meadow Archives - Spillwords

Forest Of Secrets

KL MerchantJanuary 30, 2020

Forest Of Secrets written by: Kayleigh Merchant Wandering through the green lit meadow Wolves howling out, Shadows brush on past The time ticks m...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

Natalia

Magdalena PodobińskaJune 12, 2019

Natalia written by: Magdalena Podobińska One summer morning Still yawning She jumped out of bed Just like a Morning bird and she ran to the m...

EnglishPoetry1 min read

If You Had No Body

Janina OsewskaMarch 10, 2019

if you had no body written by: Janina Osewska translated by: Karol Chojnowski and Desmond Graham if you had no body and I was a soul the painte...

EnglishInternationalPoetryPolish0 min read

A Meadow Split So Well

Michael SheaOctober 25, 2016

A meadow split so well written by: Michael Shea @calmsbehaviour A meadow split. Small brown bird flits spasmodically through the grass, hidden like h...

English1 min read

Moon Meadow, Martha’s Vineyard

Anda PetersonJuly 9, 2016

Moon Meadow, Martha's Vineyard written by: Anda Peterson @anandaand Winter light pale over the meadow and soft like a promise whispered to the still ...

English0 min read

No more articles

Gerardine White (mostly called Ger) grew up in wild open country of West Limerick, Ireland. Her country life is represented in her poems and has a strong bearing on her core values and education. She inherited the skill of poetic rhyme from both of her parents and her Grandad – who were all fine poets and storytellers. Her education took place mostly in South West Ireland and the rest of it is gleaned from travel, from life, and from being an avid reader of all kinds of books. In recent years she has returned to poetry writing. This past year seeing her published in four Anthologies from Clarendon House Publications. She sees herself as a Spiritual person, very connected with life in all forms. She is happily married for past 20 years and currently lives in Sussex, UK. She enjoys healthy pursuits of country walks with a nice cuppa tea and chat at the end.

Resurrection by Suzanne Craig-Whytock

On the day that Budgie died, I was young and very sad. He was a pretty bird, always singing in his cage. Sometimes we let him out to fly around, and on that day, the curtains were wide open and he slammed into the glass hard. Momma put him into a shoe box and I cried as we buried him in the back garden among the lilies. The next morning, very early, I snuck out of the house and dug him up with a garden trowel because I wanted to see him one more time. When I took the lid off the shoe box, his eyes were open and his wings fluttered ...