mermaidcamp
Keeping current in wellness, in and out of the water
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You can scroll the shelf using ← and → keys
The mind’s eye dreams up wondrous scenes of escape
Dream paths lined with outrageously bright colors and lights
Bring us into realms in which our movements are vivid, clear
Uncluttered by doubts, our steps are taken in grace, no fear
We only find these secret places by stepping outside the rule
That mindlessly stays in the ignorant ways practiced by the fool
Inventive little creatures stumble across the picnic lawn
Dancing with the birthday cake we worked on since the dawn
The ants and caterpillars enjoy the sugar roses, icing sweet
They scamper merrily down the path with butter on their feet
They have made a regular sport out of devouring our repast
Nature knows no bounds when people picnic on the grass
We can think ourselves lucky for feeding the cake to the ants
Now we will all have a better chance of fitting into our pants

Pausing for a moment to take a look at the past
I know those haunting mistakes will not be my last
No matter how long this takes it will be too fast
I see the future on the horizon shimmering and vast
ChaosIf we are not here to bargain, bully, and descend a long path
What kind of interior purpose can possibly be served by wrath?
Disconnected, left spinning in whirlwinds of violence and grief
This chaotic background story has stolen peace like a thief
Our time is corrupted, our spaces are polluted by flowing greed
Where can we look for the insight and harmony we all need?
Beneath the sea of glass the tidal forces pull
Strange debris left behind at the beach out to sea
The tangled mass of garbage wraps itself around
Coral reefs and living creatures without mercy
Our casual mindless set of values is strangling
The life from the ocean and the beauty from the shore
Join Poets from around the world each day in April to read, write, and recite poetry. Find new poets here. Submit your own work for fun. Enjoy!
Time passes quickly as the words fly through my mind
Fits and starts of creative linguistic crap is what I find
Will I become a poet in the future when I no longer care?
Or will my visions continue to languish about in the air?
Nobody knows, certainly not me
Join poets from around the globe for National Poetry Writing Month. Read, write, and contribute here all month.
Desert wind blows clouds
Past the horizon
Infinity calls
Wilderness holds secrets known only to the creatures who inhabit the place
Our visiting feet pass by too quickly to feel the rhythm underground
We keep the earbuds on and miss the harmonic symphony of nature’s sound
Our vision is impaired by limits we accepted without thinking for ourselves
After this picnic comes and goes this will always belong to fairies and elves
To find our place in this puzzle we must look at the world we think we rule
With respect for all sentient beings, every wizard, clown, teacher, and fool
This is a response to Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, and it is also the 5th day of #NaPoWriMo2018. This post is killing two poetry birds with one stone. Enjoy the other writers who create responses to this photo on Sue’s Echo. Read, write, and comment on the poets by following the hashtag #NaPoWriMo. It is all poetry all the time in April!! Enjoy!
Sails ripped to shreds in the blasted all night rain storm,
That tiny leaking wooden boat listed to port sadly sinking,
Drunken sailors wearing tattered, filthy rags, bodies barely warm
Had no sustenance their rotten spoiled provisions all stinking
They passed a small island full of greedy giant vultures
The sky filled with black wings soaring, silently hunting
The ship of justice, once proud and elegant, had run aground
Today is day 4 of National Poetry Writing Month. Join the fun to read, write, recite here. 30 poems in 30 days!! Enjoy!
She shimmered and shone as she ascended to float
Above the streets where traffic had screeched to a halt
They stood on rooftops and sidewalks to watch her
Because this kind of night ride in the air was a new thing
They did not know if she was an illusion or a prank
After she rose into the upper atmosphere they told me
Her garments had been sent from heaven just for her
They told us all she was a symbol of peace and power
We never believed a word of it. We knew the truth.
This is day 3 of National Poetry Writing Month. Join us for 30 poems in 30 days. Read, write, and enjoy other poets here. There are no limits. Everyone is invited to participate.