Nature’s secrets hide on the forest floor With insects to spy if you’ve time to explore Cascading trees shield the sun from the ground Wind through branches sings a whistling sound.
A mockingbird hums a glorious song, A melody woven both soft and strong. Gentle peeps and squawks, perfectly timed, Sounding like poets, hauntingly rhymed.
Black snakes wind their way through the grass Aggressive when caught – just let it pass Frightened themselves, they’ll slip out of sight Coiled and waiting until the time is right.
Surface ripples on the pond spread out wide Fish swim through reeds, a perfect place to hide Vibrant minnows dash across the pond all day Forever swimming, guiding the way
Cascading trees join life above the ground Rhythms changing, sometimes without a sound Dropping leaves announce a new season is near, Nature’s life cycle we witness each year.
This poem is a tribute to my grandmother, whose love was stirred into every pot of sauce, sewn into every pair of slippers, and felt in every quiet, chaotic, perfect moment around the table. If you’ve ever had a Sunday that smelled like garlic and felt like home, this one’s for you.
There’s a big pot of sauce on the stove, In an old worn pot — decades old. Handed-down recipes, lovingly shared, Nourished our bodies from a family that cared.
In our house, it’s Grandma who’s boss – Some might say gravy, but Grandma says sauce. A loaf of fresh bread sits next to the pot; Tear off a piece and dip it while hot.
For Grandma, her day had a quiet start, While Grandpa sat still, doing his part. A tissue tucked in Grandma’s brassiere, To dab the sweat that would soon appear.
As morning turned noon and we all arrived, Silence turned loud, no senses deprived. Garlic and onion perfumed the air, While we played outside, staying near.
The table is set with Parmesan cheese, Ready for soup, salad, pasta – yes, please! Grandma’s big salad takes center stage, It’s a family favorite at every age.
Hearty minestrone fills every bowl, While Grandma stands ready, on food patrol. Aglio olio chicken joins the parade, Everything perfect, and all homemade.
The kids get up to clear all the plates, Dessert is ready – a treat Grandma creates. Grandpa now sits in his favorite chair, His dessert delivered – it’s good anywhere.
Our Sunday tradition is always the best, With bellies full, it’s now time to rest. My uncle naps in a chair nearby, While Dad yells at the TV – a play goes awry.
Grandma’s still busy – she’s measuring feet, Winter is coming, and she won’t miss a beat. Slippers for everyone, so cozy and warm – In Grandma’s house, this is the norm.
She works through the day, then crochets at night, Her hands so skilled, they move by moonlight. That Sunday sauce, a simple affair, Speaks of a life spent serving with care.
There’s a zipper in the sky, It’s only visible when you fly. Why not go through it to explore, It beckons like an open door.
A quick decision must be made, We’re pulled to go, but we’re afraid We’re anxious and we want to know, What will greet us if we go?
We arrive on the other side Are there rules we must abide? The sky feels cold, eerily quiet, A calm that’s bold, and oddly defiant.
What lies ahead in this strange world? Are things mirrored or maybe swirled? We hover quietly above the ground, Here, bright shadows are all around.
Landing here is no small feat, Awaiting fate, we stay in our seat. Once we’re settled excitement sinks in, We know we’re welcomed – we feel our kin.
The colorless sky has truly transformed, Feeling the colors, we’re thoroughly warmed. The shadows embrace us, fill us with love. And each one fits us, like wearing a glove.
A mother’s call, a father’s touch, A puppy jumping, oh – this is too much! A sister’s aura, I can feel she’s so close I feel her memories, I feel her the most.
Our loved ones, so near, were waiting for us, We’re excited, we’re scared, we’re curious. On the ground now, the zipper is gone, We know there’s love here, the feeling’s that strong.
Inspired by Van Gogh’s Starry Night, this poem captures the contrast I’ve always felt in the painting, the swirling wind looks wild and intense, yet the scene feels deeply calming to me. In this acrostic reflection, I tried to echo that blend of motion and peace, where silence, wind, and starlight shape a quiet night full of wonder.
Silence speaks from the stars The town below, a calming night Active wind starts blowing hard Reaching across the sky, while Rows of houses reflect the night Yellow crescent moon glows bright
Night lends itself to quiet Insinuating a peaceful town Glimmering, the stars shine on Hear the church bell softly chime Timid glances towards the sky
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