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Seasons Free Verse Poems | Free Verse Poems About Seasons

These Seasons Free Verse poems are examples of Free Verse poems about Seasons. These are the best examples of Seasons Free Verse poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse |

When the Flowers of Youth Fell

When the Flowers of Youth Fell

Winter stayed late that year
courting Spring with a fury.
Beautiful gifts of snow
and dazzling ice, he gave her.
It was during such courtship
I found myself lost -- adrift
in a place that once was ....
decades from this century.

Where mud and blood held hands
beneath duty and honour
and kindred flowers fell
to sounds of bugle and drum.

Smoke arose through Spring's tears.
Images of Blue and Grey
pilfered my breath as cannons 
rained thunder upon the brave.

How was this happening?
This was not where I belonged!
My time was not this place
and I wanted to go home.
Where Winter courted Spring
and snowmen fell -- not flowers --
upon the muddy ground
as snow reigned upon the brave.

The smell of gun powder
danced about my head and nose
like spirits for the faint --
arousing life ... far from home. 
"Get down! Get down! Get down!"
The half-crazed voice plunged me 
into the mud and blood
and I lay frozen in fear
beneath his weight ... and the cold. 
So cold, no hearts were beating, 
no breaths were being drawn, 
just the smell of sweat and blood.
The smell of rain and death.

Clutched tightly in his pale fist 
a tattered blood-stained note
bore the words, "Please ... for
mama ...."      
I tried but could not scream. 
And, I felt daylight passing ....

As shadows took the brave,
Winter's folly tamed sweet Spring
with final coats of snow ....
and snowmen fell -- not flowers. 

3.08.2013
Deborah Burch


Details | Free verse |

AS TWELVE MONTHS CLOSE


I count my walks through herbs and shells never knowing how old bones can be fleshed from a heart bound on scrolls of endings, and here I am among rows of an orchard… feet like dust sanded by twelve months of famine and feast ; somehow the maple boughs wither from the laundry of evenings’ regret. Often times, like the gypsy rose, I climb into the lattice of my family tree smelling its tar and citrus that knit arms glossed by twilight’s love, then raked by froths of autumn’s debris. Closing a fence as another year shuts off, I am between silence and scream… eyes groaning with the music of an anonymous breeze sheltering a collected beauty of tragedy and the comedy of drama: trials pinned by veiled nights when kinship endures the flood of weather's hands. It is so, I mean, the certainty of taming the last ride before new seeds from a new year twirl upon unborn fruits… I disrobe the old bones to greet the unknown. .......................... "“In times of test, family is best.” – Burmese Proverb Charlotte Puddifoot's Open Free Verse Contest 7/14/2014


Details | Free verse |

The 4 seasons of you

I was thinking of the seasons
when suddenly
i was reminded of you
how you loved me and taught me
all about
the 4 seasons of you

I was dormant in my ways
confused by the meaning of the word content
but like a SPRING downpour
you drenched my thoughts
and planted a seed in my soul
then slowly my love for you
began to grow

Suddenly, in a blink of an eye
our delirious passion
was overpowering and explosive
on-going, like a relentless SUMMER heatwave
refusing to show any mercy

But as time paced itself
steadily on course
you predicted
the infectious novelty of my hungry desires
would eventually come tumbling down
like a leaf on a FALL tree
once bright with color
now, on the ground
succumbing to its eventual fate
of loneliness

In the end
no words were spoken
just a heart that was
broken...
frozen, Like a twig
brittle with frost
lying in it's WINTER grave
never to be part of something good again

I was thinking of the seasons
i was reminded of you
how you used to love me
and teach me about
the 4 seasons of you!




Details | Free verse |

The Avenue

There, just beyond the door yard, she wanders
and I, hiding behind the curtain, catch glimpses
before she disappears up the avenue
that winds through the apple orchard.
Each morning I watch for her as she walks aimlessly.
Sometimes she steps across her previous step and spins,
dragging a broken branch she found,
and with her eyes closed---smiles.
On occasion she willingly falls, lying there,
still smiling and staring dreamlike at the branches
now laden with white blossoms and the busy humming of bees.
I wish I could know her thoughts--
but then, I fear they might be of some other love
instead of the wonder of this perfect spring day,
or, maybe she dreams of that love that she hasn't yet found.
Perhaps tomorrow I'll stroll---and say "Hello"?





Details | Free verse |

Ghost Of Winter

I can feel him in my bones. A chill has descended on my world I can see him in the breath that forms a mist before me. I can hear him in the wind that whispers to the pines. Barren trees flex their skeletal fingers While wasted leaves plummet to their death. His presence is betrayed. I am not alarmed. I have met him before. We oft have locked in struggles between seasons, I have fended off his frozen arrows Beaten back his snow filled storms. Broken his sword of ice and forced surrender. I have left his broken spirit To wither in the pristine fields of spring. Knowing that his soul has not been vanquished. On the morrow, the ghost of winter will return And I, like a worthy foe, Will wait to challenge him again Bob Quigley


Details | Free verse |

Novembersummer

Midfall and nearly all the trees
Stand brown as broken sticks
Against a sky of impossible blue
And I in shirtsleeves a-walking go,
With love and longings my companions
Kicking through the drifts of colored shards
Fallen with another Summer's stealthy fading
Feeling and marveling at this piece of heat
That dropped unnoticed from her pocket.

I could believe today
In an America unnamed,
A place full of wild things and untamed peoples
A place where Spirit spreads
To ride the clouds
And sing its songs unhindered.

Nature has let down her locks today;
And who will look on her
And let themselves be consumed, entranced
By the beauty that lives on in spite of our assaults -
Who will be distracted by the miracles we move through,
Feel the surge of the sea of life all around us,
Hear the whispered prayers
In the windsigh of the sleeping trees
And watch the night come on
Announced by the rose glow behind the thumbnail moon -
Who will stand amid such things,
And not put aside for the moment
Those little cares we circumscribe our lives with,
And stand amazed to be here breathing,
Alive to feel how loving-close
Infinity holds us and claims us for its own;
Surely, not I alone.

I rest a hand on my sleeping child's chest;
Feel the heart fluttering beneath the skin
And I can sense a great wheel turning.

I wander out in the still warm darkness 
That follows this day,
To look up at the starstrewn sky
And see that great wheel begin its turning,
And stand amazed to be here breathing.

And stand, amazed to be.


Details | Free verse |

I Will Live on

Death--- the last sleep? No the final awakening.


---Walter Scott










I am merely a thousand of winds that blow.
You will see me in the winter’s snow,
a glinting diamond glow.

Fleeting sunlight, I will become
that lingers and glows on the grain.
I will soon become the gentle autumn’s rain
that washes away your sorrow.

I will meet you a gentle rush in
the sweet mornings hush.
I will live on and not sleep
for I will not die.
In the night when you feel alone
I will not be gone for I will become
the soft night stars glow.

For I will continue on to a plane
beyond the windowpane.
You should not weep for I do
not sleep.
For I shall not die but live on till
we meet once more. 

This is not about me so no concerns this is for a friend.


Details | Free verse |

My Winter

Winter, a sad season, cold, foggy,
but it makes you think.

It makes you think of the past,
the present, the furture.

The best moment to think.....
is during the winter and when
you see that light out of the window.

It's the sun.....
a ray of hope.

That brings more questions
then a mind could answer.


Details | Free verse |

Walking with you

The icy wind blows through
blushing our cheeks,

Eyes stinging and watering,
and mouths tinted purple.

Snow flurries whirl around us
nipping at our ears;
making our breath white and heavy.

So, we pretend to smoke.

But wide grins give away our game
With hearts purging laughter,

We look long at each other,
Eyes glinting sincerely happy sighs.

City sidewalks stretching out
Before concrete winterlands,
And you and me walking,

Holding and swinging our hands.


Details | Free verse |

Moving Lightly

I move lightly at sixty,
a little less than the max.
Any faster, and the sunflower shells I spit
blow back in my face,
and any slower and the driver behind
becomes too distressed.

I move lightly at sixty,
homeward through the rural landscape,
past barns and combines,
engine humming, without straining,
secure that I need not be anywhere,
or anything, but myself.

I move lightly at sixty,
through the longer shadows of fall,
short days and warm afternoons,
trees variegated with the leafy
nostalgias of the year past,
and the years before.

I move lightly at sixty,
the old van's engine drones
as I "OM", indistinguishable
one from the other, both well worn,
and oblivious of the
years we show.

I move lightly at sixty,
no longer with a need to lie,
or prevaricate,
in love with every woman I see,
and no longer afraid
to say so.

I move lightly at sixty,
in love with the journey,
rather than the goal.
In love with the moment
rather than the hour and 
the need to mark it.

I move lightly at sixty,
bemused by public anger over
a rappers words, knowing they
are far less harmful
than the blood shed
in my time.

I move lightly at sixty,
ready to gear down if necessary,
still able to speed up if needed
to avoid the hazards
of an overactive ego
and libido.

I move lightly at sixty,
content to be alone,
joyful to have company,
regretting neither,
thankful for old friends,
and old loves.

I move lightly at sixty,
finding that not acting,
is as important as the act,
knowing that one can be undone,
and the other, can't.

I move lightly at sixty,
like a comfortable breeze
on a fall day, a thermal for a bird,
uplift for a friend,
a drying wind for a
tearful cheek.


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