#pastoralpoem

157 posts
  • inkandfable670 5d

    #pastoralpoem #rhyme


    From the chaotic life of developed plains
    I moved to green rural mountains
    Where air was serene and fresh
    Roads were free from rush
    In that little bucolic town,

    Tranquility, solace I found
    Compresses, Fers and Pines
    were touching sky,
    At night decorated with fireflies
    I can gaze them for age
    From the bench near the lake,

    All music turn mute,when
    cataracts moves on stone
    Tapping sound of horse's hoof
    Clearly heard from roof

    Clouds seems so low when
    you stand on peak
    You couldn't catch them ever
    same like dreams,then
    The cool breeze of contentment
    hugs you from behind
    And then your restless soul
    again becomes refind.

    ********************************************
    ********************************************

    #wod
    @writersnetwork
    @miraquill

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    Clouds seems so low when
    you stand on peak
    You couldn't catch them ever
    same like dreams,then
    Cool breeze of contentment
    hugs you from behind
    And then your restless soul
    Again becomes refind.
    ©inkandfable670

  • nocturnal_enigma 5w

    * 19.10.2021; 6.35 P.M (Malaysia)

    * 3 other versions of last line:

    Listening to the old songs; Classic./
    Lifestyle of farmers & fishermen/
    Livelihood of farming & fishing./

    #Acrostic #Poem #NuEmAcPo

    #PastoralPoem #wod @miraquill (Focus on fantasy of withdrawing from modern life to live in an idyllic rural setting)

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    RURAL ~

    Rooster says "Cock-A-Doodle-Doo".
    Urban-life is different than in rural.
    Ringing of crickets on the grasses.
    Aeathetic view of the paddy fields.
    Living in a peaceful place; Feel calm.

    © Nuruliffa Emirah
    @ nocturnal_enigma

  • sameen_ 6w

    I hopped with the stick in hand
    Driving my herd grazing the land
    It was time, the sun was setting
    The green grass turned yellow, unforgetting
    It was a task, taking them downhill
    Ain't no human, hence, still
    I called them out, and whistled and squeaked
    Alert as they were, followed my lead
    The sun was setting right in front of me
    The far off field shone beautifully
    Crops swayed to and fro
    Trees casted a long shadow
    And there, at the foot, I saw a shack
    Lone in its place, missing track
    I stood on the hill, wondering of life
    Shut from the world, can anyone thrive?
    I started descending like a routined task
    Gathering my stock, adjusting my cask
    The pond glistened, an ocean of gold
    Sun neared the horizon, a story to fold
    Sky turned yellow, then orange, then red
    My eyes gazed with a thought in head
    Nature is pretty, a pure bliss
    How lovely would the Creator be, if creation is this!
    'It's time to leave', my friends voiced
    I obliged, I knew I have no choice.
    I will return tomorrow, for I have experience to add
    Going home today, a rich twelve year old lad.

    #pastoralpoem #pasture #pod #life #country #teenage #perspective #view @mirakeeworld @writersnetwork @writerstolli @readwriteunite

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    Field

    Sky turned yellow, then orange, then red
    My eyes gazed with a thought in head
    Nature is pretty, a pure bliss
    How lovely would the Creator be, if creation is this!
    ©sameen_

    (Caption)

  • chinahorom_ 6w

    Pareidolia

    I thought I saw you then
    In the heat of may
    As I sauntered with mud streaked feet
    Into the woods just by the street,
    I sighted a magnificent oak
    And I could have sworn
    It wore a carving of your face like a cloak.

    I thought I saw you beneath it's shade,
    I looked up at the sky to find an image
    Made of clouds of finest white
    Floating like a giant kite
    Your face frozen in laughter
    Inside your open mouth was the blue sky
    But it didn't matter.
    It still was you.

    Why do I see you everywhere?

    Our love is dead but the memories live.
    It haunts.
    Nostalgia is a beautiful ghost,
    And it sweetly calls.

    ©blackflint

  • likwidsay10 6w

    Harvest

    In a world thats blinded by fate. Your ignorance quickly turns to hate. Your prosperity becomes greed. The byproduct of bad seeds. Planted in futile fields bad fruit is all it yields. Nothing good could come of it. Even when buried knee deep in shit. A beautiful green valley turn unto a desert. A valley so lush in the beginning. With cool clear trickling springs, grassy fields of grain and orchards of apples. It was a paradise. They say this is punishment for their wayward ways from God.They'll grow and burn what's left of the cash crop at the expense of the land. The land won't carry another havest. The last generation. Doomed to be damned waiting for salvation.

    ©Likwidsay10

  • _solitaire_ 6w

    .

    I love people who feel peace lying under the aura of this vanilla sky and amongst the dark clouds who notice the remaining chunk of a cresent moon.

    ©_solitaire_

  • arenthemagical 6w

    Old Apple Tree

    On the banks of the river
    Near my goat farm
    Stands an old apple tree.
    It's been in my family for generations
    And will stand for generations more.
    The bark, like the fingers of an old gnarled hand,
    Reaches out with love and tenderness.
    The leaf, though many years old,
    Stands with a fineness seen only in the city's wealth.
    The branches, like loving tendrils,
    Breach the refined leaves with a love so pure And deep.
    The apples, red as blood,
    Waiting to be picked with an intangible patience.
    That apple tree is where I like to sit,
    Sit and think about life's meaning.
    The goats around me, bleating,
    And the apples above my head,
    Make me think of myself as an
    Unworthy creation of love in a big,
    Unfeeling universe.
    ©arenthemagical

  • kanikachugh 6w

    I will let the night wind sing
    the praises of the accident
    by which we met.

    I will let the sea breeze whisper
    the mosaic pick-up lines
    for you to piece it all together.

    I had buried a forbidden shadow
    of my past on the beaches
    of May summer and moonlit sand long ago
    that still crashes with speaking pebbles and
    resurrects it at twilight to haunt me.

    Today, I will let the creaking lighthouse
    break the midnight-dawn to you,
    to cut loose my closet secrets
    before it trembles me down
    like the whimsy leaves in autumn.

    Today, I won’t roam
    but will standstill
    not in denial or
    wearing crutches of tricks
    but will open my heart wide
    like the sea opens up
    amidst the baking Sun.

    Today, I will share a secret
    enough to obliterate us
    but I believe you’d come
    back like assorted snowflakes
    the moment I’ll get cold
    and we will grow through all the cracks.

    @writersnetwork @miraquill #pastoralpoem #wod

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    Today, I will share a secret
    enough to obliterate us
    but I believe you’d come
    back like assorted snowflakes
    the moment I’ll get cold
    and we will grow through all the cracks.

    ©kanikachugh

  • maiatamarain 6w

    #pastoralpoem #wod @writersnetwork @miraquill

    ________________________________________________

    Whenever I see polaroids of 1971
    I breathe Septembers and Octobers of 50 years ago
    When I had the sun-dried skin of 15
    After great battles & wars
    I counted deaths by fallen autumn leaves
    And my muddy feet recited stories
    Of erosions and earthquakes
    This naked mind of mine
    Understood the play of broken plates
    And the unspoken messages on the dining table
    Me a house of recovering scars
    Found solace by the countryside river
    The way the water hugged the underlying rocks
    Made my soul feel the cries of the dying sunsets
    For this was the body of a normal teen
    Who had the adventures of climbing hills
    And had sung lullabies to her own silhouette
    Who knew why clouds sobbed
    When they bid farewell to each other
    And why the beauty of seedlings
    Were strong enough to make one's heart soft
    'Cause back then in her farmland
    She painted her feelings in hues of sky
    And silently drank the folk lyrics
    Played by the cassettes

    ________________________________________________

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    ©maiatamarain

  • hoorbanu98 6w

    Pastoral Poet

    A poet observe many things
    Make
    letters to sings
    Give
    Words a strong wings
    Papers bright
    every springs
    Ink brings
    Many voices
    To beings


    ©hoorbanu98
    《 16-10-2021 》

  • _spitfire_ 6w

    Going there downright,
    Biding cheek by jowl,
    Far away from a bourgeois terra firma,
    Inundating into each other's soul,
    The country side witnessing the context of framing love,
    The hills, plateaus and valleys all above,
    Almighty being the leading dove,
    Cascading blessings and showering love,
    The windmills, kites and clouds sails,
    Waving into the atmosphere to depict its assent,
    The sun, breaking through the clouds,
    Surging through the smog,
    Escaping into the fuselage of moana,
    Birds chirping the appreciation of consent,
    And moving into the rural side,
    Galloping into the awful hour,
    Comprehending each other and our feelings,
    Slumbering in the arms of each other making memories,
    Daffodils, chrysanthemums, and adorable daisies,
    Undulating and planting the feeble idiosyncrasies,
    Shedding tears of happiness and huff,
    Under the lilac sky, spectating the never ending love!

    ©_spitfire_

    #pastoralpoem #wod #pod

    @writersnetwork a read? @miraquill @mirakeeworld #love

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    Pastoral poem

    ©_spitfire_

  • sproutedseeds 6w

    PASTORAL poem

    It is a pride
    to go on a ride
    passing through memories wide
    of moments in the village alongside
    rivers, waterfalls and fields besides
    mountains and valleys for sun to hide
    Every home happy with elders to guide
    whenever youngster find it difficult to decide
    their presence made us keep worries aside.

    Joint family gave a secured feeling
    Every wound or worry had a healing
    with comforting words always appealing
    to each member supporting and agreeing.

    Now in a neutral family
    nobody has time for each other actually
    for parents are busy with their job in reality
    lack of attention kids behave unmannerly
    Money and status has snatched peace really!
    ©sproutedseeds
    16.10.21

  • a_franteen_writer 6w

    Flowers fade/sky sail's and soars/connoisseurs creep cries/silences scream/
    Bewitching beauty/saddening sunset/a cream colored cottage/ lusty loneliness/dingy darkness/wavering waves/tall trees twinkling/colours clinking/stars sewn seraphic/wounded wine/ poached peaches/sweet scents.
    .
    16th October 2021
    The sky was grey today. It didn't speak like it used to. It slowly turned lavender with a gem sewn into it. Even the trees were silent. The gentle humour grew faintly, with each ascending hour in the book of time, from seconds to minutes to hours. Some oranges and reds sneaked their way into the tiny house on the lonesome hill, splashing it's way through the windows queerly. They didn't seem to have lost their way neither did they find one. In the gentle innocence of a child they hid in my languid eyes and black short hair, turning golden after the rendezvous.

    Flowers faded, even in a pool of water with ample sunlight. They weren't meant to live but I forced them to. Though they lost to the desires of time and death, still the sense of saving a life form perceived in my heart; the flowers were abandoned by some stoic lovers as they too, had lost to their own lovers. A lover abandons another lover in a different form. So I picked them up gently yesterday, to retrieve and find traces of some leftover love but it only led me to overwhelming lust and precarious desires.

    The little cottage praised by the soaring wind stood firm upon the hill, where I lived with a library of thoughts and emotions, all breathing in the restless words of a forgotten poetess, who still breaths but has lost all her blood in her veins to the ink pot in which she dipped her peacock feathered quill and wrote till the early hours of the day, disturbed by the rising dawn and the falling night.

    On such an evening she lied to the cities of youth and recklessness so that they could abandon her and leave her in her chaos; ruins of her former self. She built herself one by one, piece by piece; a Michelangelo perfecting her David, and so well did she make her ruins into the little cottage, fate and destiny resigned from her life forever.

    She still lives with me like a haunting spirit, a dream that we all live in, and seldom leaves the cottage draped in sleek cream colored hues, stained with the faltering kisses of her former love, and the faltering kisses of the dusks and dawns in which she rekindled her light every night, only to be distinguished the next morning.

    The waves of the sea will still clammer, the sun will still rise, the flowers will still bloom, even if she and me go out of everyone's sight.

    /The stars shine/the moon sings lullabies/the seas sing ballads for the nights/ you and me still fight to survive./

    -- a_franteen_writer

    Peace ��️

    #pastoralpoem #miraquill #writersnetwork #ceesreposts #pod #wod #nature

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    Pastorally bleak

    ©a_franteen_writer

  • akkshu 6w

    Countryside

    Let's walk hand in hand
    Side by side, on a countryside
    Leaving back our mechanical life
    Far from chaos filled city
    Let's live in a small hut
    Where we have nothing precious than ourselves
    Let's taste the traditional food
    Cooked in a small chulha
    Let's fall asleep when the sky put on it's black starry blanket
    And wakeup to the nature's alarm
    Let's live on a countryside
    Leaving back our mechanical life
    ©akkshu

  • hoorbanu98 6w

    Let me sleep♥
    In green


    Take me away into your green world
    Not only me but my soul too
    Take me away
    And make me
    Be in your loyal calm greenish lap
    Take me away to
    Just for a sleep like a snail.

    ©hoorbanu98
    《 16-10-2021 》

  • shabz_felix 6w

    @writersnetwork1 @miraquill #wod #pastoralpoem
    Honestly I don't think this make any sense at all

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    Pastoral life

    Facades reflection of a beautiful castle
    Built on memories sunrise mornings
    Blooming daises in soul of life abnormalities
    Shivering miserable after folklore Scary story
    Intolerable the thistles and thorns
    Haunting my emotional pathway
    Lodged mercy solace soggy eyes
    Compasses me accelerating and cutting deeply
    Pricking melancholy bittersweet crafted portrait
    cook pit in the water cress of broken branches
    Watching my life drown without cope
    Sucking on flowering nectar
    rocking with me rock blues music
    I roll up my sleeves to catch
    Floral sweetest memoirs
    ©shabz_felix

  • silhouette_of_a_poet 6w

    Those Lands

    Greeted by a cathartic embrace
    I saw uncamouflaged hearts
    Felt the caressing breaths
    With a heavenly fragrance
    The lush green carpet
    Reassured each step I took
    Unheard melodies played
    With a calming quality
    Raw beauty and sheer kindness
    Overwhelmed my city bred soul
    I fall into a dreamless sleep even now
    When I picture those lands

    ©edward_3355

  • blinganshu 6w

    FAVOURITES- YOURS AND MINE
    Listening to my favourite tunes
    I always thought
    Would I ever have a person in my life
    Who I could listen to these songs together with.

    Now that I have you
    I want to make a playlist with both of our favourites
    I want to listen to these songs
    When we sit down to watch the sunset
    When we lie down under the clear sky
    Counting the stars whole night
    When we sneak out to chase the rising sun's rays
    Among the yellow mustard fields in foggy winter mornings
    When I start an impromptu dance
    In the kitchen while cooking
    And you can't help laughing at my goofiness
    When we fall asleep holding each other

    Listening to my favourite tunes
    I think of the day
    When yours and mine would merge
    To become ours.
    ©blinganshu
    #happysongc #wod #pastoralpoem #sustu #favourites

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    Favourites- Yours and Mine

    Listening to my favourite tunes
    I think of the day
    When yours and mine would merge
    To become ours.
    ©blinganshu

  • pallavi4 6w

    Pastoral poem

    I await in the vast harvested fields
    Listening to the wind whoosh past
    Nearby lie numerous bales of wheat
    And hordes of cattle tied to the masts

    There is a strange symphony in the country
    The landscape’s serene as far as the eye can see
    I feel the sublime and picturesque pastures
    Carry a peacefulness that washes over me

    And while I lay on the freshly mown grass
    I can hear the tinkle of the livestock’s bells
    Somehow that always makes me feel alive
    And with gratitude make my heart swell

    @pallavi4

    16th of October, 2021

    Pic credit: Pinterest, picture credited to its rightful owner

    #wod #pastoralpoem #pastoral @writersnetwork #miraquill #writersnetwork #poetry #pod #writerscommunity @miraquill

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    .

  • _ritwika___ 6w

    Her?

    I asked your adress once
    And you showed me,
    A tiny cottage
    Down the mountain lanes

    Beside the valley,
    Among the sunflower farm
    It's been twenty one years now,
    And I have saved much money, for us

    Away from the city crowds.
    After traveling miles,
    I reached the mountains
    Where I could finally claim you mine

    I found the cottage, full of wood eating insects.
    Surrounded by skyscrapers,
    The sunflower farm is now a metalled road,
    Apartments and buildings.

    I found everything, I wished
    Even our photo frames
    Lying torned on the ground.
    But not even a glimpse of you.
    ©_ritwika___