Meadow of Poetry

Hello Bloggerholics,
This page is new, and will be dedicated to poetry - An Anthology for everyone - and here's how you can pitch in. To make this page beautiful, we would love to guest-post your poems, so if you'd like to help this garden blossom, email your poem to dtwilight at d.georges112@gmail.com
Nothing but poetry from the heart, please.  If spam is sent, it will be deleted. 

Confession

by Moana Brantwood

It’s often quite dark when I reach this location,
Late night, or early hours before dawn. 
Only night birds and currawongs divide the isolation,
Distant piping lulls the frenzy that’s borne. 
I’m lost in the labyrinth called World Wide Web,
When my mind should be quiet, I’m reading instead! 
And it goes on and on into the wee hours,
When the world is asleep, the web spins it’s powers.
I come upon jewels that sparkle and gleam,
Knowledge that brightens the darkest of seams.  
And sometimes I click on these tiny bright keys,
To find the most wondrous things –
Blogspots, short stories, poems and twitters,
Writers who enlighten - or give me the jitters! 
But it’s rare that I’m hurt by these wondrous jewels,
Instead I am ravenous, absorbing their fuels. 
And so I will write, or cast the odd poem,
And hope someone finds me, 'fore darkness is stolen.

~~~~~~~~

The Raisin and the Rose

by AubrieAnne

She brushes my locks out every night,
Long tresses are pulled and shined.
Her own withered curls fall out of place,
A mane overtaken by the color of salt.
My posture young, weightless and steady,
Her own hunched, crippled by stress.
Why is it we are moving away from each other?
Both growing, but one taller and the other older.
I seek the life outside, unfamiliar experiences at my fingertips.
She finds solace inside, safety in common comforts.
As I am ready to emerge, choosing a life, a profession, a lover.
She decides scrambled or boiled, wash or dry, Wal-Mart or K-Mart.
She’s shrivels, like a raisin forgotten on the vine.
And I, a rose, spotted from a distance, ready to be picked.
She’s a queen, not quite jealous of her daughter’s youth and beauty,
But never forgetting, never overlooking,
That someday this girl will take the throne.
She will be replaced.

~~~~~~~~

Petals

by AubrieAnne

My daughter’s reflection in the mirror
Contradicts everything about me.
Her young and sturdy shoulders,
Not yet burdened by the weight of the world,
Whereas I cripple at the sight of the cooled morning air.
Her gleaming hair reflects rays of sunshine,
While mine, limped curls that absorb the dry air and crinkle at its roots.
My lines, deep and hallow,
As hers become smoothed and defined.
She’s in a prime I surpassed years ago.
I'm a barren wasteland that has been emptied
Month by month, no longer able to create.
And her, supple and full, able to give way to pleasure
Without a sense of uselessness.
She’s a sweet rose that only need be picked.
And I, whose petals have already been plucked one by one,
Left to rot on the floor.
Why is it she is of my own making
And yet she’s taken a place I once held so dear;
One of youth and adventure.
I’ve been replaced.

~~~~~~~~

Dreaming Becomes the Lie

by AubrieAnne

Dreaming comes so easily

Because I’ve dreamed my entire life

I’ve seen the woman I would become

I’ve seen the man I’m suppose to love

I’ve seen brilliant flashes

From a life I want to lead

The images have all passed before me

They’re lies I want to believe

And I wake up from an endless nightmare

To find I’ve yet to live

~~~~~~~~