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
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.
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
I was thinking of the seasons
i was reminded of you
how you loved me and taught me
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
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
In the end
no words were spoken
just a heart that was
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!
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"?
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
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.
in your shyness
you barely peeked out your door.
the days where so cool at times.
i switched it to heat.
my air conditioner
was in therapy.
it had lost its self esteem.
still i was always faithful.
hand in hand
we took walks together,
walks i cherished.
as you ready to migrate
perhaps to florida
you know you will be missed.
if nothing else
for the long days you put in
and how you never complained.
autumn you know is already here.
it is great
to spend time
with you both.
she is magnificent this year.
in her quilted shawl of startling mixtures.
crayon shades of auburn, sunny oranges
special new yellows, reds and purples.
let's celebrate with bonfires,
shish kebobs on branches lent.
the children will be crazed
playing in piles of pillowed leaves.
oh my oh my. the parties autumn will throw
what would childhood be
and your siblings?
come those indian days
don't forget summer
don't forget you'll visit.
oh the stories and laughs we'll share.
how seduced we are every year.
with summer at an end
with autumn just at hand
then summer again
and back to autumn
as if we were on a carousel.
September 8 2014
Summer's End Contest
Her radiant beauty crested, wave ebbing,
summer shakes her flowing green free of cooling rains;
yet, stubbornly they linger, gathering
in misty gray garlands about her peaks.
Decay's first browns creep among the flowers,
drab omens of pallid landscapes soon to come.
Vain summer! Water mirrors she left scattered
reflect from every concave surface of the ground.
Fearful of the season's ending glory,
she reaches for a gown only a queen could wear--
parading field and forest in cascading folds of crimson velvet.
Brilliant oranges, scarlet, gold weave her leafing harvest crown;
Her saffron slippered feet trip down a path of aging green.
Even the moon grows large with October envy,
but he cannot out do her flamboyant display;
his grand act only lasts a moment
compared to summer's pretentious autumnal show.
She hangs on, only brown remaining,
wringing out every vestige of our praise...
until winter comes, ice bragging, to steal the last away.
August 28, 2014
Death--- the last sleep? No the final awakening.
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
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.
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.