A Gift

4 Comments

Tags:
  • Imagination
    • ,
  • Day Dreams

    A Gift

    There is a place below heaven where thoughts drift
    In the depths of our minds we are given a gift
    A reward for hectic days and life’s doldrums
    Where images float on petals of lavender mums

    Imaginary things, coconut rings
    On tips of feathery dove wings
    A seductive glare, flowing auburn hair
    Running free as a child not having a care

    Bay Bridge runners, entangled park lovers
    Milky white skin against emerald covers
    Wiggling toes, red laced satin bows
    Taking off our conventional clothes

    Cotton candy tears, painted polo mares
    A Victorian mansion with circular stairs
    Colorful peacock tails, glass humpback whales
    Celestial sky entwined in creamy beige sails

    Waltzing along a mandarin orange sea
    Where day dreams swim setting our souls free
    Raising stage curtains leaving behind
    All solid things in a land weathered by time

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    Mandi commented on A Gift

    09-05-2013

    I love the visuals. They are crisp. clear... Some verses run smoother than others, but I have no idea what to do about it. How does one make lines that glide..... Also, you have very original ideas. I like that
    Reply to Comment

    MootPoint

    09/05/2013

    Yea writing a lot of random stuff made them one easier to write than a lot of my stuff. Thanks for the comment.

    ccslim commented on A Gift

    06-09-2013

    Bravo! A another fine write that allows one to share the adventure of the wonderfully made mind.
    Reply to Comment

    poett commented on A Gift

    06-03-2013

    I couldn't stop smiling as I imagined such place... I remember running wild n carefree as a child n always looking up in the sky imagining such a magical place ;)
    Reply to Comment

    MootPoint

    06/03/2013

    Thank you for all your comments. This one is one my favorites also.

    mspoetris commented on A Gift

    03-23-2013

    My eyes could envision the colors of this write. I drifted back to childhood days, and even heard the Good Humor mans music! Love this one. Thank you.
    Reply to Comment

    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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