December by Thomas Parsons

December by Thomas Parsons

by | Dec 3, 2024 | December Poems, Life Poems, Nature Poems, Poems, Poetic Flows Podcast, Poetry, Winter Poems

December by Thomas Parsons

You have again made your way in,
Cold and beautiful.
You are December,
And I love you.
Despite the seasonal celebration,
I know you to be more.
You are calm,
You allow me to slow,
To envelope the tranquility I crave.
Your winds, December, though cold,
Allow me to feel the life in my cheeks,
And if I’m lucky,
It too will bring the sweetness
Of some distant firewood.
I welcome your snow, December.
So that I may sit wrapped in wool,
By candlelight,
The dog having nestled in as well,
Watching the frozen rain accumulate
On the branches of the birch and oak.
Though I live in the city,
I dream of loving you December,
Even more – if I were in nature.
Then I would feel closer to you,
As a lover may feel,
Or perhaps a mother to a child.
I would know, I think, how to
More fully know why I am in love
With you.
And being with you, December,
Brings me to life.

Written by Thomas Parsons

It is November by Elizabeth Shield

It is November by Elizabeth Shield

by | Nov 19, 2024 | Autumn Poems, Life Poems, Nature Poems, November Poems, Poems, Poetry

It Is November

It is November
And all the leaves face my way
Overlapping tussocks of grass
Like long forgotten hills
Dwelling in the overhang of fall

It is November
Orange ribbons hand in tatters
Patched up yellow cloaks are draped
And whisking in the wind
Then drifting to the earth
And becoming winters pillow

It is November
And there stands a lonely tower
Base adorned with red bushes
Flags no longer flying
Crouched and crippled by the frost

It is November
My feet bear down on acorns
A thousand fold
All left and forgotten
Even to the squirrels
Just a layer ‘neath my feet

It is November
The solitary pines stand solid
Near the ivy covered wall
Their boughs raise and hail the heavens
And their needles fall
As the autumn wind dances a mournful dance

It is November
Bare branches rake the cloudy skies
And scratch out their heartfelt pleas
Against cold glass windows
Seeking what they have lost and will not find

It is November
An old gate stands ajar
Beckoning to no one
Standing solidly open
Despite the cruel fall wind

It is November
Trees make colored circles
A fading gold on fading green
A fireworks display
Now falling to the ground

It is November
Cold air fills my body
Cruel wind tosses my hair
I seek a shelter from autumn
My door is open
Now I am home

Elizabeth Shield

A Psalm of Life

A Psalm of Life

by | Oct 14, 2024 | Death Poems, Life Poems, Poems, Poetic Flows Podcast, Poetry, Sad Poems

A Psalm of Life By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

  Life is but an empty dream!

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

  And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!

   And the grave is not its goal;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

   Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

   Is our destined end or way;

But to act, that each to-morrow

   Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

   And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

   Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,

   In the bivouac of Life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

   Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!

   Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Act,— act in the living Present!

   Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us

   We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

   Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,

   Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

   Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

   With a heart for any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

   Learn to labor and to wait.

The Poetic Flows Podcast

The Poetic Flows Podcast

by | Oct 9, 2024 | Emerald Book Club, Poetic Flows Podcast, Poetry

Welcome to The Poetic Flows Podcast

poetic flows podcast emeraldbookclub.org

POETIC FLOWS PODCAST

🎙️ Poetic Flows Podcast by Emerald Book Club 🌿

Join us every Monday night at 8 PM GMT for Poetic Flows, a soothing and inspiring podcast by Emerald Book Club, where words come alive through the beauty of poetry. Hosted in a serene, reflective atmosphere, Poetic Flows showcases captivating spoken-word performances, poetic readings, and thought-provoking discussions about the art of poetry.

Each episode brings together poets, authors, and poetry lovers to share their craft, emotions, and insights. Whether you’re a seasoned poet or simply enjoy listening to the magic of words, this is the perfect space to explore the richness of language and connect with like-minded individuals.

Poetry is a form of literary art that uses aesthetic and often rhythmic qualities of language to evoke meanings in addition to, or in place of, literal or surface-level meanings. Any particular instance of poetry is called a poem and is written by a poet. Wikipedia

Poetic Flows Podcast emeraldbookclub.org

Tune in for:

  • Powerful spoken-word performances
  • Insightful discussions on classic and contemporary poetry
  • Special guest appearances from poets and literary enthusiasts
  • A deep dive into the meaning and inspiration behind featured works

Unwind, listen, and let the rhythm of words flow through you. Poetic Flows is your Monday night escape into the world of poetry.

📅 Every Monday at 8 PM GMT
📍 Hosted by Emerald Book Club

#PoeticFlowsPodcast #EmeraldBookClub #SpokenWord #PoetryLove

Before The Throne Of Beauty by Kahlil Gibran

Before The Throne Of Beauty by Kahlil Gibran

by | Oct 9, 2024 | Articles, Poetry, Religious Poems, Stories

One heavy day I ran away from the grim face of society and the dizzying clamor of the city and directed my weary step to the spacious alley. I pursued the beckoning course of the rivulet and the musical sounds of the birds until I reached a lonely spot where the flowing branches of the trees prevented the sun from the touching the earth.

I stood there, and it was entertaining to my soul – my thirsty soul who had seen naught but the mirage of life instead of its sweetness.

I was engrossed deeply in thought and my spirits were sailing the firmament when a hour, wearing a sprig of grapevine that covered part of her naked body, and a wreath of poppies about her golden hair, suddenly appeared to me. As she she realized my astonishment, she greeted me saying, ‘Fear me not; I am the Nymph of the Jungle.’

‘How can beauty like yours be committed to live in this place? Please tell me who your are, and whence you come? ‘ I asked. She sat gracefully on the green grass and responded, ‘I am the symbol of nature! I am the ever virgin your forefathers worshipped, and to my honor they erected shrines and temples at Baalbek and Jbeil.’ And I dared say, ‘But those temples and shrines were laid waste and the bones of my adoring ancestors became a part of the earth; nothing was left to commemorate their goddess save a pitiful few and the forgotten pages in the book of history.’

She replied, ‘Some goddesses live in the lives of their worshippers and die in their deaths, while some live an eternal and infinite life. My life is sustained by the world of beauty which you will see where ever you rest your eyes, and this beauty is nature itself; it is the beginning of the shepherds joy among the hills, and a villagers happiness in the fields, and the pleasure of the awe filled tribes between the mountains and the plains. This Beauty promotes the wise into the throne the truth.’

Then I said, ‘Beauty is a terrible power! ‘ And she retorted, ‘Human beings fear all things, even yourselves. You fear heaven, the source of spiritual peace; you fear nature, the haven of rest and tranquility; you fear the God of goodness and accuse him of anger, while he is full of love and mercy.’

After a deep silence, mingled with sweet dreams, I asked, ‘Speak to me of that beauty which the people interpret and define, each one according to his own conception; I have seen her honored and worshipped in different ways and manners.’

She answered, ‘Beauty is that which attracts your soul, and that which loves to give and not to receive. When you meet Beauty, you feel that the hands deep within your inner self are stretched forth to bring her into the domain of your heart. It is the magnificence combined of sorrow and joy; it is the Unseen which you see, and the Vague which you understand, and the Mute which you hear – it is the Holy of Holies that begins in yourself and ends vastly beyond your earthly imagination.’

Then the Nymph of the Jungle approached me and laid her scented hands upon my eyes. And as she withdrew, I found me alone in the valley. When I returned to the city, whose turbulence no longer vexed me, I repeated her words:

‘Beauty is that which attracts your soul, and that which loves to give and not to receive.’

The Road Not Taken

The Road Not Taken

by | Sep 30, 2024 | Life Poems, Poems, Poetry, Sad Poems

The Road Not Taken By Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.