birds stay here year round
without leaving whether it's hot or cold or just right
icey covered creeks are frozen cold from Winter's
cold blast
and everything is a white paradise
Wind is blowing every night
to signal it is cold
while I shiver and fall back to sleep under my own warm comforter
and the Moon's shadows dance into my room through my bedroom window
and Stars twinkle in Night's black gown streaked with midnight-blue
such picturesque beauty that only poets can pen
with their quills and feather pens dipped in black ink
stacks of papers describing millions of different themes. . .
God, Winter, Spring, Summer, Autumn, Flowers, Night, Midnight,
and many other different themes which poets love
~Marian~
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
I am the raven,
I eat the dead,
I am the raven,
I remember all things,
I am the raven,
I build all,
I am the raven,
I know all things.
I am the otter,
In rivers and creeks I swim,
I am the otter,
I eat and I play,
I am the otter,
On slopes I slide,
Joy is mine,
In the mountain streams,
I own the rivers,
I feed on their fish.
I am the snake,
The serpent I am,
Between and through move I,
On belly I crawl,
Gold are my scales,
Glacier blue and silver,
All colours they change,
First one then the other,
I taste the air with my tongue,
Through my belly,
I listen to all,
Far craftier than all,
The beast of the field am I.
I am the fox,
The vixon am I,
Crafty and wise,
And hard to catch,
In the ground I live,
Cross the fields I race,
Quick and fast,
I take what I want,
Nothing is safe,
If it I desire,
A vixon am I,
Fleet foot and large tail,
Back and forth it moves,
Grace and escasy,
All come to me,
All I desire.
I am hawk,
I soar and I fly,
Above the plains,
All things I see,
None see what I see,
From up above,
Down I soar,
To **** and eat,
Still on a wire,
Or on a fence,
I know when to wait,
I know when it's time,
When prey is in sight,
Not a second to lose.
I am the vole,
Who lives in the field,
Down in the earth,
I burrow and dig,
Across the field,
All seeds are mine,
To eat and enjoy,
From dusk until dawn,
Timid and cautious,
I look to the sky,
I cannot fight,
I'm weak and I'm small,
But many am I,
And many more come,
And still we will be,
When all you are gone.
I am the owl,
Silent and still,
You know not I passed,
Only my wind,
Silent end deadly,
Queen of the night,
I will consume,
Whatever I catch.
I am the horse,
Across the plains do I run,
Swifter than all,
The one none can catch,
I run like the wind,
For we are one kind,
My mane and my tail,
Like banners and flags,
Nothing can stop us,
Nothing can try,
For we're always moving,
The fast wind and I.
I am the trout,
See how my scales glisten,
I am the trout,
At home in the water,
I swim and I breathe,
What causes others to drown,
I listen to the water,
The rivers, the creeks, the lakes,
The secrets I know,
No others can know.
I am the eagle,
High, high I soar,
Queen of the high places,
All others beneath,
What is not prey,
I care not at all,
I and I only,
See what I see.
But above all tonight,
The fox and vixon am I,
****** and sensual,
Grace and desire,
In the land where the sun sets,
This land that is dusk,
I am all ***
The kiss of the dead,
The dusk sets like dust,
It powders my fur,
In the night do I hunt,
In the night do I *****
My fur is desire,
My tail moves and calls,
I walk here as ***
All come to my call.
~I Am the Fox by Lorekeeper, June 7, 2014
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 4:08 AM UTC
Till Few Months Of Reaching Back,
I Kept Seeing Her Images All Over,
It Drove Me Crazy, Her Presence...
Taking Time Out To Search Her Out,
I Went For The Mountainous Path,
It May Cease I Hope These Dreams.
The Horse Made Me Look A Knight,
I Set Out Solo For The Dark Creeks,
It Helped Me Realize My Solo Aim...
Then She Came Into My View Again,
I Was Prepared For Tackling My Illusion,
It Started Snowing Out Of Nowhere.
Took Me To A Safer Place She Then,
I Was Bewildered Again Once More,
It Was Clearing But She Vanished...
Then On My Way I Stopped To Rest,
I Looked Around For A Place To Sit,
It Came To My View A Huge Tavern.
Tavern On A Mountain Was Weird,
I Still Went To It Hoping Some Rest,
It Had Appeared Out Of Nowhere...
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
You just sit all alone
Somewhere, where its still dark in the day,
Sheer silence and
Your screaming demons
Which now have become your best friends.
Darkness is now what you seek
Hoping somewhere,
it'll fill your creeks,
But daily as you sit and
not break those self created walls,
Life goes by
while you just fall and fall
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 4:37 AM UTC
The momentous buzzing of battling beasts
Gets lost between the cracks of creeks
You and I, we take our seats
And wait for the show to begin
I wanted fire so I brought flames
But you are like water, so I am tamed
Patience and love, they are the same
You won't catch me asking for either
The sound of malicious marching bands
Outside my door as I sleep they stand
And await my green light crescendo hand
But here it is, locked up in yours
I served my sentence for baring teeth
At those who hung me up like wreath
So you, you are a quantum leap
I am no longer fearful of taking
The air it always sounds so still
On either side of my broken sill
The silence it will hurt until
I hear an impulsive tapping
The gorgeous drumming of Gatling guns
Remind me of your silver tongue
You leave me like a hit-and-run
Please come back; I want more
And maybe, the worst kind of hell
Is where our demons play so well
They make each other swoon and swell
But really - are we any better?
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 10:25 AM UTC
The Heat, and not the sports team
Has come here for a while
It's enough to set some records
And to **** the farmers smiles
Humidity and high temperatures
Add to make our life like hell
It's drying up our creeks and streams
There's no water in our wells
We do not use our ovens
To cook our meals, not now at least
We just leave meat on the counter
The outside heat will cook the beast
Our lawns are brown and dormant
But the weeds are growing strong
There is chickweed and crabgrass where once
Green grass did once belong
The splash pads are on overtime
To help keep people cool
We've cooling centers everywhere
They're in all of the schools
In order to cool down at home
I have my a/c set to freeze
And if at times this doesn't work
I watch Christmas DVD's
Remember hats and sunscreen
to keep the heat off of your head
In fact it is so god ****** hot
I tan while I'm in bed
I remember as a child
Summer never got as hot as this
Compared to recent temperatures
Is like a blow job to a kiss
We pray for heat in winter
And in the summer, the reverse
I know I would like the snow
The heat is much, much, worse
Instead of just complaining
I should just take it, brave the heat
But for now, I'll watch my movies
Sing my carols, cool my feet
I know that come this winter
I'll be crying for the heat
Just remind me of this little poem
And I'll shut up, and take my seat.
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 7:16 PM UTC
We climbed from bedrock
to Idyllwild the home
of Pines to Palms
and Suicide Rocks
but not for us
only for those
poor tired souls
for whom the world's gone
flat
refusing
the night threw
itself boldly into the fray
of winds which blew
from storm to calm
so this morning we awoke
to a placid knap
slipping on snowy piste
to turn cold snaps
hot
spiced Nepali tea
sipped from ice
nipped cups
I see promise
picks up
from backward leaps
time forward flips
breaking free range igneous
into pan
piped sizzling
congenial song
that carries on the tree line
like spring
water sprung from
creeks to go scurrying off
with wet socks
until pulled up
by old school granite skies
hanging pools out to dry
in sopping blue rinsed sun
ahead any bald rocks
or hairline fractures
are long since dialled in
as baseless fears
knowing this mobile age
can merrily slip like air
through numb fingers
while baseline hands declare
“hold me close to gather”
edelweiss echoes gone
rappelling through time
the route we've chosen's
to be tied to each other's
peaks in the way of sun
and moon
come what may
be it creases in our skin
or crevasses
we'll win the battle to slim line
any overhanging ridges
so I take care to tighten
my girth hitch to top notch
and hold firmly
to both your conviction
and reach
that setting
out to move mountains
we call home
achieves more than
staying home
and calling mountains
so bright
you have me forget
all things too trite
banal office hype
shopworn old hat
mowing lawn weekends
too dishy to be clichéd
you polish off the stereotype
slam the Dior on out of shape
and dull as ditchwater tripe
keeping a victorious secret
or two in the slip knot
too tranquil shade
taking allure to new heights
we'll never drop
down from
tonight
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 11:03 AM UTC
The sunset glistens through the trees,
The forest floor is covered with pine needles and leaves,
The trees in the breezes creak and moan;
I love coming here alone.
Everlasting ferns at my feet,
A pile of rocky boulders make a beautiful seat,
When I come here I think of days of long ago;
And about creeks that bubble and flow.
~Marian~
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
Across the ocean, you meant nothing to me.
You were a destination, a photograph, a wish.
You plagued my winter woes with your heatwaves,
jumping into creeks in your underwear while I wrapped myself in another blanket, cold Canadian ice princess.
You slept under stars in close contact with beautiful nature, beautiful life, beautiful people, while I stared at them, upside down, from my window.
And then the big dipper dumped you into my lap, head on my chest so you could feel my heart beat and I could tangle my fingers in your hair.
Photographs aren't supposed to come to life.
Beautiful smiles and messy blonde hair are for fantasies and dreaming and rainy days, and not for my bed or my guitar or my lips
But there you were.
For two weeks I thought and rethought and plagued my heart with goodbye is coming. He will fly away from me. We are not birds meant to be caged
We are wanderers, nomads, free-spirits who need no tying down or tying knots,
And I want to tie myself to your bed post with barbed wire because it hurts that much to leave you anyway.
But you leave me.
And there you weren't.
There you weren't as I made up my mind that it's okay to love a nomad, as long as you're one too.
And it's okay to love a bird of flight, just build yourself some wings and follow
But I was mistaken, I was wrong and I was three steps behind you.
Because when you said "I'll see you later" you didn't mean later
You meant get out.
And I still don't know if you're scared or if you just don't want me,
You don't ******* want me.
High as the plane that brought you here to leave me, I stand lace clad, smoke screened and alone.
High enough to feel my lungs contracting with each breath that made my tongue taste less and less like yours,
High enough to feel my knees click where you held them once,
One time,
Because that was all it took.
I couldn't get high enough to stop retracing the lines that your fingers made up and down my sides as you felt the curve of my body for the first time.
My limbs were barren, cold, antarctic as you left them when you took your warm, summer hand away.
So I turned the shower up all the way, until it burned enough to feel like I was boiling my skin, baptizing your sinful touch off of my innocent body.
I burned my arms and legs until they cracked.
They cracked from dryness, even after I wet them with my tears,
And my first,
fourth,
tenth glass of wine.
And I threw the bottle against my bedroom door.
Watched it smash,
Wished it was me.
I'll clean it up later.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 11:52 PM UTC
i took your **** and ran with it,
went miles into distance while you constantly clinged to the past
girl I'm tired of it.
How am I suppose to get in if he still has the original and I was givin the spare key,
I'm me and no where near him reason why you always keep runnin back lookin for a safe haven, but in reality sorry that ******** I ain't takin ,
must be mistaken,
I'm havin you second all the time I made you first,
like an unwelcomed tenet,
or low rank lieutenant,
I'm undermined, while hes underlined,
made into a bold figure,
but I stack real figures,
and don't make you feel bitter like this *****
Just don't mention why you quiver , I know the reason why you internally bleedin , stress in ya eyes swollen from the cries in the night, it ain't right.
but yet you fall back to him , then call me later? I gave you my words, last time was the last. So to bad if it didn't last, and both ends of the ties leave you to grieve and gravel on the gravel , yeah sit there and babble , yeah I ponder the river creeks for years
now im off the love boat, I skidattled , faught the more fishes in the sea with broken paddle promise not to commit unless it was suicide or a contract with a person I don't trust after marriage and can't truly settle with.
so the others who wanted me are shunned, and you ? Is of no concern to my conscience , my once brown poccahauntus who haunted
my nights , and Asian moon cake who left with the wrong shake wen I coulda move mountain cause I was the real earthquake to shake the floor beneath you and let you see the plummit to a deeper meaning. Thank for leavin.
Asmathic or not,
I remain breathing.
by Emmanuel Hernandez
aka
Linguist Musician aka Deep thought
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 6:31 AM UTC
Mock-orange flowers
With stem and leaf
Of jade, moss green
Spring to life
Through cracks in stone
Silver and white
With Strawberry Fall's water
Filling its thirst.
Creeks of white foam flowing
Down steep falls and flat stones
The Earth's ****** curves
Sun-catching heat waves
Making the surface hot
Enough that would dry the skin fast.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 2:52 AM UTC
Every weekend at summer camp the
Memories of the midnight walks we made,
The rushing of the silvery creeks
As well as the daily art and games,
Entertainment as well as molding clay,
The mountainside at night gave good
Presence, the moon offering her halo,
With the memory of endless essence so,
During this time of adventurous fun,
A story telling we campers would all go.
Her raspy voice, I can remember well,
Those cute sparkly playful brown eyes,
We walked side by side, she told me that
The truth was being denied, she was a
Girl in disguise, how I dream of her
In Garnet, Alexandrite. That feeling of total trust,
Now I will probably never be close to
Anyone I love again, already grown old,
To old to ever dream, but what a dream,
A lovely bliss to know that she was my friend.
One day, when the time is right, we'll find it,
This feeling again, of wild spirited joy, campfires,
Of following the forest path, now innocence lost,
A time that is long-gone and past, and if it
Never happens again, the darkness of night
With quiet whispering, story time moon light,
I will never forget her, never will I forget that
Beautiful freckled face, those beady eyes,
No, never forget you, not for all time.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 6:43 PM UTC
She sits on the bow and dangles her feet
A rigid, cloaked figure looms on the stern
She runs her hands across the skeletal vessel
Thick mist twists and slivers past her cheek
A coin-filled cage hangs off the Ferryman's arm
as he pulls an ore through the ominous glow
A rusty lantern rocks and steadily creeks
Bright green flames lick the Ferryman's robe
Into the void, into the churning ink
He gently rows across the river of woe
where no one hears her scream
May 22, 2021
May 22, 2021 at 11:28 PM UTC
with veins like creeks
and a heart that lays on a deserted island
where a voice calls like a mother calls her child
only this mother despises her child like poison
I swim in a lake of thoughts
disappear in the fog
I am drowning
dying
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 4:04 PM UTC
Welcome Back To This, Your Isle
The rabbits beneath the deck,
Even the pesky deer who eat the shrubbery,
Sea creatures, living and spirits of the dead,
Lying on the paths and in the creeks of Silver Beach,
All inquire:
Was it better wherever you went?
Were the:
Bears, hiding in the forests outside Berlin,
Eagles, double headed, of Russia
Herring, fried, creamed, wined,
From the vendors on the docks of
Helsinki, Riga, Visby and Tallinn,
Salmon, smoked and cured in Stockholm,
More impressive,
Tastier than our striped bass,
Island cohorts of yours, who waited patiently
For their chronicler to return?
Did the Little Mermaid and her Dolphin
Guardians of the Port of Copenhagen
Welcome you more warmly than your friends,
The ospreys, lizards, turtles and owls
Who overwatch your steps and safety
When hiking in Mashomack Preserve?
Are the interlacing tidal creeks,
Woodlands, fields, salt marshes and the ragged,
Irregular but charmed coastline of this cherished island
Any lesser than those of Scandinavia?
Are the sea-going ferries that transverse the
Baltic Sea and the Gulf of Finland,
More poetic than the Menantic or the Lt. Joe,
Who carry you swiftly home to us?
The National Geographic people say that in
Tivoli Gardens, The Amerikaner (ha!) waffle ice cream cone
Is one of the ten best in the world.
Guessing they have not made it yet to the
Tuck Shop for some Moose Tracks!
Were you unaware that our isle settled before
Peter the Great ever envisioned creating the grand
Boulevards of his capitol, St. Petersburg,
Route 114 was a traveled forest path,
By settlers and Indians, not serfs.
Of the Treasures, the Gold Room of the Hermitage,
The Amber Room of Catherine's Palace,
Wrote not a single word, we observe.
Your attentions, they did not deserve?
The answers all, self evident.
Here, surrounded by the gentle breezes of
Long Island Sound and Gardiners Bay,
Sweet and salty flavors of the Peconic atmosphere,
Words unlocked, from your eyes to the page fall,
Smudged by joyous tears, for the muses of the island
Have embraced you yet again and rebirthed
Inspiration, within their comforting, sheltering grasp.
Silver Beach
July 22, 2012
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
Mountains
Freshwater creeks
Coach Lambert
Dry Prong
Basketball bus rides
Old Music
Latch Disclosure
Orca whales
Spirit
Openly gay couples
Church songs
Windy plains
Grinding at school dances
Four wheelers
Mr Rodriguez
Cold weather
Snow skiing
Christmas
Fir trees
Canada
Planet Earth Movies
Fizzy Feelings
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
If I ever had a pedal harp
You'd be the first
I'd play it to
You'd be the first
To hear me pluck
My harp strings
May your heart strings
Play the finest melody ever
And may your life always be
The most surreal orchestra
I hope you don't leave here
May the Fairies dry your tears
And wipe your pretty blue eyes
If I ever had a viola or a violin
You would be the first to hear it
And I would teach you how to play it too
But since I don't have those instruments
All I can play for you is the piano
And I admit, I am not that good at it
If I ever wished a million wishes
And all of them came true
I would share them all with you
You are the world's greatest Dad
And I love you
And so does God and all of His Angels and Fairies
I hope you awaken to bluebells kissed with dew
And fields full of blooming flowers
And red crimson sunsets
Overlooking the beautiful ocean
That I talk about in my poems
Surrounded by palm trees
And gritty sand
And sandy seashells
Breezes tasting like coconuts and salt
I hope you awaken to sunrays
Glistening on the forest floor
And shining across that sequestered path
Take my hand and walk with me
And I'll wish you the sweetest of dreams
Dancing ferns, and lacy-green palms
Waltzing Fairies, and flying birds
Adorable Flamingoes
Mossy islands
And beautiful waterfalls
Bubbling creeks
And tall, tall mountains
Like the finest patchwork quilt
Singing rills
Sparkling snowflakes
And beautiful ocean treasures
All of it I'd wish in your dreams
The song of the pedal harp lulling you to sleep
Along with the majestic songs of the double bass
I love you, Dad and always will
~Marian~
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 9:24 PM UTC