Butterflies fly with their wings spread so wide,
That it gives us all such a sense of peace inside.
They fly by with their very colorful ways,
They seem to put a smile on everyone's face.
They fly onto your shoulder; fly onto your nose,
They fly onto a daisy, a lily, or a rose.
A butterfly once so dull, so ordinary, so plain,
Now only grows more beautiful with each new passing day.
A butterfly, a beacon of how life should be,
So happy to be able to live life freely.
A butterfly, an example of the wonderful things,
That life seems to continuously bring.
Carrie Ogle
(5 years and 2832 days ago)

A Walk In the Golden Evening
With cool breeze & birds singing
This day has come to an end
& now its time for next beginning
The sun has set down and
The sky is ready to dress her night gown
But I am forced to think
Who is that champ
Lighting such a big lamp
Spreading these golden rays
All around my ways
Who is that Great Power
Controlling the soothing breeze
Arranging those clouds to shower
I am forced to think
He must be inside you & myself
Ready to listen us & help
With this thought I stopped
Saw the sky & smiled to say-
YES! This is you Almighty King
Who inspired to write my 1st poem
“A Walk In the Golden Evening”

Written By---
Myself
(5 years and 2836 days ago)

4 Comments

Walk, The, Golden, Evening

jeaniblog says:

Great shot! Would crop some of the dark foreground off and reduce noise..

REPLY

author says:

Thank you Jeani. But i purposely did not cut the dark foreground to emphasise the features of golden evening mentioned in my poem. More over if you can see there is a lady as well walking along me who is also quite related to the poem...

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FallingHorse says:

The foreground is a little too dark to see the lady - I didn't know she was there until you pointed it out

REPLY

author says:

ya.. she is there

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Oh, to be in England
Now that April 's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England—now!

And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!
Hark, where my blossom'd pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray's edge—
That 's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower
—Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!

Robert Browning (5 years and 2833 days ago)

2 Comments

april

jeaniblog says:

Nice shot but finish the poem please..

REPLY

jeaniblog says:

Better, great poem!

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This is an old shot of my grandmother, one of the best people of the world. She (and my grandfather) influenced my life greatly. After she passed away I wrote this poem remembering her.

Grammy Lo

I saw a small photo of my grandmother that was almost as old as she.
The tiny, black and white image emerged from among the gray cracks and streaks.
A young woman of about 20 stood by the door of a wooden building looking out at me.
She was in a racy black dress – almost up to her knees - with a little black hat on top of her black locks, tilted at a jaunty angle with feathers at the peaks.

I saw a teasing smile, a hand on her hip, and a light in her eyes that could guide ships through the fog.
And you could see that she thought of cars …and fun …and men – not of being my grandmother.
The camera strove to preserve that day, and even after all these years she was bursting out.
And I knew that there are old men who hadn’t needed a camera to see her – and they had all thought…”OH Brother!…”

“She’s dressed to the nines… has the cat’s pajamas.”
She was a fox …a hottie …My grandmother was Bootylicious!

And now, I see the image of my grandmother as we played cards.
Taught, translucent skin stretched over a roadmap of purple veins.
The hands that shook as they lay their discard,
While she chuckled and rubbed the spot to soothe small pains.

And she rose so slowly to journey across the room to get her shawl,
And she laughed, and joked that she “really should start to jog.”
And just then… for the briefest, micro-moment…I was privileged to see
The teasing smile, a hand on her hip, and a light in her eyes that could guide ships through the fog.


(5 years and 2833 days ago)

2 Comments

Grammy

jerostone says:

Profound, and moving. Thumps up, author!!

REPLY

McCormick says:

Very sweet, and a beautiful poem.

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A Safe Haven - Jean Dament

There are times when I feel like I'm adrift out at sea;
Where I'm floating upon life's troubled waters;
And then just in time you're there to rescue me,
Leaving me to wonder why you even bother,
But your constant love is like a beacon in plain sight;
That keeps me safe through life's many storms,
Ever present you shine your light both day & night,
Whenever my fears & doubts would consume & leave my soul all torn,
Your strength bridges over all empty space
Where I could possibly stray,
Then I'm no longer frozen in time, but dwell now in a secure place;
Because you have given me a Safe Haven, where I shall forever stay.

Picture from 3 pics under & over exposed, merged to HDR with Photomatix, and levels adjusted (5 years and 2834 days ago)