My meadow speaks, as softer seeker,
meeker nose to quiver flower,
hour-glass in slow dissension,
pretention left,
as blossom's widow.
Watch her dance,
nibbled words in crooked straightness,
weightless rhythms, blending season,
as reason why
in cloudless sky,
sigh,
I fly in verse and virtue.
Hold my breath,
so you might know me,
when spring melts earth
in windy fur;
hand, as creature,
sacred teacher hopping, ears and fears,
through woods we know were
made for stopping.
Innocence is fragrant rain,
this tail of cotton,
marking beat
to larger feat of printed line;
completing page in perfect petal,
sweet settled dew of crystal companion,
I often meet inside my canyon.
Then is smile
to measure mile,
moving miracle of confrontation,
palpitation,
blushing distant beauty,
aperture appreciated,
in treasure touching graceful grassland.
In a list
A contest entry
- FITTED COVE—A Friendship Themed Contest to honor Bunny, Cupcrazy by ten thousand cicadas.
3000 points, ended October 15, 2008, 11 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
Such a wonderful penning
very beautiful and thought provoking and written so well. Wonderful tribute to wonderful poetess. Congrats on the Bronze.
I enjoyed the read
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What a gorgeous depictation of canyon finding the grace of meadow. You have found the sights, the expression and sensations of her meadow's poesy. Truly beautiful and touching.
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Such a lovely piece dripping with touching words...A wonderful dedication poet to a special poetess...
Another beautiful write, my dear friend...
Lynda
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