Poems :: Poetry Essays

PoemsStar-watching The moon grows sm altogetherer As it slips up behind the aspen tree. Warm, night winds rustles the leaves While across the sky colour, pin-point stars spread Earlier, the moon was huge and yellow, Sitting low over the eastern horizon. A refreshing flowerpot after the severe heat Of the recently August day. The cold, dampness of the ground Seeps into my body. Grass ends tickle through the fabric of my shirt. It is a good night for star-watching. personnel casualty Dust Clouds Dragon-shaped clouds are gilded metal(prenominal) by the setting sun As it slips towards the flat, western edge of the desert. The sagebrush, lining both sides of the red dirt road, Houses an miscellany of singing insects, Or was it stinging insects. At any rate, Their tracks, along with those of fox, coyote, snakes And a varied assortment of rodents, criss-cross the road. I obliterate them with the toe of my shoe, Kicking up a small cloud of red pitter-patter with each scuffing s tep. On Rain The swirling water runs brown Spring forever rainfalls River banks are swept under The glistening sun bakes the earth Green leaves address yellow The rains are long forgotten Fall rains mat dead brown leaves Carpeting the ground olden branches pray towards heaven Cold rain becomes falling snow Drifts cover the creek Spring will melt the snow again. Moon Shadows Shining fore from the black sky, a brilliant image, the anxious face of the moon, drawing on the snow-covered ground with its unmortgaged. The shadows on the ground mirror the moons own dark shadows. The cutting lines make faces on the snow, dark eyes, with white cheeks and lips sparkling. The faces seem to hold a certain brilliance all their own. More than just the tangible night trip pop reflecting in shimmers off slopes of snow, It is as if all of the knowledge stored in the moon had passed through moonbeams to hide in the dark shadows, behind the snows surface, sparkling. Icy fingers r each out to my soul, the fingers of snow- shadows. Made out of the endless, luminous light from the knowledge of moon-beams and star-beams. Theirs, a brilliant plot, they capture my eyes, my being, with their own sparkling eyes. They see past my eyes into my innermost soul, where it is dark.Poems Poetry EssaysPoemsStar-watching The moon grows smaller As it slips up behind the aspen tree. Warm, night winds rustles the leaves While across the sky white, pin-point stars spread Earlier, the moon was huge and yellow, Sitting low over the eastern horizon. A refreshing sight after the severe heat Of the late August day. The cold, dampness of the ground Seeps into my body. Grass ends tickle through the fabric of my shirt. It is a good night for star-watching. Red Dust Clouds Dragon-shaped clouds are gilded gold by the setting sun As it slips towards the flat, western edge of the desert. The sagebrush, lining both sides of the red dirt road, Houses an assortment of singing insects, Or was it stinging insects. At any rate, Their tracks, along with those of fox, coyote, snakes And a varied assortment of rodents, criss-cross the road. I obliterate them with the toe of my shoe, Kicking up a small cloud of red dust with each scuffing step. On Rain The swirling water runs brown Spring forever rains River banks are swept under The shining sun bakes the earth Green leaves turn yellow The rains are long forgotten Fall rains mat dead brown leaves Carpeting the ground Gray branches pray towards heaven Cold rain becomes falling snow Drifts cover the creek Spring will melt the snow again. Moon Shadows Shining forth from the black sky, a brilliant image, the glowing face of the moon, drawing on the snow-covered ground with its light. The shadows on the ground mirror the moons own dark shadows. The stark lines make faces on the snow, dark eyes, with white cheeks and lips sparkling. The faces seem to hold a certain brilliance all their own. More than just the tang ible night light reflecting in shimmers off slopes of snow, It is as if all of the knowledge stored in the moon had passed through moonbeams to hide in the dark shadows, behind the snows surface, sparkling. Icy fingers reach out to my soul, the fingers of snow- shadows. Made out of the endless, luminous light from the knowledge of moon-beams and star-beams. Theirs, a brilliant plot, they capture my eyes, my being, with their own sparkling eyes. They see past my eyes into my innermost soul, where it is dark.