Park Poems - Poems about Park

With skateboard tight in hand, his hair cut to the skull, he takes long drags on cigarettes, flinging each butt with an easy flick of fingers. At five feet, slim, in sockless sneakers large for a boy his size and age, lost in oversized cloths new to his adolescence, his trousers barely hang on his half...

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My lady friend and I sit on stumps. When she sings she rings the woods with a monarch's butterfly wings. A crowd of bikers on foot as hikers in thick with woods unsaddles moods. Old ladies end up mothering their men with woodsy mugs. Men spot us and stop smothering their ladies with bear hugs. Sweat rolls off of one of them; he's guzzling down a beer. As...

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A green lung in the city's concrete chest, a breath of open air, where history whispers, and families gather. Not just a park, but a stage for dreams, a place of quiet contemplation, and boisterous laughter, a tapestry of lives interwoven. The Rizal Monument, a sentinel of stone, a silent gaze, across the bay, a reminder of sacrifice and hope. Fountains dance, in the midday heat, spraying cool relief, a children's delight, a moment...

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The warmth of the sunrise cast upon the emptiest park. The treeline afar resembling a foreign far eastern palace. The wind blowing the leaves and swings out of their stillest place....

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It was gloomy today i never knew why but it always seems that way in a big city the south side all lined with beautiful homes all the same sizes and shapes somehow the sun just doesn't seem to make it off the ground here while the west side has some quaint sparks of sun and the east side...

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lunch at lakefront park geese chilling under the sun gentle breeze blowing ...

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pretty park on the edge in my car hoping for change loose chump change dice game many birds feeling free am so wishing i could be washed up memories dreams so long deferred plasma flashbacks far removed saline cools me down welcome mat real world reality checks bouncing still missing baskets back to pretty park a time machine in my mind another notch carved...

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The painted swings now rusted in the breeze, A silent playground where no laughter rings. The faded murals on the peeling trees, A broken carousel where no joy springs. The whispered secrets, lost in tall dry grass, The empty sandbox where small hands would pass, A fading echo of a carefree time. A shadowed memory in life's harsh climb. The dreams we held,...

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A dozen willows in the park A shady grove on the lawn Eleven tall trees in the sun And one dark stump in the shade. They invite me to join them here: Yes, I'd like to sit here, The fresh breeze and cool shade, With the damp earth, and the rough bark. In the sun, children play games and laugh A mother shares lunch...

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The slow budding, turn up of coloring; the tincture in pinks, yellows, magnolia greens, and bluer skies. Smile of eyes and mountain cheeks; a Springtime elixir. Winter white and tawny skin absorbing sunny dyes. She leans against the grand old oak, invoking a look. The umbrella will soon cascade; lithe limbs of plush green. School days, encroaching on playtime’s evergreen yearbook. Cassie’s...

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Let off a lead, freedom bounds as if all joy is held within a bouncing ball to be retrieved and brought back to lay at a lover's feet. Then sent off to do again. Smells wafting from tree trunks, fence posts and tufted grass flood the air with molecules sending canine bladders into spasm eager to mark the moment as their own. Focussed on what...

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Like someone stripped of all possessions, or a thing its attributes, or a word scoured of its meaning – so the park rises naked, stark, severe in appearance, and we see more clearly something like an inner life. Spaces open, distances lengthen, an expansiveness obtains within familiar boundaries. Everywhere a breadth of light, winter light, defines,...

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The signs are clear, are people blind? Bag what your canine leaves behind. Given this morning’s drop that I saw I’d say someone’s walking a dinosaur! And who carries a bag big enough to carry off a pile of that stuff?...

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Weeks later After I first strolled by in the February snow Strings of fruit Left out across the park For birds and all sorts of wonderful creatures And after I wrote a poem And speculated Who this mysterious park shepherd Might be In the unspoiled hunger of my mind and heart Feminine Giver of Life Was my hope I see her far ahead Yes I knew it A woman Though it’s...

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A walk to the park  The crisp morning air There’s frost on the ground  A chill everywhere  Squirrels scurry about From here to there They notice me not I’m needn’t a care Sitting alone  …those four wooden chairs  Waiting for me  And calling me there  Eight chains frozen …hanging straight and so tight Awaiting all burdens  From one winter’s night  Wooden and cold …but just right for thee She squeaked and groaned  Then waited...

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