Glory be to God for speckled stuff For eggs that rest in nurtured nests; For dalmatians dotted black on white; A box-turtle's skin, rough and tough; A red and white mushroom where a caterpillar rests; And stars in the sky, scattered and bright
For the speckled crab darting on the uneven sand Underneath the rugged cresting waves For the sun-streaked strands of wispy hair And the farmers' distinct tan on his arms For the fallen autumn leaves that cover the land Or the stalagmites that adorn the caves For the patches of snow on the street like the white on a panda bear Each is ephemeral but holds a certain charm
For chocolate chips in a cookie or cake; For freckled faces and bug-bitten legs; A child’s wide, white toothy smile; Patchwork quilts, and the warmth they make; Asphalt drying after a storm; a bird’s speckled eggs; And the cracked skin of a crocodile.
For the pieces of light reflecting off a puddle after a rain The different shades of yellow in a field of grain For the sky's color right when the sun begins to rise Spotted dots on the delicate wings of butterflies For the scattered areas of light when the sun peeks though the trees The leaves in fall as they fly through the breeze
Streams swallow and graze over mossed rocks Powerful pollen rushed out for flora limbs And all fauna flushes; damp, dry-darkness locks Encompassing forgotten melodies melting smooth-following the hymn
Glory be to God for simple things For sun-soaked beaches as warm as a pumping vein; For fireflies that glide upon the summer breeze; Fresh-faced children; dogs' snouts Flowers dainty and delightful--plant, pick, and enjoy; And all beasts, their snarl and hiss and howl.
For the simple, spotted patterns leaves throw on the forrest floor The satisfied stomach of a pixie bob, sitting outside my door The black and white polka-dots, a fabric swimming yet fitting Fleeting freckles upon a sun exposed face
For the emerald irises, and the off-yellow ladybugs, The peppered butter-beans and the musty brown welcome rugs; For the dense, sun-spat bridges from upper lip to cross-eyes, Butterfly wings to moth-powder, iridescent and orange, Diamond-cut-copper like blowflies' eyes.
The cold of cream mottled with sweet splinters Tangled fleece ornamented with wool pixels; Infinite specks dusted on red armor; The soil that befalls during wondering winters; TO sun-spotted golden bushels; The speckles singed on the nape of a dogged farmer.
For the small black spots on a ladybug's back; For flower buds laid all out in a row; Flavor of the spring time reaches the tip of your noes; Pure space that covers the grove--green, grass, gloop; And in all time, their sound will forever amuse.
All things mottled and dazzling, so sweet, Their beauty embedded in sacred fantasy; Molten drops of glittering sun, dancing through stagnant air; Tiny silver moons riding, broken and quick, the dark crests of the sea; Flicks of fire sparking up to Heaven, playing about the stars before they fade; Flecks of flickering dust, strewn about our heads, glimmering in the flows of endless light; And all those thing that wink at our eyes, and light up our fanciful minds.
For fruitful flowers that don't quite form a row To longing patches of grass, hoping to grow. Along the white beach, black specks in the sand, To the true showing colors on a burnt man's hand. No matter the beauty From spring to the fall This man has gone and created it all.
Her face was freckled and blotchy;
ReplyDeleteWho was she underneath it all?
The eyes were dotted, marbled, and bright;
with the glare from the light.
Her charm was inviting, appealing, and alluring to all.
For the sand on the seashore,
ReplyDeleteSoft and warm, covered with shells.
The ocean, with waves that soar,
And over it the sun that just fell.
Glory be to God for speckled stuff
ReplyDeleteFor eggs that rest in nurtured nests;
For dalmatians dotted black on white;
A box-turtle's skin, rough and tough;
A red and white mushroom where a caterpillar rests;
And stars in the sky, scattered and bright
For the speckled crab darting on the uneven sand
ReplyDeleteUnderneath the rugged cresting waves
For the sun-streaked strands of wispy hair
And the farmers' distinct tan on his arms
For the fallen autumn leaves that cover the land
Or the stalagmites that adorn the caves
For the patches of snow on the street like the white on a panda bear
Each is ephemeral but holds a certain charm
For chocolate chips in a cookie or cake;
ReplyDeleteFor freckled faces and bug-bitten legs;
A child’s wide, white toothy smile;
Patchwork quilts, and the warmth they make;
Asphalt drying after a storm; a bird’s speckled eggs;
And the cracked skin of a crocodile.
For the pieces of light reflecting off a puddle after a rain
ReplyDeleteThe different shades of yellow in a field of grain
For the sky's color right when the sun begins to rise
Spotted dots on the delicate wings of butterflies
For the scattered areas of light when the sun peeks though the trees
The leaves in fall as they fly through the breeze
Streams swallow and graze over mossed rocks
ReplyDeletePowerful pollen rushed out for flora limbs
And all fauna flushes; damp, dry-darkness locks
Encompassing forgotten melodies melting smooth-following the hymn
Glory be to God for simple things
ReplyDeleteFor sun-soaked beaches as warm as a pumping vein;
For fireflies that glide upon the summer breeze;
Fresh-faced children; dogs' snouts
Flowers dainty and delightful--plant, pick, and enjoy;
And all beasts, their snarl and hiss and howl.
For the simple, spotted patterns leaves throw on the forrest floor
ReplyDeleteThe satisfied stomach of a pixie bob, sitting outside my door
The black and white polka-dots, a fabric swimming yet fitting
Fleeting freckles upon a sun exposed face
For the emerald irises, and the off-yellow ladybugs,
ReplyDeleteThe peppered butter-beans and the musty brown welcome rugs;
For the dense, sun-spat bridges from upper lip to cross-eyes,
Butterfly wings to moth-powder, iridescent and orange,
Diamond-cut-copper like blowflies' eyes.
The cold of cream mottled with sweet splinters
ReplyDeleteTangled fleece ornamented with wool pixels;
Infinite specks dusted on red armor;
The soil that befalls during wondering winters;
TO sun-spotted golden bushels;
The speckles singed on the nape of a dogged farmer.
For the small black spots on a ladybug's back;
ReplyDeleteFor flower buds laid all out in a row;
Flavor of the spring time reaches the tip of your noes;
Pure space that covers the grove--green, grass, gloop;
And in all time, their sound will forever amuse.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteAll things mottled and dazzling, so sweet,
ReplyDeleteTheir beauty embedded in sacred fantasy;
Molten drops of glittering sun, dancing through stagnant air;
Tiny silver moons riding, broken and quick, the dark crests of the sea;
Flicks of fire sparking up to Heaven, playing about the stars before they fade;
Flecks of flickering dust, strewn about our heads, glimmering in the flows of endless light;
And all those thing that wink at our eyes, and light up our fanciful minds.
Pixels, thousands, make the image
ReplyDeleteComing from your television,
Speckles packed like people in a lift.
Raindrops, dappled on the window,
from the storm that makes the lines slow,
Stop TV, yet bring us nature's gift.
For fruitful flowers that don't quite form a row
ReplyDeleteTo longing patches of grass, hoping to grow.
Along the white beach, black specks in the sand,
To the true showing colors on a burnt man's hand.
No matter the beauty
From spring to the fall
This man has gone and created it all.