I
like to sit outside
and watch
the wind pluck the snow
from the ground
to adorn the trees.
I
enjoy the sharp burst
of burning cold
as flurries sneak past my scarves
and slap my neck,
as if to say "I'm here,"
a greeting from the heavens.
I love
to sketch the sharp contrast
of shorn branches reclothed in snow and ice
and the weaker lines of light
that illuminate them in the sky,
I love
the play of glistening snow and shadow
that dance across the trees
and snow and sky.
I wish I
lived further north
where the aurora borealis paint the skies
in ghostly green blue strokes
of impermanent ink.
I wish I
could transpose the wind's aria
so a sembl
Intercession of Terra Mater by James-P-Barnes-565, literature
Literature
Intercession of Terra Mater
Spare us our lives, oh gracious mother.
The winds have blown hard, the seas rough;
Loved ones now gone, never to return.
Fires spread and floods swell,
Damning us all to an eternal Hell.
Spare us our lives, oh gracious mother.
We've no sense of belonging;
The land yours, not ours.
Taken for granite all the wonders
You gave us all we could ask,
Life worth living and awaiting the coming dawn.
Spare us ours lives, oh gracious mother.
In you tender care we rest now.
The trees like your hair are yours to cut and grow.
Will you shed tears of life for us?
We are seeking the truth to our lives
Yet, still we neglect your life.
Please do not forsak
Droplets Keep Falling by Michel-le-fou, literature
Literature
Droplets Keep Falling
Droplets Keep Falling
For the Always-Poetry theme on Rain
"Raindrops keep falling on my head.
But that doesn't mean my eyes are turning red.
Crying's not for me..."
Old Popular Song
Outdoors the sky grows dark and dim;
My eyes look upward; then they look within*.
How odd 't is that within and without
Seem to look the same.
The air has been tense and heavy for days,
As though to predict a shower.
In my heart, the same music** plays,
And my heart cries for one hour.
Raindrops keep falling on and in my head;
But that doesn't mean that my eyes are red.
I have many miles to walk, and many things to do,
Ere I will be dead.
The corner of the sky turned from the speckled black of a night illuminated by the stars to the yellow-blue color indicative of an imminent sunrise. As color joined the sky, so too did it join the life on the ground; the meadows embraced a bright green color, and the forest’s undergrowth left pitch-blackness behind for a lush variety of greens, browns, and the occasional red or yellow. It was not too long before the flowers awoke, unleashing purples and oranges into the crowd of life.
With the new color came smells; as flowers and pine cones opened, their aromas became free to wander and mingle. In the early morning, a few pin
The moon. What a glorious thing. It sits in the sky, glowing with the light of the sun, lighting up the night.
Tonight, tonight the moon is full. It will be another month until it is full again, and between now and then, it will be half-full, crescent, and, at some point, almost invisible. It will shine in the day, and it will, at times, be hidden by the clouds; nonetheless, a month from now, it will come back and light up the night.
That is perhaps why I love it so much. Because on the darkest of nights, in the most desperate of times, I can gaze outside, look amongst the pricks of the stars and the gloom of the night-time clou
Rock-Laden*
Nature
Prompt Poetry
Somewhere, far, far away
From the sunny spot,
Where the sun burns down
And the sand is hot,
Where the sky grows red and dark, like a storm
There lies a dead and dry stream.
Once it flowed along this lonely beach,
Like the setting of some peculiar dream
That tells of a place remote and out of human reach.
*from "Rocky Beach Stream" by *Cain Poscoe