Poems (Page 12)

Enjoying the beauty (a poem)

Enjoying the beauty of meter and rhyme,
a poem revealed inscribing each line.
One day I’ll be lost to the passage of time,
but dreams will live on in this poem of mine.

[continue]. . .

Reflections (a poem)

A single droplet from the cloud,
reflecting glories all around,
begins its journey to the ground.

Silhouettes that dance with light,
are first on bottom then the side.
Two eyes pass, they open wide,
accepting all as dreams take flight.

[continue]. . .

A small woman, in a semi-transparent white dress, sits atop the round end of a red bubble wand, inside a soap bubble.

me (a poem)

there is a me that no one sees
the one i long to be
to live a life devoid of fear
i’m dying to be free

i see a world when eyes are closed
in dreams that’s where i go
for there i truly am at peace
in a place that few may know

[continue]. . .

A diverse group of five children hold hands as they run across a field, lined wth trees, into the tall grass, in the foreground.

Friendship (a poem)

Through seasons of life friends come and then go.
Each leaves an indelible mark on the soul.

[continue]. . .

Stuff (a poem)

So many things that eat my time,
yet again I’m at the store.
I haven’t time to use them all
I think, as I buy more.

These things are mine, or so it seems.
At least I paid the fee.
Now as I look at all I own,
I see it’s owning me.

[continue]. . .

Image Credit: "Cotswold side yard at Greenfield Village" by E.L. Redwine

Greener (a poem)

Today I rose before my eyes could see.
To keep them closed is just stupidity.
With all the struggle that’s in front of me,
feet hit the floor.

The morning paper smacks me in the face.
Sometimes this world can be an awful place.
Lost my faith in the human race.
Then I look next door.

[continue]. . .

Wood and cast iron park benches sit amongst trees, on the golden, leaf-covered grass of a city park.

One Day (a poem)

This is my story,
it’s one I know well.
Leaves that once green, have turned then fell.

It seemed like forever,
but we grew up at last.
Now here I sit, reminiscing the past.

[continue]. . .

Some they hold their candles
high for all to see.
All the while shouting,
“You need to be like me!”
Others, out of fear,
don’t share their light at all.
Neither understanding
the true nature of the call.

[continue]. . .