Oh I am but a simple leaf
withering within the gutter
one summer of bliss
now! Just an autumn flutter.
For some; destine to fall
upon stony ground, a part
of life’s infernal gyration.
Yet for those that fall
within your reach, to live
on within your soul!
While limbs that stretch
towards the solstice, create
vivacious veins as channels of hope,
a pledge of foliation continues
to endure what spring has
furnished; autumn expires.
Yes! If we can but learn
from nature’s complex simplicity,
that life be of a cycle
from the seed we are conceived,
then let spring be my beginning
winter my exultant eve!
Let our two cultures
merge as one, the
to become the sustenance;
our transfusion the
Let us breathe the
fragrance of born again;
let each slender limb,
stout body bear our
tenaciousness, each lyrical
leaf our life’s blood.
Let us mollycoddle each
precious tear that falls from a
angry sky; dance gracefully
upon the wind, embrace
on moonless nights, bathe
in summer madness.
Let us hear the bluebell call,
the daffodil pray, the apple
blossom bear witness; the
clamour of the field mouse
the pitapat of the butterfly
the silence of lovers in love.
Let us be sanctuary to the
symbolic songstress, scuttling
squirrel, vulgar urchin;
a fortress for the warrior
a haven for the pacifist
an inspiration for the poet!
The call of springtime
we will invoke,
we will gladly choke;
“This! Obliging old oak.”
Copyright Harry J Horsman 2000
has long died;
she comes to pass.
across open yards,
blotted white -
then, one last
escapes with might
to southern breeze.
transform with ease.
slowly brighten -
in budding delight,
they sleep no more.
soft to touch,
in wake of warmth
and bubbling sounds
of children’s laughter.
Under a hearty sun,
bare feet and legs
long to lilt
as passion follows
out to taste the open air,
waiting for night
to kiss in the flush
of descending moonlight –
as shooting stars
sleep no more.
last sparks in the fireplace
cool, no longer needed
to kindle romance.
I soften to the touch
of spring dew,
the joyous music -
fresh falling rain;
taking her time
to seed waking soil
until she voraciously
like a lost love –
a restless gypsy
on a journey-
she sleeps no more.
Spring dresses earth
in liveliest colors…
and I smile,
Overwhelmed with the beauty
touching my soul
and sun showers falling
on sweetened dreams.
autumn is here.
of the rain
and blossoms spring.
the snow shapes
the crisp cold
ices the wintertide.
the sand sculptures
a childhood summer past.
the seasonal airs
stimulates the senses
and the memories they carry.
in the glee,
in the hopes and dreams,
in the human spirit,
lives the miracle of life.
voices in every pitch
deep and resounding,
of echoes and whispers – uncut.
Any Old Poem Will Do - Contest
For Skat A
Entered: August 29 2014
Summer is like bathing naked in honey
Liquid hot gold shiny sweet honey
You feel it like velvet on your skin
It fills you with wonder - sweetness and grace
Dancing in a field of timothy filled with summer scents
A gust of wind that kisses your cheek - it's summer time
Small buds on the trees - a little bird sitting in the tree and singing
Summer day suffocated by autumn crisp and cold breath
Grief catches my deepest spirit but the waves hide my tears
On my palette colors are perfect - red, yellow, orange and brown tones
The trees pray and hope - but someone has to lose for severe storms
My eyes capture the most beautiful moments
Autumn dress in beautiful colors dancing and ripples in the wind
Withered autumn leaf - no small bird sitting in the tree and singing
- A-L Andresen :) 30.08.2014
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Contest Name:Summer's End
- Thanks for my 1st place in the contest - :)
"This is dedicated to all who understand this. Whether we like it or not." -D.J.E.
I wasn’t gonna write this
Emotions are stirring high
How much time has passed
Still feel your presence
Of the slowest death
To these present seconds
An ugly revelation
Tainted the sunshine
That bared on our souls
365 days ago
So many tears
Had filled the ocean
For love’s river
Were held back by presumption’s walls
The dam’s of what could have been
Here I stand
In this present moment
Your essence still lingers
Like the flakes of a dandelion b r e a k i n g f r e e
From its home
Tormented echoes of “why”
“Please don’t go”
“I love you…I love you so much”
High pitched resonations
Rafts of secondary importance
This heart still knows
For it will always recall
Played me a fool
While you held hands
Across my shoulders
Left me uncomfortably numb
All my rights
And all the while
My foolish hopes
Continued to warp my mind
Maybe if I didn’t look back when you walked away
Like the rules said…
These soft acoustic riffs
Replay in my head
You were my “Wonderwall”
“You could’ve been the one…to save me”
But I overcame
Didn’t want to be an inconvenience for you
Colors of Fall
Your favorite season
You were like Summer & Winter
Knew when to turn up the heat
Make me sweat
Each new arrival
A summer equinox
But, when it was over
Nothing but cold
Even solace’s bandages
Could not heal
But, I weathered the storm
And would do it again
Cause it was for real
Here I am
52 weeks have past
Of that hourglass
With no more sands
Buried in dragon’s chest
You are in my silent prayer
Even though you are contained
Within my heart’s asylum cell block home
I loved you
With all that I had
That you will be the only regret
I will ever be proud of.
© Drake J. Eszes
~Without suntan lotion~
The balloon man silently left the park
Where are all the jump rope kids?
The hopscotch sidewalk is slowly fading
The children are covered in sweat
I see dried pecan trees, every one fights for the fountain turn
Where are all the pretty flowers, why do the swings sit alone?
Why must it hurt -the sun -the burn -the tan,
It must be summer all over again?
Out doors a place of freedom where
prying eyes could not restrain the vibrancy.
School’s out, summer sunshine, crisp morning light,
cuts through the fog of parental restraint.
Blue jeans, tee shirts, Keds and an orange and
black striped bumble-bee bus of
prepubescent girls off for their first day
of summer work, farm work.
Bagged and boxed lunches held tight, their
hands taped white to shield them from the
sticky yellow nicotine sap, the itch,
a rash of budding beauty among the
burgeoning rows of new stalk green.
Tobacco as far as the eye can see
rises on cane-like stalks. The furrowed
fields are uncovered now in the July sun.
Gaggles of girls in candy colors, sweet and sour girls,
tall and short girls, rows of girls among the cane.
Poled lines spanned the rows above the rising canes.
Little twisters walked the gullies tying off each plant,
around the rising stem a hairy-brown twine was laced,
between the fan shaped leaves of dollar green.
Early summer passed, coloring cheeks pink,
and skin to golden brown.
The stalks rose like seeds from Jack. By the first of
August, they’d topped the girls and the cheesecloth
shades were rolled above. Steamed in the August sun
deflowered-the children were watered and by
State Law occasionally rested and retrieved if
the temp rose past one-hundred and five below the nets.
Any bit of uncovered skin was burnt or
tarred black daily by then-harvest time.
Shooed into the darkened sheds Consolidated
on the dirt floor the stringers stood, sewing
machines with piles of slats beside them, one girl per machine
two hands, two leaves, in they went between the belted teeth
and the needle lanced. It also lanced tired fingers.
Piecework; I can’t remember the pay scale but
they called it piecework and it was too. [a fine piece of work]
It took bits of you away every day.
But in the dark, high up in the rafters, the darkies
hung the bounty, handsome black Jamaican boys
crews of boys with lilting tongues and they sang,
and we sang “Come See About me.”
We worked, and we sang “Baby Love”
It was a supreme summer.
On our own, a bloomin’ summer
where all of life was ripe for the pickin’.
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
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
when the coolness of spring
begins to fade,
in the wake of rising heat
in early April in north Indian plains,
and the golden wheat crops
shimmer in glade,
flowers of different hues
begin to lose their bright sharp sheen.
the dry, pale yellow and brown
dead leaves of most trees,
shed themselves off one by one
exposing the bare branches,
ahoy!! soon thereafter
the nature’s miracle can be witnessed,
if one looks at the bare dry branches
a bit more closely.
suddenly they seem to be covered
with growing tender green leaf-shoots ‘n buds,
and slowly begin to swing
in the gentle breeze like coy maidens,
taking cover behind each other
they nervously glance around to check,
they have not been seen naked
in their act of changing their attire
by any stranger.
when the flower-laden branches
of mango and other fruit trees
gently dance in the air,
to sweet notes of the cuckoo’s song
attracting butterflies ‘n insects to their flowers,
and what a surprise to see not so long after
the sudden evolution of flowers into small unripe green fruits,
which promise to become sweet ‘n juicy
in the growing heat of the engulfing summer.
the morning cool and gentle breeze
rapidly starts to convert itself into,
a hot, biting, dry, strong westerly wind
as the sun simmers agonizingly close ‘n longer,
everyone gets nature’s signal
to search for shade and cool greens for solace,
before the heat saps up
whatever energy is left in the living beings.
An old poem, now submitted for contest:This poem really S***s
Catherine Tunke on 27.5.2014 commented:
'Is this a poem or a Weather Report? Seas are slight on a low swell. No risk of a tsunami? No point no rhyme and not semblence of poetry.'
The crunch of snow under trudging feet
A breath of white, a darkened sky
Eyes near closed from sting of cold
She dreams of summer days
With each small step, that leaves it's mark
Upon the white
In dreamy state, where daydreams play
From cold, away from chill, from ice upon the hills..
Her thoughts, they bide, for summer days,
and dreams that take the cold away
She finds herself so far away, a place
Where weeping willows brush her face
Bending 'neath the branches low
While walking on a garden's path
Grass gently sways, green as glass
So timid blows the warming breeze,
It fetches shining hair with ease
The wisps of gold which fly astray,
Like meadow flowers, in yellow maize
A melody of larks that sing
An amber sun, a basking glow, that ambles by
To warm a face so pale from winter's sunless sky
Until once more the breath of chill upon a cheek
And snowflake on her lash
Startles cold, like morning ash, returning eyes to winter's cry
A cold north wind that catches scarf
A thief that snatches warmth away, and thus her dream
And now awake, she sighs, ...to find it still,... the winter day
Yet distantly, there lies in wait, a springtime place, a promised fate
A path beneath the willow tree, where sun peeks through the velvet haze
Where flowers bloom and meadows grow, and larks sing lovely lullabies
The earth will wake, new walks to take.. and be, not a dream...
But a day to praise
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Submitted for Constance's "A Walk to Remember" contest....
Bringing the memory of childhood summers
Soft voice of an angel leading me away
Eyes flickering slowly with peace
Away into the clouds into love and happiness
Blossoming designs flowering in the sky
Inspired by a Art gallery and a poem by Shelly.
A room full of mottled multicolored butterflies
captured within a creative space
of artful design
to inspire and aspire
Flirt and flutter a delicate ballet
among the pot plants
A splash of color
among a drab row of urban gray
The door is opened
and the butterflies are released to freedom
flying high above
lush green trees
in clear unblemished skies
floating like autumn fallen leaves
in a gentle breeze
that rested on my heart for a while
and made it smile
bringing pleasure to my eye
A symbol of freedom and eternity
filling my dreams
with all the treasures of summer.
Peter Dome.copyright.2013. Sept.
I remember that day
As clear as the crystal springs in June
When the sun rose upon a gladsome sky
Bursting through the harbor and the fields
As soft as the buds by the quivering dew
Dancing in the blue distance.
Summer's warm and scented breath
Invaded the clustered pathway
Where the last mountain spray
Descended in your eyes
Like a constant burning fire
That glimmers like fulgent streams of spring.
You held a delicate rose
In your limpid hands kissed by the
Vast fountains of purity's grace
That greeted my eyes with coy beauty
When the day was ripe with glory .
Like a flower you blossomed in my eyes
As one who held heaven in her smile
And sweet rosebuds on her lips
That trembles in the cold
With a budding joy as new as the moon
In the fullness of the night.
You drew a few words from your sad breath
That pierced like a striking sword
When the voice of the wind echoed
Through the lilac vines
Entangled on the weeping trees
That nods in the noonday light
In the last breath of summer.
My soul sank in dejection
Wet with despair.
Anguish flashing in my aching heart
Like an untamed madness
On this boundless land .
Oh please don't leave my love
Oh please don't leave my love
Because if you do
The mortal fire in my veins
My breath would mute
And my lifeless body
Would drift me to some unknown hell
To live forever
In a helpless state of deep despair
In a desolate darkness
Of utter hopelessness!
What is ? ----- Is it ?
What is happiness ?
A hot summer day, walk barefoot in cool grass
Picking a large bouquet of summer flowers
and then merge a flower crown
Maybe get a good advice of
flower Daisies : love me, love me not,
love me, love me not.......
What is happiness ?
Listen to the frogs love song
by the small pond in the woods
Enjoy a fantastic and very light spider webs
Who can do better than the spider
See the raindrops on a leaf,
which glistens in the sun shining like jewels
Meadow which is full of yellow dots when
Buttercup is smiling and nodding
What is happiness ?
Hand in hand on charity trail
be giddy with love
A tender and gently kiss of the one you loved
The dream of a family, have children
and experience that new life is born
Living life together for better or worse
and that the device love never ends
Happiness for me is that you are here
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
ahhh…ripe red fruit….
baby….I can taste it
a bit tart yet so sweet
lingers on my tongue
for just one sip of you
with balmy summer sun
in the hush
of a sea side concerto
the toss of my hair
from your rough mans hands
and a sudden breeze
caught up in the sultry heat
of your contingence
you make me tremble
with incoherent sighs
and quivering thighs
sheer mad wanton cries
A tempest of lust
sand lingers like fairy dust
on our tanned skin
you tease me and tempt me
with breathless reverence
you are so alluring
untamed and sexy
(your virility beseeches my hunger)
and I want you
until I just can’t breathe
waves crash the shore
as you pummel the walls
of my tender heart
the soul of summer
wild wind and
taut tender dreaming
dipped rich in chocolate
pirouette upon my mouth
crimson and stained
from sensual lips cinched
with the only man
I have ever loved like I love you
you are my every dream
tropic air and palm fronds
our island aria
hidden from view
raw panting passion
my lover and my friend
my soul mate
a summer etched in my mind
to replay into eternity
and your brooding and evocative eyes
( I could not forget those days
if I tried )
my love…. we have yet to live this
and it is to my solemn regret
that I still have yet to touch you
these eyes gaze your distance
these summer strawberries ripen
while soft cherry lips wait
always for the promise of you…….
Written for Sir Johns Summer Celebration Contest :)
Silhouette of trees dressed in chiffon prints
Oaks, pines, maples tossing their hair
I trail along their rumba curve
way down to where glazed bushes nestle.
Above roasted sail of Laguna River
crossing a moat...today, foliage begins to seethe
on flamed leaves amidst summer’s embrace,
as more timber follow a float
where mauve petals kiss the air.
The bronzing of glens and wheezing of mist
reach a coaled ember of summer fire,
cluster of moments drapes veined trunk
with sniff of earthy scent, reminding me
how lush the branches swell against heat
of August ‘s coals when two pairs of arms
brush the stars with paint of reveries.
Warm the meeting of palms fondling the barks
In a dizzy sketch of romance, and then,
Like a curl of ambrosial boughs in rumba dips,
Trees hold passion’s charade, until...
Charlotte Puddifoot's Vibrant Verse 2 Contest
- new poem
I woke up to the rumbling sky
Of thousand hooves thundering
Through the heavens' horse race
And their dark dusty clouds
I filled my cup with dewdrops
Before the rain fell
And painted the roads black
With its sweaty sheen
The late summer day
Has just begun its rounds
As I took a sip in my dreams
Lightning’s crashing all around
The Daffodil, peeks at the yellow rays of the Morning Sun
She raises her head :through the withering snow mound : with Dazzling Beauty
The Daffodil , Sings in harmony; Arise for I am : the Spring
The Golden weed, the Dandelion , reflects the yellow Halo Floating in the Sky
Knowing Life is short ,the Dandelion dots the Summer landscape
With Her Halo turning White, She calls the Wind and flies through the rays of the Sun
Goldenrod waits until summer is nigh o’er before waving elegantly
To the Yellow orb, warming her roots, She melodiously Sings Forever be Your Glory
The Goldenrod , humbly Hums Hymns : to the very Eye of a Loving GOD
Yellow Roses speak of the Memories : “watching the grass “Sportsman’s WAVE””
She sees the Glory of Nature : more Beautiful with each Magnificent : Sunrise
Yellow Roses, petals so Silky Soft, holding in “ Remembrance “ a long Lost “ LOVE “
The “ AquaRose “ that Grows, in the deep Caribbean Sea “4 miles North of Aruba”
Screams For the Sun, from her watery Grave, Yet she shines in a sea of “ Sapphire
" Blue "
The Depth of the “Blue sea, the Blue Sky above” Shadow the glow of Sweet
" Sunshine "
Inspired by the Contest : " Flowers " : Sponsored by Francine Roberts
Dedicated To my LOVES : " Barbara Jean " & " Lenore Ellen "
Author's Note : I Hope this is Read the way it was Written
YOUR Liege ALWAYS, LOVE : HGarvey Daniel Esquire
7th Place win
Captured…..the Spirit Wind
(tribute to “My spirit you” by Colin Mitchell Williams)
when you paint a portrait of this love
it is exquisitely artistic
moving souls with words…
splashed on the canvass of this page
like it bled from within your soul
like it spilled from you
from an always pouring faucet
coming from the deepest well….
blatant and caressing
tumultuous and arousing
it comes arrayed in many hues
sprinkles softly like golden dust
poured on feminine hearts
stained with passion
red and pink (your blooming heart)
fervent with heat
sultry and captivating….
much like summer breezes
on balmy beaches
you are passion refined
defined as profound
you speak of this love that rests inside
(one like you say you have never known)
she is lovely you say….
“Now you are like a blue girl
Dressed in summer clothes
Laughing in the sunshine
Playing on the swings of my heart
Rising to the heavens
And out beyond the stars”
how touching those lines!
we see her through your eyes of love
those shining eyes of bliss
she counts herself lucky I would say…
what woman would not?
a woman could but only wish
that she could hold a mans heart
that beats with a constant beat
that captures such staggering
and brilliant colors
how you describe her
we can see her in your eyes
and it feels like love should feel
constant like the sun
ever moving like the current
in a California river
going somewhere on the trees
magic in the wind
beneath a bright iridescent sky
blasting out a soothing blue
you speak of love as it should be
it makes a woman hope
that fairy tales just might come true
If I could enter my own contest right now this is what i would enter. What can i say?"My Spirit
You" is a beautiful poem :) Thank you, Colin, for the inspiration....
the ice cream truck
do you remember in fourth grade when it was the end of the school year?
kids running around in class, volunteer parents planning for field day events, teachers grading tests.
a year's worth of crafts and colorful displays filled the walls like wallpaper.
you can hear singing from the kids in room 4b, ms. mcdonald's class.
the weather outside was a balmy 80 on this june day.
text books, paint brushes, and the obligatory pre-chewed bubble gum filled the desk cavity.
the assistant principle announces something inaudible on the speaker system.
and we are fast approaching the anticipated summer break.
summer. that's when spring lovers finally kiss and the butterflies leave their cocoon.
birds singing and the flowers are saturated with their red, blue, and pink hues.
the last day of school is finally here and the children ride the bus for the last time.
vacations. swimming pools. ocean city. the smell of hot dogs, grass and humidity.
jersey summers are hot. really hot where i grew up. you sweat just by looking out the window.
then one day, the familiar sound of circus-like music faintly approaches town.
louder and louder until everyone knows its the ice cream truck turning the street corner.
the famous mr. softee, or good humor truck, or some local self employed bearded man.
whatever it was, ice cream in all kinds, flavors, colors, and shapes was 25 yards and 25 cents away.
the music kept playing as children seemingly sprayed out of their homes in rapid succession.
a gathering soon followed with parents and children standing all against that delicious truck.
chocolate. peanut butter. vanilla. strawberry. cookies and cream. cookie dough.
sandwiches. bowls. cones. smoothies. sundays. sprinkles. nuts. oh so yummy!
i miss that ice cream truck. i miss those days...
...and i miss you just as much.
My memories of you were never really lost
Though fading more in every season's turn
But I’ve found at last the nook in which they hide
Deep down in forgotten quarters of my mind
In a spark my thoughts repaired
The bleaching color of your smile
and now you are so clear within my heart
I realize with the breathing summer air
That our memories are scattered everywhere
I see us soaring with our kites
And our beings dancing with the sultry breeze
Within a glance I also see us in the sand
With love prints we have left behind,
Along with the yearning waves
For the promised kiss they'll cast to shores
When I peek at our once-shared bungalow
My memories there strike me with awe
How our love fuels us through the night
And how your craving touch tickles my heart
The way we fill each others crevices
Detonated pleasures sleeping in our flesh
And the way we sway in frenzied heat
'Til we reach the skies in sweet delight
But one night the envious heavens make a plot
With the conniving rain they extinguish our flame
I don’t know how to recover from pain
When you are taken by the jealous rain
But I know your spirit still exist
As to our appointed star still shining in the west
A sheet of glass, this expanse of water.
How its tranquillity mocks my unrest.
Colourful beach balls and balloons
travel the park in diminutive hands.
Bodiless voices call in the sun
and bounce off these sizzling surfaces.
It is not surprising I wear cool clothing
and masquerade serenity.
Swollen laburnum pods harbour their horror -
wombs cradling their malignancies.
Such outward masks of innocence!
And the leaves of the willow
mournfully fish the water that stretches into distance
further than vision.
Blossom strews the ground like confetti.
A green leaf anchors in my hair.
At the station things roll into vision -
travelling paraphernalia, fluorescent strip lighting.
I ride the escalator unsteadily.
I am concealing the necessary:
cakes of soap, folded fabrics -
appurtenances of normality.
My respectable patent heels tap hollowly
over the cobbles, the cracked paving stones.
These old garden walls
wear thin skins of lichen now.
Sunlight winks on windowsills,
glittering white paint and ceramic bowls of plants.
Wallflowers scramble up the trellis,
their pollen cloying the air.
Canvas chairs create a Neapolitan facade:
pastel stripes sitting on pink.
One paisley curtain is fluttering
from a high open window.
Already your tenuous grip lets go.
What throttling helplessness in the throat...
Frantic fingers sift and pick over
the desperate possibilities
contained in the musty depths of suitcases,
the shadows of cool stone cottages.
These walls retain the scent of bergamot,
reminiscent of relinquished summers,
the redolence lingering in the pastel decor.
There is no anchor in this terrible sea.
Counsellors bring the modest comforts of select words,
cultivated smiles and cups of tea.
They attempt to smother my fear.
Cheap chipped crockery
and scalding spirals of steam.
Rings encircle these defenceless fingers
that crawl over the tea trays like insects -
cold quoits, surgical silver.
Rubies and sapphires bear testimony to obscene betrayal.
In the hollow months an emptiness will tug at me
like dragging menstrual aches.
Young limbs lie useless and inert,
motionless under starched coverlets.
Something predatory prowls the floor.
A phantom protection is all I claw.
Shooting in the Heaven's a fireworks in this sky
To love you deeply in this world in which you gave me
You're a hot exploding star even the moon smiles on you
wishing magical dusting thoughts the soul left my body
A fairy queen dream she who smiles in sunshine rays
gently soft warm sweet sweeping emotions touch me
looking across faraway hills sparkling inner vision
falling on a star shining out blue white radiant love
Pure burning warm hot bright dazzling my eyes with deep beauty
Who shot me down in a blaze of glory I kiss the earth
salted sea falling golden spiraling cupid's arrow
strikes sweetest chords deeply in the heart when our two souls met
In paradise I am lost in sweet surrender
within a summer warm dream floating sent lingering
Hawthorn bushes drifting aroma honey beautiful
summer dream hotly melting desires holding each other
Embracing you I remember thinking thank you
most precious jewels pouring for you out of a sun
setting teapot pours out awaiting Christmas making plans
you have made my year so golden I am in debt to love
I wrote this just posted it. back in July i read this to someone very special it starts out in 12 syllables 13/14/14 they rise for a reason inside emotions draw
it’s always august’s end
that bothers me the most
i feel that brush of cool air
press against me
like a kiss on dead lips
the trees are now painted
a sunset’s reflection
but all i see is red
in summer’s end
the leaves dance gracefully
beneath the winds
one last time
before they fall
the trees will soon stand
blank of life
like you and you and you
and my mind
as i remember
as i watched them
fall from life
amongst summer’s end
Buried deep between the cracks,
a photograph from yesterday,
I hold it now, within my hand,
as if between the hills and hollows
a childhood bond that we once borrowed
can take me back to days of old
Who am I when I see your face?
One glance and I am me again
A side of me I might forget
comes flooding back like summer rain
refreshing dusty old refrains
that come with smiles, and not of sorrow
I'll hold within today, ... tomorrow..
Who am I when I look close?
The child in me is born again
A "me" I thought I'd tucked away
Until I cast my eyes and see
Two chums two friends, who used to be
In your face, a trace of me
is still alive, a younger me who worshiped you
who looked into the summer night
and made a wish, while you did too,
and promised stars with all our might,
that we would never drift apart
But life moves on, and so did we,
beyond the wish we made long nights
when we held our hands, and felt a bond
as young friends do,...perhaps beyond
We sat upon the old porch floor
In the chill of summer nights
and drew upon the heat that leaked
beneath the threshold of the door
Our eyes would struggle through the dark
to skies so sodden with the stars
Our childhood friendship is a bond
that returns to me in darker times
it whittles away the cruelest tears
and through the years, you come to me
and by the hand you still take me
back to the land of "used to be"
Contest Name: Appreciate platonic relationships
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
Lingering alone on my porch,
leaning against the wooden railing.
Still feeling warm to the touch,
after retaining the heat from the day.
On a June evening,
after the sun had gone down,
just below the horizon.
The silhouette of the darkening tree-line,
contrasting with the light still remaining
in the yellow-white sky,
and streaked with lavender-blue clouds.
but with a slightly, cool breeze,
blowing around my body.
Tickling my bare feet and my bare arms,
and caressing my face.
Gently flowing it's invisible fingers through my long, golden-brown hair.
The essence of the roses,
now peacefully asleep in the garden,
mingle with the scent
of damp, green grass and the fresh, clear air.
Filling my lungs to capacity,
when I close my eyes, and breathe in deeply.
Exhilarating my senses.
I hear no sound,
except for a few birds singing somewhere off in the distance.
The chirping of one lonely cricket,
just awakening in the early dusk.
And, the heavenly melody
played upon the wind-chimes,
by a most talented breeze.
The night will wait, until we come again
Heaven must know, we need assurance that
Our tomorrow is waiting in the wings
For love such as this,.. is never ending
You must not fear the coming of the moon
The night will wait, until we come again
Evening comes streaming with fading color
A summer day bids us farewell, knowing..
Our tomorrow is waiting in the wings
Lonely be the dark of a thousand eyes
Even the rolling hills will miss our love
The night will wait, until we come again
If fate comes as a comet in the night
Or comes as eclipse of the moon,...do not fear...
Our tomorrow is waiting in the wings
Though summer has gone, as summers must go...
We will climb stairs to summer once again
And I will be yours 'till the end of time
The night will wait, until we come again
Our tomorrow is waiting in the wings...
I sit here in the park amidst a carpet of green speckled with buttercups and daisies
A pale blue sky above ceilings my room as I close my eyes
as I open my ears to the Summer sounds surrounding me
Buzzing encircles me as bumble bees in picnic mode
collect the rich nectar from the sporadic yellows and whites
To my left in the distance I hear the distinct sound of children playing in the parks
Shriek's that would cut glass are consumed by the vast expanse
Water splashing resonates through the air as if carried on the Summer breeze
Chimes appear from the distance as a frenzy of screams shout
Mam, dad it's the ice cream van
Suddenly a quietness descends as I picture children and adults
licking their ice cream nectar like thirsty hungry bees
To my right I hear the distinctive grunts of my daughter and her friend
emulating Flushing Meadow on the local tennis courts
The odd yell of congratulations from watching spectators breaks the scene
As I turn my head again in radar like fashion I zoom in on the aviary where gorgeous
budgies are kept
I can picture their greens, yellows and blues through my closed eyelids
This little community chirp endlessly as they flutter in organised commotion
Delights of aw echo across the flower beds as they are absorbed in my
Modern man interrupts this tranquil scene as metal birds noisily
roar overhead whilst bodied engines reverberate reminding us of the mechanical
world we live in
My own little world this Summers afternoon comes to an end as my daughter and her
friend return with vociferous tones
I open my eyes as normality returns
We gather our belongings as we head of home listening to the cacophony of modernism