“As night slowly draws a veil over dusk” my #poem #poetry

Beautiful poetry describing day becoming night.

Visionary Poems

As night slowly draws a veil over dusk

The fading day dons layer upon layer

Of increasingly dark robes and shrouds and weeds of a funereal hue

Appropriate to the imminent demise that confronts the old figure now

Bent and moving with difficulty

Bowed down by both age and grief

Closer and closer it seems to draw to its companion the sea

Perhaps for comfort

Perhaps simply because it is weakened from the effort of dying

As from the blue sky of the day’s younger self

Grew so quickly the symptoms and indications

Of a life ebbing away

Not long left to live now

And then suddenly

The day’s end is reached and is mercifully quick

A handful of gulls attired in funeral rags

A flock of almost invisible black etchings

Against a now unlit sky

Pay their respects in silence

And vanish into the distant eternity

The twilight sky…

View original post 30 more words

A Lost Cause ~ A Poem By Walt Page, The Tennessee Poet

It's always there Reminding me Taunting me Haunting me It controls me Drains me It pisses me off But it doesn't care How it affects me Because it knows It knows that There is nothing I can do about it It knows It can't be cured It can't be fixed I hear it Laughing at... Continue Reading →

#PoetryReadathon – Meet poet and blogger Walt Page

Thank you Robbie 😊💛

Robbie's inspiration

Poetry readathon

The Tennessee Poet 2 (1)

Today, I am welcoming poet and blogger, Walt Page, to Robbie’s Inspiration with a wonderful poem entitled The Magnitude of Poetry.

The Magnitude Of Poetry

Poetry is dead”

So some writers say

But listen closely please

To what I’m about to say

Poetry is ever written, everlasting

It will be around long after the doubters

Poetry is the view from the highest mountain

That makes us dizzy from the height

It’s the beating of our hearts

And the tapping of our feet

While we read the rhythm of the words

It’s the way it makes us feel

When it takes us to a grave

The taste in our mouths

When it describes a kiss

The smell of a wood stove

That heats a mountain cabin

And the warmth it makes us feel

It’s that childlike memory

Of your favorite nursery rhyme

And the dreams we had of Santa Claus

View original post 532 more words

Best Blogs – Spring 2019 Edition!

I am truly honored to have been nominated and included in the Spring Edition of the 2019 Best Blogs! I am humbled to be included in such a prestigious list of talented bloggers. My thanks to Dorinda Duclos of Night Owl Poetry for her nomination and to Neha for finding me worthy of inclusion. 😊❤

forgottenmeadows

Hello Everyone,

Thank you to everyone who participated in the Spring Blog Nominations, I appreciate you taking the time to mention your favorite blogs! This is what I love most about this community…  how generous people are to give a shout out to fellow bloggers and artists, and build this strong network that we have. Without much further adieu, below are your favorite blogs followed by a few of my favorites! Do Check out the nominators and their recommended blogs, I believe all of the nominators are some of my personal favorites, also do check out my previous blog recommendations and stay tuned for future ones!

**Please note they are in no specific order, just based in the same order as nominations in my comments. My personal recs are listed at the end. 🙂 They are all equally great in my eyes!

Best Spring Blog Recommendations:

Nominator: Carol Hopkins…

View original post 581 more words

Gerry Stewart, The Scotland we know is a ghost

A wonderfully powerful and poignant poetry piece on changes in the Scotland we used to know.

DODGING THE RAIN

Walking in a Summer Haze

A tower rises from sleeping fields
like a recurring childhood dream.

It fades from sight, slipping
off the edge of our world.

Cross the dark gallop of woods
held back by this ancient spur of land.

We are lost, rolled into hay bales
and forgotten in the waning sun.

Your tongue tastes of dusty apples
gathered for the coming winter.

In the sad, heavy pull of dusk,
crows paint the trees with rasping wings.

If we hover over the city we will meet
the violet sky in its crawl towards night.

We are cradled together,
a shell thumbprint in limestone,
fighting the weight of time.

October Orchard

The first bucket for windfalls,
sweet rotted mush,
shrivelled apples girning faces.

The children shimmy up
jaggy, lichen-strewn branches.
Laughter flutters in the leaves
followed by thudding rosy rain.

My old bike basket fills.
The bruised offerings left

View original post 557 more words

A WordPress.com Website.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: