"grassy" poems
Come spring, she leaped across the grassy dune,
Beaming with sheer joy as she hummed a halcyon tune.
Her beauteous almond eyes- the biggest, the brightest.
A bonnie spotted doe in her warm, homely forest
Come summer, by her gushing little lake she played.
When upon a solitary, pensive buck her eyes she laid.
Eyes met across the smiling lake; too soon gazes parted.
While his eyes curiously lingered, hers wandered on ahead.
Come monsoon, he adored her eyes, her gilded coat, her bushy tail.
The passionate warmth in her eyes with affection made him frail.
Yet, she went on with her blissful life- devoid of any care.
Oblivious of the buck who always stopped to stare.
Come winter, by his side chattering happily she grazed.
Soon, his feelings faded; by almond eyes no longer crazed.
Like currents in the water, apart they drifted and drifted.
New lake. Nonchalant silence. No words were said.
Come fall, she found that he still leaped through her mind.
The emotion she once scoffed in her heart now enshrined.
Eyes met across the smiling lake; too soon gazes parted.
While her dull eyes wistfully lingered, his wandered on ahead.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
(Part 1: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/738250/almond-eyes/)
Come spring, she leaped across the grassy dune.
In her ageing almond eyes, fresh wisdom strewn.
Unthought of now- he who had once been her all.
In a forbidden forest, a smiling lean buck stood tall.
Come summer, standing afar she did quietly spy;
Studying his ways from the curious corner of her eye-
How chilled he liked his water, how green his grass…
A polite little nod if ever he happened to pass.
Come monsoon, away she cast the lessons of the past.
Throughout their graze, on him her gaze.
Playful fights they feign; adorable moments in the rain.
She’d fallen tame; her clumsy hooves not to blame.
Come winter, cold truths in the icy winds blew her way.
Her lean, smiling buck wasn’t really hers per se.
He smiled much the same at myriad doe and antelope,
Yet, in her shivering heart flickered the scantiest of hope.
Come fall, she finally forsake her futile trail.
Turned her back with a swish of her bushy tail.
Beaming with sheer joy, she hummed a halcyon tune twice over.
For bucks would come and bucks would go, but the river’d go on forever.
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
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The evening breeze sings the forgotten songs
Of ghosts of nymphs 'tween silver birches there.
And beams of moonlight fall on grassy lawns:
A pearly cloak e'erywhere the eye sees fair.
So many gentle dawns took care to kiss
Along the flowered, verdant forest floor.
In this blessed land so filled with matchless bliss,
Upon golden and rose-pink blossoms which it wore.
Every visitor that stumbles here
Stops to see the flowers near,
And stoops to pick some strawberries
In the meadows, for their families.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC
Set the alarm
Lock the doors
Lock the windows
Lock the shutters
Find the cricket bat – “put it by your bed”
Say goodnight to mom and dad
Although young, not naïve
I knew every night had the possibility of being my last
A routine that is now muscle memory.
Fear –
You may think
But life –
Normal for me.
Wake up
Turn off the alarm
Unlock the doors
Open the windows
Open the shutters
Put the cricket bat in the cupboard
Never being able to be left alone at home. Unwillingly dragged from store to store.
But – that’s the thing –
People don’t know the real Her,
They know the exquisite scenery, the unforgettable wildlife
They don’t know… But I do.
Because She is my home
Because being in constant fear for my life –
is normal.
Confused –
What do I tell people about Mother when they ask?
The person who raised me, taught me how to be grateful, how to ride a bike, how to love.
Do I tell them? Will I scare them?
Although hidden beneath the tyranny – I would say –
the bloodshed
the faces of malnourished children left for dead on the side of the road the poverty struck soil the corruption the greed the hunger the death the separation of class and race
Although a place feared –
Africa.
My Africa –
Whose sunshine you feel ignited in your soul
My Africa –
Whose smile is irresistibly contagious
My Africa –
Whose heart lies in the grassy terrain
The golden dunes of sand
The never-ending mountain tops
My Africa –
Who is the heart of various people
cultures
languages
All who call Her home.
She is –
Where my heart lies even if I am thousands of miles away
Where my mind wanders from day to day.
Her air, instantly calls you
Her smell, instantly smelt
Welcoming you ever so dearly –
Home.
Like all good mothers,
She is the one who can handle both the tranquil and turmoil,
the love and war.
She is my home. She is who I fear of disappointing.
My Africa –
is beautiful.
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 8:44 AM UTC
We first sexed in a tumbling, fumbling manner;
The time had come, it seemed to us,
To consummate our ****** lust.
The Valley was shakin' to The Rocks,
A popular Irish band;
We'd had our fill,
I sparked the engine,
And parked my bike on Techumseh Hill.
The summit was dew damp;
We spread wide our pants,
Not knowing who should go for whom,
So we relented to the crescent moon;
I acquiesced to the shooting stars
When my eyes
Diverse moons have filled my nights,
Long since the grassy knoll,
Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 8:31 AM UTC
A single raindrop falls from the sky,
depressed in its loneliness as it descends.
It lands and drips down a grassy slope,
alone and forgotten.
A single raindrop falls from the sky.
It falls from dark clouds and gloomy air.
It brings nothing but sadness to the earth below
and desires only to be heard or seen.
A single raindrop falls from the sky,
felt only by a stranger.
It's wiped away, declared a nuisance,
and cast away from existence.
A single raindrop falls from the sky,
mistaken for a tear.
Thought to be from an angel of a lost age.
It merely stirs the dust.
A hundred raindrops fall from the sky,
all lonely but together.
They cause a splash and demand attention.
Still only felt by one.
A hundred raindrops fall from the sky,
unable to quench the earth's thirst.
They disappear, taken by the ground,
embraced for the last time.
A hundred raindrops fall from the sky.
Not a head turns to notice them.
They cry out loudly but cannot be heard,
vanishing as they land.
A thousand raindrops fall from the sky.
The clouds gather to watch the spectacle.
They grow darker as they bunch together,
warning those below of the coming.
A thousand raindrops fall from the sky
and tap people on the shoulder.
"Come watch us," they whisper before leaving.
Few people are left behind.
A thousand raindrops fall from the sky,
looking for an audience.
The people have left and taken their friends
to hide in the buildings they made.
A million raindrops fall from the sky,
and joyously, they sing.
They hit the ground, the cars, the roofs,
and make music for those in hiding.
A million raindrops fall from the sky.
They dance and cheer and smile.
The sun decides it wants to watch.
The light dances with raindrops for awhile.
A million raindrops fall from the sky,
accompanied by rays of gold.
They bring new color to the city of gray
and rejuvenate all of the old.
A gentle rain falls from the sky
and makes art upon the ground.
It quenches the earth's thirst and hums in our ears,
dancing to its own sound.
A gentle rain falls from the sky.
People watch with awe from behind glass.
Ignored by many, precious to captivated few.
They long for it to last.
A gentle rain falls from the sky
and gracefully sways in the breeze.
It brings forth calmness and a sense of peace.
It blesses the green fields and trees.
A gentle rain falls from the sky,
watched by a child with wonder.
It sends the breeze to lift the child
and brings them out from under.
A gentle rain falls from the sky
and splashes on window panes.
It plays with the child and hums sweet tunes
as it makes puddles in the traffic lanes.
A gentle rain falls from the sky
and ripples in the water.
A new world created, impossibly calm.
It makes the child an offer.
A gentle rain falls from the sky
and whispers in the child's ear.
"Wait for me. I will return.
I won't leave you alone here."
A gentle rain falls from the sky
and sings goodbye to the child.
The clouds dissipate as the sun takes over.
The departing rain simply smiles.
A million raindrops fall from the sky,
murmuring farewells and goodbyes.
Each gives the child a tender hug
as the color returns to the skies.
A thousand raindrops fall from the sky,
then a hundred, then one.
The single raindrop kisses the child
standing alone in the sun.
No longer do raindrops fall from the sky,
but a child waits for them.
To dance and sing and draw and play,
with the gentle rain again.
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 4:07 PM UTC
With a body wrapped in a crimson dress, she bears a violent temper.
Shining daylight, raging bewitching, captivating cunning.
You arrive with starry eyes and cheeks flushed like a ******
In her curly hair, autumn curtains hang—roaming rays hot.
She glows in the night like a pictorial wall with hieroglyphics concealing madness.
You step elegantly, but you're a dangerously stealthy predator.
Grassy hills in floating flames burn beneath a voluminous haze.
Her look describes fabulous waterfalls, endlessly flowing and shining in the coming dawn. You associate with robbers and kings, but they do not understand, and no one will save you.
Lovely eyes sprinkle enchanting rays, her lips intertwined like a rose petal.
Her heart enticingly calls with her fruit to be drunk.
You hide in the nightlife, dress up, and do your love magic.
Neck fashioned in autumnal garments, wearing scarlet ruby earrings.
Her pink skin smells of perfume, inviting like a grape on a vine.
You invite visitors with your charm to carelessness, forever forced.
Her lips are flowing bewitching rivers—intersecting strokes of crimson. They bring a dream to taste her deep soils and her artfully carved forms.
You are determined to captivate without marrying— you stay lost in rebellion.
Sep 25, 2023
Sep 25, 2023 at 6:19 AM UTC
I'll walk you through the rain..
Hold your hand in the lightning..
We will clap our hands as the air cools from the passing lightning,
THUNDERCLAP rumble on through..
Come play with me in the puddles brother..
Lets make a bottlecap boat with a sailor ant and watch it float on through the grassy ant lake..
Lets watch the rain moths fly on through after a good storm.. where do they go? into the dreams of the ones who are sleeping now..
Smell the atmoshere, smell the rain.. Watch as the day becomes filled with orange and sad gray..
Sure its muddy, and a bit cold.. and of course we are not wearing shoes.. But we are having an adventure, there is no time for such nonsense.. Only magic u and i create.. together brother, always together..
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 12:02 PM UTC
The past
It's always on my mind
The grassy backyard I grew up in
This and that-memories of
Halloween, rabbits, fall, you.
All the things that pass in time.
I pick up this notion that
One may recall what happened to
Them when they were a young kid.
The balloons touching the ceiling of
My pre-school, the quiet time when
We supposedly slept but never did.
Like the color yellow, how I loved it,
The '89 earthquake, being shocked by it.
Songs in Kindergarten. Art, pictures, music.
Summer camp, exploring the wild, love, light,
And wind. I remember my brother
And I playing tag as the sun went
Down in the first house I moved in.
Running along the fields in the day,
Swimming, or memories of the
Tumbleweeds performance,
Being In the play.
All of the times I would always
Watch the sun on the swing as it rose
In the morning. I remember the vast
Wheat fields, a sense of calm quiet,
As if there were no place more peaceful.
Climbing my favorite pine tree in my back yard.
But one thing I remember more than ever
Was being on a field of my own.
The sky is filled with clouds always
Floating off like they
Were from an endless world of tranquility,
This warm sun, this was and-I forever remember
It to be-my one true home.
But that is another story...
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 5:42 AM UTC
Visiting a friend on his Quarter
Horse farm, the day sunny and warm.
We walked out to his brood mare
pasture, the ladies were running,
awaiting and sunning, anticipation
in the air and their nervous behavior.
Noble his name, consistency his game,
a reliable aging stallion, sire to many
fine sons and daughters, years of proven
pairings, came halter led and prancing.
He had their scent and his spirit awakened,
the three ladies believed to be in season began
to snigger and whinny, their excitement growing
as the stallion entered their grassy domain,
the dance was about to commence.
The handler led the big fella' forward,
both sides began their quizzical inspections.
one young filly more aggressively willing
than the others. Noble excitedly returned
her heightened interest.
Within a few minutes Noble began to rear up,
he knew his job, his august appendage extended,
trying several times to mount his mate intended,
adrenaline pumping his back legs began to shake,
on his fourth failed attempt the eager proven
suitor fell to the ground, rolled over, paused for
a moment and struggled to stand on unsteady legs.
Appearing even somewhat embarrassed.
The mare moved aside, kicked her hind legs in
the stallion's direction, whinnied loudly and
ran away. Rejected the old stallion stood looking
perplexed, failure was something unknown to him.
His spirit was willing but his aging body was weak.
The old stud slowly returned to the barn, his head
hung low, no longer prancing.
For every time and being there is a season, aging
is part of the cycle, like this stallion, we all reach
this moment of understanding. Sometimes gracefully,
most times with stunned disbelief.
From Noble to nothing in one afternoon.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
By walking between certain trees,
Sometimes, one has an odd feeling,
An unusual tingling sensation,
Not scary, but mostly appealing.
Katalyn passed between two elms,
And entered into ancient realms.
Excitement prickled Katalyn’s skin,
Trees here were wide and tall,
Then from a sun-splashed clearing,
There came a strange animal call.
Creeping closely; peering round a tree,
Katalyn saw unicorns, roaming free.
Approaching slowly, heart beating fast,
Katalyn could not help but smile,
As the unicorns gathered round,
What grace, such poise, cool style.
Not thinking, Katalyn touched a wing,
There came a whoosh . . . so dizzying.
Without knowing, how or why,
Katalyn soared above the trees,
Holding a slender unicorn neck,
Laughter escaping on the breeze.
They dropped into a sudden glide,
With a thrilling rush: what a ride!
They winged across grassy plains,
Between mountains capped with snow,
Katalyn neither knew nor recognised,
The wild land, passing by, below.
Another world; another dimension,
Kept secret by; magical intention.
Then Katalyn was suddenly walking,
Back where the adventure began,
Passing between two old elms,
Returned to the world of man.
Now feeling as happy, as you please,
Knowing unicorns lived, beyond the trees.
© Paul M Chafer 2014
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 9:01 AM UTC
At Ellis Lake, an overcast Sunday afternoon.
A lake divided into two, oddly shaped bowls in the middle of the city, surrounded by a constant stream of birds, wind, and traffic.
A spotless white swan cleaning herself on a grassy knoll, ferretting out whatever filth lurked deep within her feathers, then smoothly sweeping her sideways bent head across her back, as if to remember the long forgotten affectionate touch of an absent lover.
A gaggle of four grey geese combing the lawn for food, waddling in unison side-by-side.
A line of five mallards barreling down the hill into the water.
A multilateral crescent of black and white pigeons receiving harsh dictation from a trio of angry snow geese strutting before them.
A red-faced duck slowly approaching in the quiet expectation of food, then the arrogant acceptance of the lack thereof.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC
Heaven and Hell,
I taste when i'm with you.
Heart as cold as ice,
yet warm like the grassy fields of the spring meadows.
You were the hurricane, chaotic and unforgiving.
But with every storm, lies a rainbow radiating every inch of beauty within.
Your mind beautifully balanced,
a mysterious blend of dark and cheery.
Your existence, like the gleaming rays of the sunrise.
Bringing new hope after a dark and cold night.
You are the bitter sweet of life.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 12:25 PM UTC
Hush, lullay.
Your treasures all
Encrust with rust,
Your trinket pleasures fall
To dust.
Beneath the sapphire arch,
Upon the grassy floor,
Is nothing more
To hold,
And play is over-old.
Your eyes
In sleepy fever gleam,
Their lids droop
To their dream.
You wander late alone,
The flesh frets on the bone,
Your love fails in your breast,
Here is the pillow.
Rest.
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Green eyes.
Green, yellowish in
the center.
Sunflowers in
the center, and
white skin and
freckles and
everything else is
red
Old myths dying under
the new sun
rising, spilling over
grassy fields dotted
with poppies
The day is unspoiled.
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 7:04 PM UTC
It was a hundred years ago,
When, by the woodland ways,
The traveller saw the wild deer drink,
Or crop the birchen sprays.
Beneath a hill, whose rocky side
O'erbrowed a grassy mead,
And fenced a cottage from the wind,
A deer was wont to feed.
She only came when on the cliffs
The evening moonlight lay,
And no man knew the secret haunts
In which she walked by day.
White were her feet, her forehead showed
A spot of silvery white,
That seemed to glimmer like a star
In autumn's hazy night.
And here, when sang the whippoorwill,
She cropped the sprouting leaves,
And here her rustling steps were heard
On still October eves.
But when the broad midsummer moon
Rose o'er that grassy lawn,
Beside the silver-footed deer
There grazed a spotted fawn.
The cottage dame forbade her son
To aim the rifle here;
"It were a sin," she said, "to harm
Or fright that friendly deer.
"This spot has been my pleasant home
Ten peaceful years and more;
And ever, when the moonlight shines,
She feeds before our door.
"The red men say that here she walked
A thousand moons ago;
They never raise the war-whoop here,
And never twang the bow.
"I love to watch her as she feeds,
And think that all is well
While such a gentle creature haunts
The place in which we dwell."
The youth obeyed, and sought for game
In forests far away,
Where, deep in silence and in moss,
The ancient woodland lay.
But once, in autumn's golden time,
He ranged the wild in vain,
Nor roused the pheasant nor the deer,
And wandered home again.
The crescent moon and crimson eve
Shone with a mingling light;
The deer, upon the grassy mead,
Was feeding full in sight.
He raised the rifle to his eye,
And from the cliffs around
A sudden echo, shrill and sharp,
Gave back its deadly sound.
Away into the neighbouring wood
The startled creature flew,
And crimson drops at morning lay
Amid the glimmering dew.
Next evening shone the waxing moon
As sweetly as before;
The deer upon the grassy mead
Was seen again no more.
But ere that crescent moon was old,
By night the red men came,
And burnt the cottage to the ground,
And slew the youth and dame.
Now woods have overgrown the mead,
And hid the cliffs from sight;
There shrieks the hovering hawk at noon,
And prowls the fox at night.
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She calmly unlocks the front door
as the wind flings the screen
through wild tantrums. She droops down
into her dusted rocker, pushing
with her lavender heels to start the sway.
Her sole taps softly,
as the chair creaks onto fallen lacquer
and the porch plays in discord
through dancing lace.
Interwoven hands lie atop her lap
in a sea of navy with floral ships
at its surface. Silver strands
fall from her clouded bun
and a few locks float past her sunken shoulders.
With jaded eyes she looks at the corner
to a poor table, where a cold candle
peaks among a grassy field of melted wax
riddled with burnt fuses.
And near the candle, a dusted white hat
remains anchored to the wooden surface.
She can still smell the stale cigar smoke
lingering in the room. “He’ll be here soon,”
she thinks as her daze slowly sets in.
The world seems quiet
as she fills her eyes with sleep
and the chair continues its march.
Her hands unlock from their grasp
and the screen door gently knocks.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC
Broken headstones speckle
the even sea
of your grassy hill
Panorama of your crest
hugged by blue sky
Among the memorials
long since uninhabited
the residents
returned to the earth
My thoughts are seeds
and your soil is fertile
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
Would you walk with me into the pumpkin patch?
Lost among the grassy meadow
Would you dance around the scarecrow?
Staring at the smoking cauldron
Do you see the spirits flying over our heads?
Now its time for us to call them
In the waning years of the third era of time reel master was right to discipline us. We are foolish, your life ends here
Do you know why I brought you here with me tonight?
You are the one I chose to join me in my walk of sorrow
All the children walk with me into the darkness
Everyone is holding candles, lets begin the ceremony
I can hear those angels crying so I hold you close to me
Then I grab you by the neck and start to squeeze the life out of you
And then your body dies and your soul floats away
And then I say
Welcome to my pumpkin dream
(chorus)
Would you walk with me into the pumpkin patch?
Lost among the grassy meadow
Would you dance around the scarecrow?
Staring at the smoking cauldron
Do you see the spirits flying over our heads?
Now its time for us to call them
All the children walk with me into the darkness
Everyone is holding candles, lets begin the ceremony
I can hear those angels crying so I hold you close to me
Then I grab you by the neck and start to squeeze the life out of you
Death is upon you
(chorus)
Would you walk with me into the pumpkin patch?
Lost among the grassy meadow
Would you dance around the scarecrow?
Staring at the smoking cauldron
Do you see the spirits flying over our heads?
Now its time for us to call them
Welcome to my pumpkin dream
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 1:49 AM UTC
Ay, this is freedom!--these pure skies
Were never stained with village smoke:
The fragrant wind, that through them flies,
Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroke.
Here, with my rifle and my steed,
And her who left the world for me,
I plant me, where the red deer feed
In the green desert--and am free.
For here the fair savannas know
No barriers in the bloomy grass;
Wherever breeze of heaven may blow,
Or beam of heaven may glance, I pass.
In pastures, measureless as air,
The bison is my noble game;
The bounding elk, whose antlers tear
The branches, falls before my aim.
Mine are the river-fowl that scream
From the long stripe of waving sedge;
The bear that marks my weapon's gleam,
Hides vainly in the forest's edge;
In vain the she-wolf stands at bay;
The brinded catamount, that lies
High in the boughs to watch his prey,
Even in the act of springing, dies.
With what free growth the elm and plane
Fling their huge arms across my way,
Gray, old, and cumbered with a train
Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray!
Free stray the lucid streams, and find
No taint in these fresh lawns and shades;
Free spring the flowers that scent the wind
Where never scythe has swept the glades.
Alone the Fire, when frost-winds sere
The heavy herbage of the ground,
Gathers his annual harvest here,
With roaring like the battle's sound,
And hurrying flames that sweep the plain,
And smoke-streams gushing up the sky:
I meet the flames with flames again,
And at my door they cower and die.
Here, from dim woods, the aged past
Speaks solemnly; and I behold
The boundless future in the vast
And lonely river, seaward rolled.
Who feeds its founts with rain and dew;
Who moves, I ask, its gliding mass,
And trains the bordering vines, whose blue
Bright clusters tempt me as I pass?
Broad are these streams--my steed obeys,
Plunges, and bears me through the tide.
Wide are these woods--I thread the maze
Of giant stems, nor ask a guide.
I hunt till day's last glimmer dies
O'er woody vale and grassy height;
And kind the voice and glad the eyes
That welcome my return at night.
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I come from haunts of coot and hern;
I make a sudden sally;
I sparkle out among the fern
To bicker down a valley.
By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.
At last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.
I chatter over stony ways
In sharps and trebles;
I bubble into eddying bay;
I babble on the pebbles.
I chatter, chatter as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.
I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a ***** trout,
And here and there a grayling.
And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel
With many a silvery waterbreak
Above the golden gravel,
And draw them all along, and flow
To joing the brimming river;
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.
I steal by lawns and grassy plots;
I slide by hazel covers;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.
I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance
Among my skimming swallows;
I make the netted sunbeams dance
Against my sandy shallows.
I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars;
I loiter round my cresses;
And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river;
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.
~Alfred Tennyson 1809-1892~
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 9:24 AM UTC
I want to tell her
But i can't.
I watch the spring rain fall.
A gentle tapping,
Sort of rapping
On the window's pane.
I focus on the sound until it fades.
I close my eyes and remember the day,
The scene is painted in a greyscale haze.
There stands you
Across the room
Enveloped in blue.
Your favorite colour.
It's late on that late winter's night,
And we're with our group.
If I said I knew who was there
I would be lying
Because it was you I was eyeing.
I'll skip the cliches, like
Butterflies
Or, better yet,
"Love at first sight"
Be as they may,
They all came true that night.
A casual glance became
A gaze became
A smile.
Once,
Twice,
Thrice,
Then Five,
We held it for a while.
I take a drink and pause the haze.
Minutes become hours that drag on for miles
We found ourselves in that grassy field
Dotted with trees,
And rabbits,
And owls.
A hot summer day-
The south suffers waves.
Hand in hand we make our way
Through the trail.
We fall behind our friends,
There's something I have to tell.
I stumble and fumble
Through letters to string,
I can't think of what to say.
And you say it's okay.
I smile and hold you close,
A mixed sense of pleasure morose.
Your lips touch mine,
And my heart explodes.
I can't believe we let each other go
We became 'twixt,
Ivy to our bones.
Again
Time lapses
There I am standing
There you are
Hanging
On him.
My rage demanding
His end.
But you come between
Deny instead.
Say I'm not right in the head,
Well, baby,
Love killed me dead.
I turn to walk away
And in turn you turn to
Return to he
Who shook your leaves.
So we've parted ways
And all was well
Until recently.
When I examined
A mural
And saw I missed a shard.
A blue tile
The final part
To my stain-glassed heart.
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC