“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label groundwater. Show all posts
Showing posts with label groundwater. Show all posts
Saturday, April 28, 2018
Growth
The poet steps away from the poem(s)
but feels
the groundwater trickle
nourishing the green.
Painting By Fyodor Vasilyev (1850—1873) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
Drizzle
The muse has been muted while we are both listening for some reason- we have both observed; Profound is not discovery, Epiphany is no certa...
-
Natures touch is both gentle and fierce. Homo sapiens trample on her back. The thick skin impossible to pierce. So...
-
A year ago this May, in fact, upon this same very grey day- something came over me I found could say, in no other way but to portray, ...
-
Sun lifting the veil of purple sky- might bronze forge strength pungent as the turned dirt? Thirsting through exposition, hi...
