Anyone have a poetry topic?

Bkue Flower

A single flower grows out of the granite.
Cloaked in thin air nearer the starlight.
A random seed travelled far,
Anchored defiantly amidst the hardness.

Beauty aloft unseen until now.
Its hue contrasted with gray.
An unlikely alliance,
Fed by light.

I never knew that day I woke,
Ropes and chalk to ascend,
My fleeting encounter remembered still,
Among the weather worn rocks.

Patrick
12/9/15


About finding a flower while climbing to the top of a mountain face in the Cascade Mountains.

Nice

New Wings

In early spring when the songbird sings,
You will see me smile and spread my wings,
The springtime sun dissolves the night,
I take my leap, I start my flight.

My first years spent inside a shell,
So confined but home as well.
The wind takes me into the sky.
The place I’ve lived is long passed by.

So when the day seems bleak and long,
Sing with birds your primal song.
With new wings I take to the sky.
Just as does a butterfly.

Patrick

That is perfect! You have a beautiful mind.

New Wings

In early spring when the songbird sings,
You will see me smile and spread my wings,
The springtime sun dissolves the night,
I take my leap, I start my flight.

My first years spent inside a shell,
So confined but home as well.
The wind takes me into the sky.
The place I’ve lived is long passed by.

So when the day seems bleak and long,
Sing with birds your primal song.
With new wings I take to the sky.
Just as does a butterfly.

Patrick

The Old Desk

Hello night my dear old friend,
Your warmth ensconces me,
My pen in hand by candlelight,
A story yet to be.
The old wood desk with vivid scars,
On which I still yet pen,
Of battles long ago and new,
And those I've yet to win.
The morning dove calls to me,
Nearby in the willow tree,
Vestiges of another time,
And perhaps of me.
The light shines slow upon the wood,
To mark another day,
Slumber beckons yet on my mind,
With so more yet to say.
So love the one with blackened hand,
Fingers old and bent,
From somewhere oh so far away,
A message finally sent.

A poem about writing a poem

Excellent

Blocked you moron

The Last Glance

Ancient trees tower in dreams,
Falsely guarding my old… young heart.
I see them now… from time to time,
Alluding and conspiring to make me forget.

Of all the harm visited me,
Of all the hurt bestowed,
Deepest of all my soul has known,
Is the hollow sound of your silence.

Those long summer days, nearly distant,
I could not have then known,
The lessons learned or strength instilled,
As we walked side by side into your nearing sunset.

I sing your song on quiet nights,
Through shiny eyes and muffled sounds,
No shiny words waxing,
Just the quiet beating of a shattered heart.

Awakened today with Mediterranean blue,
I glance at me for a moment still,
For one fantastic moment,
I see you in my sleepy eyes.

The foggy shroud lifts from the vale,
My walk interrupted more often now.
To pause and smile like you,
At the cardinal singing morning songs.

Though your cup is empty,
Fall smells more sweetly,
Love, I feel more deeply,
Shiny things matter no more.

Wholly my dull ache will persist,
This I surely know.
As I walk yet onward with you near,
Into a sunset of my own.

Patrick