Post by jeannerené on May 28, 2014 20:19:22 GMT -8
purpose and the prairie
if she were to render her soul interpret its texture scent spin its color wheel expound upon her spirit's marrow and shadow she would depress her thoughts deep into the soil compose her expression with the twist and turn of oak root and burrow along side the earthworm to master the dweller's purpose and province
if she were to understand her substance speak with clarity decision give chase to her freedom pronounce with balance the art of inhale and exhale she would
run her words across miles of prairie fly with the flax of illusion over and round the wind and stampede beside the buffalo seizing simply the pounding of her own heart
Jeanne: Hello visitors....Thanks for dropping by. Lets revive Poetic Horizons. I'm very tired of Facebook and have never felt comfortable posting poetry there. So look around and register. Lets get this place moving!
Mar 30, 2019 1:55:53 GMT -8
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.