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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

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 | |

Autumn Colors

          Autumn Colors

Trees shake old cobwebs from their heads
A kaleidoscopic parade of colors tumbles down
Pretty reds and yellows, parasol shapes
Parachute softly and collect in mounds  
Falling leaves that drift and cross our paths 
Brought on by climates cooler winds
Leave the trees in all their majesty
To become the magic of the season 

Created on 9/03/14 for Autumn Colors poetry contest


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 | |

SUMMER'S END

summer.
in your shyness 
this year.
you barely peeked out your door.
the days where so cool at times.

my thermostat,
 insisted,
i switched it to heat.

my air conditioner 
was in therapy.
mostly ignored
it had lost its self esteem.

still i was always faithful.
hand in hand 
we took walks together,
 my friend.
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.
forever youthful
in her quilted shawl of startling mixtures.

crayon shades of auburn, sunny oranges
special new yellows, reds and purples.

let's celebrate with bonfires,
huge marshmallows,
single spiked.
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
without summer,
autumn,
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
Kelly


Details | Free verse | |

October Envy

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


Details | Free verse | |

A Summer To Remember

A Summer To Remember



Summer exhausted, the fall chill begins
    in those first days you and I fell
    into each other as water into the sea
    sunshine was you, light was all me
Winter's snows saw us meet its deep cold
    a team that danced in that icy glory
    sweet ink wrote our special story
Spring, our lives embraced a great renewal
    beautiful pictures sought we out
    tempting each into adventurous journeys 
Summer returned, I found your shadow had fled
    our love emerged from its sheltered cocoon
    seeking love anew, its past left dead

R.J. Lindley


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.


Details | Free verse | |

Fall of a Melancholic

Tracing back…
that is what I am doing now,
just tracing back
along this woodland path,
in an attempt to grasp remnants
of a time 
when I felt so alive, yet dying.

Thoughts and memories,
they fall  like these leaves,
a melange of confusion, beauty and frailty

Swept away by the wind, scattered
or swept into a pile, unified.

Either way, they can be stomped on,
brittle leaves crushed into a satisfying crunch.

All around me, 
there’s a profusion of vermilion, gold and copper
but those reds have always been my favorite—
so alive, yet can also mean bleeding.

I see a pumpkin carved out, 
a creepy smile adorning its face
A chuckle escapes from my lips,
remembering that time 
when laughter lived in harmony
with love.

Now, I am not sure anymore…
Because how can something 
that had so much hope, so verdant,
change?

I am a fool, for the answers 
are so obvious—
I only need to look at these leaves.

So much like our lives, these seasons…

Not very long,
I will be staring up at argentine skies.

The thought of it gives me chills—
I pray for spring.



09272011336p414


Details | Free verse | |

Sunlight

yellow sphere rises daily illuminating a once-dark world traveling from east to west rapidly in winter months when sun’s deprivation finds Earth dwellers in gloomy spirits longer hours of sunlight add joy to summer months warming seas for swimmers raising flowers from the soil radiating on verdant fields kissing golden meadows a star blessed with life-giving power by a beneficent Creator


Details | Free verse | |

NEARNESS OF AUTUMN


In froths of a sky never ever ending, she throttles like a half—shelled woman slow to prance in the midst of obedient breeze, her movement wrapped like a hundred cider vines… How orange are her nights. Tipping the light with curves arched and flowing with rain, she mounts her tinseled limbs on autumnal crest. The trees, seeds, and candles in her eyes lightly open the fingertips of near November. Quick to beat on belly drums, her tresses of fire melt the liquid stars in one tender rush… How native and young is she. After holding the skirt that lifts into a dance in the midst of patient time, the moon hangs like a violin ready to strut for a waltz that drifts on appliqués of her arms. And if every detail of lace in her malleable clay can be sewn in the light touching her shade, this she shall bring too. In Autumn's November froth. Seasonal Bliss Contest, Regina Riddle


Details | Free verse | |

in the farmer's song

so, i got to thinking
about all those words
planted in my language
where fertility grew them
to leave and stalk and pod

the farmer's words scatter
my fields like seed on clod
watered by thundering flashes
awash, fertilized and germinating

progeny seedlings, my own growth
in some time-lapse photography
writhing their creamy roots
into earthy loam and droning
on through a summer daze

into fruits of sweaty labors 
on humid chlorophylled days
silks sultry green, stalking me
through rows and rows as far
as i can see, if i squint

the farmer, suspended in time
stands with his hands in pocket
or on some implement toed to soil
and surveys life's prospects 
for this season, before the

days bake the green back into 
the humus and the cornucopia 
spills the field and orchard
this verse of the farmer's song
picked and stowed away cool

eyes closed now, ears gently
strain to hear, worldly phrasing
come from where? my larder
or some ancestor gleaning meaning
and dropping it into her apron

to carry home to hungry minds
to feed them something of today
and sustain them through a fallow
solstice and the chilled breeze

any cultivation harvested over
picked clean and harrowed flat
nearly time to plow it under again
while the farmer gazes the horizon
and sips something in his cup

© Goode Guy 2011-08-22


Details | Free verse | |

Spring Showers




free 
as the wind
in song 
and verse
tumbling 
within my soul
quenching 
my poetic thirst

as vibrant  
as the wild daisy
each teardrop 
upon my face
I twist and turn 
in posy
lapping up 
the springtime rain 

with each 
pitter patter 
racing 
to greet my heart
I melt 
with each breath of beauty
drowning 
as I impart

forever 
in crystal showers
as I fall back 
to paint the day
from the rumbling clouds 
of dynasty 
quickly 
I am taken away

free
as the wind
in song 
and verse

untouched purity
this poetic birth

________________________


Details | Free verse | |

More About Rain

The great Serengeti's broad 
face lies in the African sun, 
dry, weathered, cracked, 
thirsty for the season.s tears

Storm clouds gather on her 
brow like an old lady's curls
Promises, promising
An empty promise

...The rains are too late
The children of the Serengeti 
lie down on her dusty bosom, 
never to rise again
A desperate waiting fills the 
air

At last, a single drop of rain 
falls on the delicate skin of 
the vast plain, then another 
and another

There but for an instant, 
before it vanishes into the 
scorched earth

Another drop, then ten, then 
dozens, then hundreds, until 
the broad face that is the 
Serengeti smears through the 
downpour
 
Watering holes fill and 
breach, streams and rivers run 
like locomotives 

Mysterious fish pop out of the 
mud
Sweet grasses leap up in the 
night 

Yesterday the majestic 
canvas was devoid of life 
Today, overflowing, a palette 
gorged with color and life… 

the cycle begins anew
The Serengeti awakes! 


Details | Free verse | |

Autumn

When sunlit days
become lost in shade,
and all that was verdant
becomes windswept jade,
withering leaves become
gold and brown, summer’s reign 
at last,has lost her crown!

© Harry J Horsman   2012


Details | Free verse | |

November

November

Cool winds turn cold as the winds stir from the north
The sun, the life giving star, heats the tropics so far to the south
Its warmth a distant memory to the lands that it deserted
Long forgotten greens of summer turn into the color of a raging fire
The fire dies and leafs that lived in the summer sun die and fall to the ground
The white silky clouds turn black and heavy carrying moisture from the open waters
The mighty lakes of the north turn violent under the fading yellow sun
Fighting the winds and the certainty of the fingers of the north freezing them
Rain turns to ice storm and them into the snow that children love
Mother Nature makes her changes as the speed of life slows
Baby animals, now grown, leave their family to explore their new world
Some settle down for a sleep that will protect for the three months of bitter cold
Others travel to the lands of their ancestors where the climate never changes
No one tells them to make such a journey
It is just the cycle of life that protects them and their young
But all the ice, the snow and the suffering will end
For it is November and November is a month of change
The changes will last until the spring when live starts anew
The ice and snow will melt and food will be plentiful
Green with once again color the trees, grass and shrubs
The animals who were babies in the fall return with babies of their own
The lakes thaw and calm in the spring’s gentle breezes
Life will return to normal at least until the winds of November return
But, at least for now, that is a world away in another time
And it is no longer remembered


Details | Free verse | |

Uncle Jim

1963.
I ran crying to Uncle Jim, standing by the barn door.
We hugged, and I tried to hold the smell of him,
of Vermont -- Old Spice, oatmeal, rotting leaves in crisp October air.
"Oh, kid, you and me, kid ... you and me," he said. 
But the car was waiting, all packed.
My grandparents yelled one more time, to come.
He stood alone, waving goodbye, his head held
to one side, a war injury. 
Perhaps that's why he drank.
Or maybe it was living so far away from us,
in a wild place, where snow is measured in feet.
On winding roads, I cried for two hours, through valleys of orange and yellow and graveyards of granite, where men with stovepipe hats and ladies with hoop skirts lay side by side underneath the green.
A blur of steeply pitched roofs went by.
Was Uncle Jim, by now surely in his house watching snowy TV, crying, too?
1975.
Uncle Jim is dead, at least he told me so, as he stood by my bed one night.
2013.
Even now, when I think of Uncle Jim, and how he held me, what he said to me in 1963, I still cry.
Even now.


Details | Free verse | |

WINDBLOWN

The woods stole me today and I was grateful that molting maples hummed their familiar hymns, brilliant notes of crimson and lingering gold. Dad, you walked beside me, chatting, invisible, so I became five, fed nuts to nattering squirrels as your big hand tugged at a cherished season. Once, I’d thought you mapped the flights of geese, scattered turbulent clouds in some grand scheme. Again, your voice traveled as we walked the path, windblown, while my footsteps crushed old dreams.
By Cyndi MacMillan for the Autumn Splendor Contest Written Sept 9, 2012


Details | Free verse | |

Tadpoling parts 1 and 2

part 1 

We bend low under over-hanging branches
lit by reflected river-light gently shifting. 
Our boots suck the muddy bank.
We wade into clear water
the dappled up-light playing 
on our  serious faces.
Intent on our task
hands plunge. 
Cold-shocked I gasp.
You hold your jar steady.
I scoop mine.
Triumphant in a shower of icy prisms 
we hold our prizes aloft,
laughing and shouting,
water streaming down our arms,
jars teeming with tadpoles.
Faces pressed close 
to these underwater worlds,
we stand transfixed.
Each reflects a small disc
of sparkling  sky.

part 2 

April trees rake scudding clouds.
Far away farm dogs bark
at wind-snatched shouts 
of bird-nesting boys.
Somewhere, a cuckoo calls.

In the back garden
a blackbird stakes out his territory.
Ignoring him the cat purrs,
yawning in the sun.

While unnoticed 
on the garden table
beside a upturned jar, 
a sprinkling
of flattened tadpoles
commas
drying in the sun.

The bored cat
saunters by,
her tail held high
in the shape 
of a question mark.