A summer stroll did one night yield A luminescent surprise: A harvest-ready lightning bug field With fireflies on the rise. I paused with my family there to note And to watch these miracles fly; Aleatoric embers floating Like living lanterns towards the sky.
Tag Archives: Poetry
A Summer Storm
To my ears a summer storm is all Sizzle, patter, rumble. To my eyes it’s puddle bubbles In the drive. To my nose, it’s wet earth; To my skin, liquid darts. But, I can’t describe A summer storm’s worth To my heart.
Million Green Needles
These million green needles, All assigned their dewdrop rations, Bring me peace. Lofted o’re their heads, Each morning they declare, That th’Heavenly Father provides Their daily bread.
Your Life Is Like A Mirror, Mom
I wrote a poem as a boy that held both beauty and some truth, But a line in it is not quite right; I was reasoning like a youth. I wrote I’ll “pay you back for all you’ve done for me” and that’s noble enough, it’s true, But pay you back for all you’ve doneContinue reading “Your Life Is Like A Mirror, Mom”
Blue Hallelujah
As summer emerges from spring in Georgia, the sky’s a Blue Hallelujah. The laughing leaves in the nosebleed seats enjoy the very best view. The wind who once whispered now shouts like a drunk. Though an amicable one, it’s true. The robins hop through the lush green grace under this Hallelujah Blue.
Lights The Night
The smoke ascends into oblivion A swirling ever-expanding apparition Orange flames lick the logs white As their sacrifice lights the night
From The Interstate
From the interstate I can see The pastures roll and rise Towards the sky In Tennessee
Azalea Celebration
I remember it like my name The air was crisp, the sky was blue A spring breeze rocked white blooms The day I met the two of you Now we mark this day each year In our hearts and in our home With song, feasting, and friends And in this we’re not alone As MarchContinue reading “Azalea Celebration”
Sunday Worsts
sunday bests? yeah, i’ll put those on but they don’t quench my thirst i can hide my bones under fancy rags but it doesn’t break the curse oh, i’ll sing praise this Easter morn’ but it won’t be to clothes but to Jesus who died for my sunday worsts and then from death arose
Wonderful and Weighed-Down
Wonderful and weighed-down Bouquets of helium bags Jumble on every table Until a strong gust shoves them off And they saunter like zombies Across our pavilion
By Herndon | MUSIC 