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blkorchid May 2018
as I run along freely
in the meadows of sorrow
grown with sweet misery
as the moonlight
surpasses the sun
and i wait for the return
of the morning
i sit by the lake
of forgotten wishes
while the dragonflies
shine brightly along
with the moonlight
as the lily pads
glide along across
the lake
as I catch the breaths I take
while the sounds of quiet
calm my mind soothingly
i recall the scenes
of my dreams
haunted fantasies
of you reappear
and then i vanish
and eventually
disappear
© rainbows and sunshine 2018
Sara Kellie Sep 2018
Starting with coverage from BBC2.

Brushing calm shadows into
pastel hills.
A rhythm paints terrain a
sugary brown.
Flicks of green create
fauliage serene.
The clean tasteless air is
cotton soft.
A effortless stream runs
cobalt clear.
Where salmon gymnastics begin
each year.
Squirrels practice dance routines a
glamorous red.
The doormice dressed and ready
for bed.

Continuing coverage on Ch4.

The perch, the tench sat together on an underwater bench.
Discussing bait and hooks whilst flicking through some fishing books.
What's he eating? Mr Mole,
it looks like cheese and ham
on a soft brown roll.
There's a chicken and a fox that
live round here.
Seriously, they've been dating each other for about a year.
Now, if you take the next left,
then over the stye.
There's a duck lives there and he's got a glass eye.

Poetry by Kaydee.
Poetry by Kaydee present what is believed to be a creative first.
One story, one habitat, one poem giving you the viewer, two different narratives.
Now here's another twist because instead of you, the reader, reading a poem in the traditional way. We handed our work straight to two television broadcasters and they have each made a program exactly as they wanted with no constraints.
Showcasing two well known broadcasters with polar opposite styles.
Poetry by Kaydee presents to you 'The Meadow'. We take up the story with BBC2 before switching over to CH4.
Will you notice a change of style as we go from the 'high brow' production of the BBC to a more laid back, social media type of production from Channel 4.
CK Baker Oct 2017
dust cloud heavy
in an apricot sky
cottonwood mucker
under ambrose pale
whippet and shepherd
mill at the earth patch
yellow birch hangs
over red bench park

combine shavings
in ***** rust brown
scissors chips
fall to the back stop
whiskey jack looters
sing patented chords
siblings (and 2 wheel enthusiasts)
give thanks

joyous retrievers
master the criss cross
bare maples stand
at settlers way
barred owl and blue jay
whistle the fore-wind
ghosts
and goblins
pull at the seeds

wind gusts belt
over the west gulch
blood rush churns
in a chilling fall morn
hallowed grounds still
at the midday
quiet reflections
of the afghan
and hound

jumpers unite
at the oxbow
route runners bend
(on a sultry foray!)
meadows exposed
in the framework
ball park empty
with pennants past

barrel dirt favors
the brew house
crimson and copper
find bracken ridge gate
harvest hands savor
the honey and hops
blankets of color
for a winter's hatch

brush fire kept
under steady peruse
bark bites fly
and embers glow
pine cones drop
from timber tops
3 wick candles
set the dinner place

shiver and ******
at the piper's call
cob web dew
on shadowy gates
a chilled mist mellows
the season's return;
poets and artists
and dreamers awake
CK Baker May 2017
like that pill bitter Sunday morning (after)
with a nauseating hack
the previously uneventful Tuesday
derailed
in surrealistic tale
with Auntie and Jack (and a quarter of fate)
in the 748
on a night flight
from Sherwood to Lore

reverberating waves
of imminent summer haze
river flats
and flower fields
fly weights
and silver bait
shredders and shysters
and open gates
(into those everlasting
and sweated journeys of hope)

bloods and strays
and florentine grays
(reminiscent of Rockwell fame)
running horses
and overgrown country lanes
morning grace
and gentle cheer
eyes clear
on the river pass
blunted paddles for those ancient
and not so willing suckers!


duke making his own way
(to the corner club)
Parsons and Poe
stream from the torn screen door
cricket cadence
and symphony of the Deere
calm and deliberate
in the soft
and silent fields

meadows open for grazing
(guineas scamper across the till)
pocket apples fill
the country ripe air
drunken bees
and chestnuts
and electric fingers
strike the surface pool
(a cedar ***** wedged on the white wash dock)

baited bull heads set to cast
evenings with hearts
and Nolten Nash
may flowers bloom
across the grass
~ time unmatched ~
with blue jays
and river bends
and channel cats
...and that warm
and recurring
Coleman drift
Steven Oct 2018
What I visioned was warmed steel winds - brilliant soft glow
crystal Autumn light at the center of the heart
the rush of slow rains pulled away from its quartzed source
to let dance a sacred stray
away from the lucent ****
born herself to those turned monuments in our memory
an echo - the innocent born from the energy of a new Spring  -
quenched of a natural thirst
allowing a climb
like ascending fire dust from logs spent in the night -
Electric light.

What I found was that glow
but distant
the Autumn light absent its blare
The innocent echo dulled
because it was the idea that was the love affair -
not Electric - but Citrine light
like deserts  - magnetic to view yet ambitious to live
The quite crescent of ocean
absent the meld of sunned foamed height  - A liquid soar
or beiged meadows
the slightly felled allure of Sycamore.
CA Guilfoyle Feb 2013
Today the sun was not found
only rain upon these meadows.
Thistle grew, poking through
black clouds of nightfall.
Dark wingless bird, shadow of stillness
in the quiet stars, so long ago forgiveness
and will it come, soon the dawn,
a day to breathe deeply lunged
or fly away these days born of green
ancient as a forest?
mari Nov 2018
i am a sunny sky
when you need an
umbrella and i am
the morning frost
when you pray
for summertime
i am the crashing
waves when you
rest in the meadows
i am the moon
to your meteor shower
and maybe i will know you
one more time
jane taylor May 2016
running
deliquescing into nature
i am engulfed in stillness

i encounter a deer as i round a corner
its chestnut eyes intensely sense
something wild within me
transfixed
we meld palpably
whispering our essence

myopic views warp into acute focus
golden flowers stretch and arch
and yawning into the sun
swell with bursts of luster
whilst violets polka dot the path
with lilac luminescence

dead tree trunks
mutating into masterpieces
yearn for new life
drawing in the squirrels

yellow-bellied birds
hover
sensing my motions
whilst woodland winds undulate
pine scented waves of sea salt oceans

my ears enchantingly enhanced
by bristling leaves caressing trees
as scintillating amber butterflies
dance in synch
with the clock tower’s
ancient chiming

a gust of wind
catches a patch of sand
and sends it quivering
fusing high in summer air
then falling soft as feathers

hidden fairies prance about
answering unheard questions
problems dissolve in emerald meadows
without a hint of striving

essays write themselves
upon my mind
poetry flows through me
wings of meadowlarks
trace my face with nuances
interlaced with connotations

rushing home
i write it down
then bowing i take credit
for what was etched upon my soul
by a sunbeam in the forest

©2016janetaylor
zebra Jun 2017
she loved thunder storms most of all
the crackle of white hot bolts ripping through the sky
the shear immensity of power
she always thought it was him
her beloved God
big boy
Thor
with his flowing blond hair
blue aquatic eyes
washboard stomach
and delicately curved *****
finally a man good enough for her
even if he was fly by night

when the heavens thickened gray
like soggy cotton
she could feel atmospheres shift
it made her ******* pert
her mouth would salivate
like a lurid peach
her ***** swelled and dampened
tears of adoration and enchantment
filled her eyes

no longer able to contain her self
she would ***** *****
fling off her *******
and run out to the lush verdant meadows
calling at the top of her lungs
yoooooooooo hooooooooooo

as the cool rain descended
she ran thrilled to the mud between her toes
seeing great claws of white lightening  echo
through the sky

without hesitation
she fell to the cool earth beneath her
wallowing in the delicious sloshing ooze
positioning her self on all fours
head thrown back
*** up high
calling to the heavens
come on, come on big boy
ive been waiting for you
let me have it good
her clitoral lips
drooled with anticipation
her ******
a pulsating aching

the sky rumbled
with stretching streaks of fire
like a great freight train
spanning infinity
while the earth shook like a
hollow moon
she swayed her hips
rhythmically to and fro
whispering a love song

oh sir
i need a man like you
wont you love me
adorations true

i kneel before
my sweet Lord Thor
where's that hammer
come on and score

you are so big
and im so little
how about it God
just a tickle

hit it now
give it to me good
kisses baby
like you only could


tears of desire cascaded
down her pink cheeks
as she recited her love mantra
her mouth ***** wet

suddenly
a great bolt of lightening
shot down from heavens throne
entering her ******
splitting her in flames
her head turned dark mahogany
sent careening fifty yards
leaving her mouth
a yawning twisted smudge
of fossilized obsidian
with eyes
blackened flaring hollows

her tender pink ****
a chard flower
smoldering
like a
petite
grilled
calamari
bulletcookie Aug 2018
Where footling trees do grow
nature, apologies need not know
vistas look back at you with eyes of snow
stones, high meadows, and silver timber knots

purple lupines and fire-**** that blush pink
held firm in gravel hands meet lichened erratics
where mountain's complexion in eon's blink
altered antonym of greens and browns chromatic

Where footling trees do grow
clouds shoot over passes round
to sprinkle, clap showers or to plow flows
marmots don down and burrow to ground

seeds and feathers take to their wing
branches' memories bend to storm's prowl
with constancy of change born on this wind
brutes in caverns and caves utter growls

Where footling trees do grow
a precipice of nascent springs leap
into; pine, spruce, ericaceous woodland below,
to gush as creeks, washout to river's slow keep

dappled light and streaming ray divides
fall forest floor with lulling murmur flutters
there bridge a span in wood knock strides
where clinging moss rolls bread and butter

-cec
Bijan Rabiee Aug 2018
The essence of love
Runs atop pillars of space
Anticipating to transform
The oblivious by-standers
Into inflicters of righteous pain
The pain that will set free
The reins of resistence,
Foreshadowing portals
Of everlasting beattitude.
The songs have all been sung
Yet not one has been able
To surpass the nightingale's
Who spins the sweetest darkness
Without a tinge of temptation.
The rhythms that fall upon thee
Speak eons of platitude
Of pedestrian coronation
Of revelation devised
Where the upshot is
Synchronized syndrom
That eats away the spirit
Like canker.
The flow of love
Is not a smooth ride
Like a luxury car on open road
Love's code is candor
That suffocates without killing
To reveal the lofty window
Toward unearthly meadows.
Nico Julleza Sep 2017
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Scent like its spring
feel like the summer breeze
in the meadows were chartreuse weeds

Sweet Gardenia, dearest one
your petals shine the moonlight
and grace the rays of the sun
a touch of you,
deliquescing as canvas hues
how the world's heart told tales
in visions anew

Of any color you choose to be
white, as resemblance of purity
your scent forge to every desperate nose
a sneeze which bring forth arose
and with all to guarantee
your aroma is no match in any of thee

Oh Gardenia, Sweet Gardenia
vulnerable, gentle and free
sailing the skies above, praising every tree
sigh, as she waltzes with me

But Gardenia, Sweet Gardenia
when will the world stop hating you
grieving in delitescent
burying your every truth
shadows washing, dreams forgetting
soon as winter swept all of you
#Gardenia #Flower #Nature #Death #Life

My Love and Appreciation to Flowers that Inspired Me. Enjoy Dear poets

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
Nico Julleza May 2017
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Sometimes
(Just like these days)

When my heart
sang a placid song
the speaking brooks
meanders my soul
Wild hounds
hovered the meadows
And the sky was blue
ethereal as the billow
strews in shades anew
For Daybreak
is awake

On the fields
of glowing weeds
a subtle flower blooms
through the breeze
And to thee,
it kisses the gentle mist

Oh! what a Morning
Oh! what a day

When trees glistens
from beams
of never ending sun rays
made me so ***
so yes, it can be.

Sometimes
(Just like these days)

Like Diamonds & Gold
upon barren land
and rubies worn
by a maiden’s hand

Oh! what an Evening
Oh! what a way

When monarchs flew
from voluptuous crooks
dodging witches
and evil dukes

Callous, Treacherous
"A Foolish Irony"
might I say
but yes, it can be.

Sometimes
(Just like these days)
"The poem tells about how a person can have such uncanny days,
still even though how hard or easy it would be. Its Just like those days we would agree".

Inspired of Wild Child by Enya

#Days #Nature #Life #Love #Pain #Joy
(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
Lynnia Dec 2018
Blazing life sets my soul on fire
All white clouds and green meadows
I can’t help but stare now
I haven’t a care now
And darling, we can breathe, finally
Set myself lose, run me dizzy
Let me live and let me die
Here I stay, forget me not
While I grasp tightly to this sweet lie.
Mary Gay Kearns Sep 2018
Every morning she went out for a walk
To find where the fallow meadows swept
And one bright clover peeped its head
In the foliage of wild leaf and green grass.

This part of the day was the beginning of joy
As far as she could look back and see her way
The lovely land dew wet on the leather shoes
And little Alfie to remember passing his way.

Love Mary ***
This poem was inspired by my dear friend Pam’s morning walks
And thé photos she shared with me .
Little Alfie was her baby grandson who died at two hours old and
Some of the walk take her past his little headstone

Love Mary ***
Arianna Feb 11
Errant* hands,
But no error do they make,
Nor falter in their steps

Traveling west
          Across the blooming meadows
          Of roses brightening your cheek;

Tracing east
          Through the dark curtains of
          Of moss curling soft over your face;

Wandering south
          Across the steady terrain of your heart
          And the waterfall trails skipping gracefully down the lines of your form;

And striding north,
North
          To your raven-eyed crown,
          Where I see You, twinkling
          In the stars chosen from heaven
          To light up your eyes.
* = "Errant" here is used in the literary sense of "wandering" or "itinerant, rather than to indicate erroneousness or moral depravity.

For a Blue Sparrow. :-) This came to mind while navigating back to the hostel by memory after my phone died, thinking about the directions, looking for landmarks, and you know... Just thinking. ;-)
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