Sunday, January 2, 2011


Stand with me beneath white birch trees
in early morning dew.
Float upon a fresh green thought
that travels country wide.

Let’s blend together hues of ink
as hand in hand we walk.
We come alive like feathered ferns
in autumn shades of gold.

And should we linger long enough
we'll catch the rising moon.
It watches over everyone
especially those who hide.


Tin Man said...

As the sun touches upon your petals
now full open in the morning’s glory
hidden amid its early morning skew,
hiding in the green, you remain unseen
painting sparking dew drops of poetry
frosting the landscape in a rainbow’s hue.

Vivian said...

Poetry hides not from poetry.
To those unaware it is nothing
but a new moon on a cold
winter's night.

But given just a chance
to briefly touch one's heart,
it can open up a galaxy
of a million stars that
gently play upon your senses
and delight in a soft,
seductive way.

Dave said...

It's so beautiful Vivian :).... My senses have been dulled and my passions have wained.... I guess I need a new pain to drive me back to poetry :( I need to catch up on all of your poems..

Vivian said...

wow, Dave!....hi and Happy new year! It's so good to hear from you again. Ahh, pain meets the pen. Hey, if you have no pain to inspire you I suppose that is a good thing.
God bless you.

Peter William Carrillo said...

New reader, first time commenting here. This is very good! The last two lines are my favorites.