Nature has been calling, and it can be heard in the whispers of the wind, felt in the longing for serenity. Like this Poet muses, reflects, and longs, you too will feel it in your bones.
Calling of Serenity
I hope to hear the rivers play water on rocks.
Under gray-blue air, the breeze left gathered by the rain.
Calling to this place the wetness dry felled by the sun.
At the water, Glen found a cabin well with warmth.
A place where serenity is within its footfall.
Paths stepped this rustic room of woodshed.
To set, upon the budding in winter to spring.
A time when bees appear to speak to flowers.
Crossing wind, laughter in the dancing of leaves.
Its bond speaks to the whispering trees.
The rivers meander of birds by landing.
No matter, who watches nature is reactionary.
Befall, the canopy of pattered-sounding rains.
Memories missed by the warmth of sunshine.
Feeling ground water move on laying mirrors.
Walking to paths rain gathered by your feet.
Collect it mossed muddied waters of the river.
Humanity well lived is one who knows the calling of serenity.
Whispers of Weathered Winds
Heightened air blowing day into night.
The windswept breeze rustling tangled in aerated trees.
Liken a calm wind of gentleness flow to feathered leaves.
For, where are the fallen feathered leaves?
At the chanced sight of trees atop heavy, as they bend in flow.
Plucked off in billows of blustery air.
Airlifted gusting in ways from leaves drifting down.
Blown-in flying winds winding turned high and low.
Leaves spinning in a swirl, in a twirl in whirling down.
For their spiraling ways soon turn to fertile ground.
While quickened is the sense of winds funneling drifting down.
Filled sadly, then twisted thistly, swiftly in their gathering speed.
Listen to the roar, as the balms of harsh air peak.
In a suction toiled in its rage through the wind's awakening sound.
As vaulting drifts of dirt, the rubbish is seen to plunder all around.
Vision’s calamity is thoroughly seen in the blinding winds.
Weathered winds swept not kept with affliction toll much inflation.
Finding purity risen sighted fury held its discards of stolen remnants.
New ravages its Earthen healer of all wounds will yield, yet new birth to life.
Dripping dews drop one by one gather in the wet moss of the land.
Winds in promise blanket for leaves soon change to fertile ground.
Jubilance summitry birds of perched native joyous cooing sounds.
Said nature’s symphony harmonizes with nature’s octave sounds.
Whether else are whispers of weathered winds.
Meet The Poet:
Written by: Laurel Anne Barron…Poetic Lauraceae.
This Poet represents the creation of thoughts and expression through the premise of writing in old. Writings subtle, yet vivid visualNom De Plume, Poetic Lauraceae, Laurel assembles her inspirations.