Pixabay
A space enclosed – attended
Tamed – yet in its essence wild
Impression of a wilderness
But loving cared for like a child*
These realms of green haven
Illusions designed by our own intent
Of something long lost primeval
A perfection from which we were sent**
Padre
*Genesis 2:15
**Genesis 3:23-24
August Bible Poem 6
Summer excursion amid tangles
Of sharp-thorned brambles thick
Sweet purple – black fruit to find
And in our baskets stick
It is a joy to scavenge so
But the pales when we compare
To the lovely jam that we will eat
That mother will prepare
Padre
Pixabay
Blue Ridge Mountains
Named for their tinge and hue
Rising above the Shenandoah
Once gateway to America new
Rising up in old Virginy, Maryland and Penn’s wood
Westward climbing in peaks smokey
To Tennessee, and Kentuck’s grass blue
Mighty Appalachians
With their tinge blue
Padre
image: Chattanooga Times Free Press
Rhythmic drumming from beyond the glade
A snare call for those marching to its beat
Rousing courage in those afraid
As battle beckons their marching feet
Drummer boy – give cadence to all
For how can you possibly know –
You’ll be the first to fall?
Padre
dVerse Quadrille #106: Drum
They must see it as a silliness
Over on the Scilly Isles –
On St Martin’s and Tresco
It must really raise a smile –
That we complain about “isolation”
While they’re out there all the while
Separated from the Cornish Coast
On those Scilly Isles
Padre
dVerse – Write a Quadrille: a poem that is EXACTLY 44 words long, including the word “silly”
Alka-Seltzer with its fizz
Claimed to be the relief that is
But when you’re bunged up
Your guts all bloated – in a bind
It’s not bubbling tablets
That are on your mind
What you seek as you rush
Is a place that will flush
With apologies – Padre
In isolation, our doors we close
Watching TV, in comfortable clothes
Many will remain – pajamas-clad
Why not wear them? It can’t be bad
No worries about who may see
Even the shopping delivery’s contact free
No face-to-face exposure needed
As our doors we close
Padre
Racheal Lomas@maven_designs: Unsplash
I have not encountered
One of such power
That my very foundations
In your presence shake
No mystic arts did you study
Nor did you consult great grimoires
Or tomes of arcane lore
Yet my life was altered
By the magic of your love
Padre
In memory of my Dianne
In the forest silent – Not a thing stirred
No hoots of an owl – Nor snap of twig heard
No breeze, not a zephyr – Disrupted the dense wood
No deer grazing – No fox slinking past
For the forest is but an image – Captured in glass
Padre
Quadrille #99 – Poems Stirred, Not Shaken
Image by cocoparisienne from Pixabay
Take yourself aloft – your watch to keep
As we plough our way across the deep
Keep a weather eye – for anything ill
What’s that lad? It means keep your eye peel’d
With luck – port we’ll make by morn
Driving hard away from yesterday’s storm
Padre
