My Soul It Speaks

My Soul It Speaks

 

my soul it speaks

not with words upon my lips

but with  sunlight peering through

umbrella trees

 

in quietude it speaks

of a slumbering sky

imminent of  snow,

of pea soup dawns

and morning walks

of resting  geese

on grassy knolls

 

it speaks to me

of winding roads

leading home,

of cups of coffee

brewing slow

stirring sweetly

theMcCartney  paths

of yesterday

 

in metered rhymes

with metaphors

of sounds of silence

of days of yore,

in turning pages

of novels read

the musicality

in my head

 

my soul it speaks.

 

Reviews

[A.H.]

I must say, this write - It speaks. What a wonderful piece of poetry here, Kelly. The soul after all can't be ignored, it speaks and we must listen to it. you portray this expression of soul so beautifully here, sunlight peering, umbrella trees, slumbering sky, pea soup dawns, winding roads leading home - sounds like music to my ears. enjoyed reading this so much, thanks for sharing.

[Kelly Scheppers]

I believe poetry allows our soul to speak. So thrilled you enjoyed this, Abhilash. Thank you!

[A.H.]

you're most welcome, Kelly.

[MCS]

The mind is its thoughts, the heart is its desires, and the soul is its experiences; thank you for this reminder that results in much-needed harmony.

[Kelly Scheppers]

I always find harmony in your writings, Mary. There's always a message ingrained within your verses that leaves the reader with something, in walking away. Thank you so much for your visit today!

[Vol]

Kelly
And in a beautiful language! I think it speaks because it knows how to listen...
Vol

[Kelly Scheppers]

I've always referred to it as "listening to the warm." It's a voice that resonates within us. All we need do is to listen. Thank you, Vol. I'm feeling the sunshine you bring!

[Vol]

Kelly,
It is a very strange thing to be from the east where the hills and mountains are carpeted in trees with splashy creeks and to now find myself out here in the west where what trees there are short, water starved, any corpse is at the inaccessible bottom of a ravine where there is a little more moisture. Your poem takes me back to heaven...
Vol