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Seasons Introspection Poems | Introspection Poems About Seasons

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

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Details | Quatrain |

Windowpanes

An ancient river, centuries-old shops and restaurants steeped in a 2000-year history and 
culture set the scene. The ambiance seemed divinely contrived to facilitate the purposes of 
our meeting and the very fodder from which the greatest poets are sustained.
Not newcomers to the area, Kay P. and I were assigned to the Army Security Agency Field 
Station in Augsburg, Germany in 1974. We were colleagues in the intelligence community 
with no romantic overtures to our relationship, save an appreciation of poetry and profound 
philosophical discussions. Kay wanted to spend the evening with a poet, so we planned the 
evening to be appropriate for the purpose. 
At the time and place, we quickly found ourselves hopelessly immersed in the philosophical 
foundations of my writings throughout the evening. It was the first time since Vietnam that 
I'd felt worthy as a person. I still recall sipping the red wine and feeling the warmth of the 
large hearth inside the Balkan eatery. I still see the swans gliding by on the Lech flowing by 
our café.

When windowpanes begin to weep with autumn's chilly dew, I'm taken back through seasons passed to one delight held true, A rendezvous that time allowed, a gentle evening spent Amid a time of long discord when days were dreary bent. I feel the stretch upon my lips, the smile returns once more. Again, I smell the Balkan fare prepared on Lech's old shore, The mood is cast in high regard, the wine is tart and dry, As Augsburg ripples in the wake when swans go gliding by. The ancient windows frame our view and day begins to wane As rivulets meander down and streak the dampened panes. The ambiance of ages passed beseeched us not to leave And held us in its warm embrace throughout the ebbing eve. My heart was scarred, without regard and hardened by the war But her esteem unveiled its worth, while nothing had before. She saw the child that once was me, I'd long since cast aside, And bade he climb astride his mount, engage his life and ride. Now, she is but a memory, whose kindness soothed my heart, For we embarked upon our lives on paths ordained to part. Her subtle way escaped my eye till time had made it clear That her esteem had set me free, that night I hold so dear. The poetry that filled my soul remains these many years, Impassioned in my warmest thoughts when autumn first appears, When windowpanes begin to weep, a-glisten with the dew, And I return to seasons passed, to one delight held true.


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 | Rhyme |

Message of Departure

I will watch their winged endurance, on the crest of autumn's eve, without knowing where or distance, but in faith they must believe As the harsh breath sounds of winter are calling geese to leave I will hear songs of assurance, gliding low against the breeze I can hear inherent partings, as they form into a V And they soothe my doubtful worry, as they fly the crimson sea Lifting eyes, I follow upward, as they cluster into line With necks stretched long and southbound, departing with a sigh With constant proof, year after year, their calling fills my ears Sent here by the grace of God, in a race against my fear While their promised songs may sadden me, and tears to eyes will bring Their steadfast return assures my heart, to believe tomorrow's spring "Doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith."
______________________________________________________________ For The Contest Sponsored by Juli Michelle 10/18/13


Details | Blank verse |

Quiet - I'm Weeping.

Arrow's echo

bouncing off birch trees

capturing sound in it's wind:

blue birds at the screaming peak of hunger,

rustling of ants with the last haul of insects before winter
down deep into quiet tunnels of perfectly rolled soil and sand,

the singular first drop of rain on a crackling red leaf 
still holding it's breath 'till it turns brown,

four hawks in a circular flight
bleeding the wind in wings

and me, lost in autumn

shot from your bow

last year.



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 |

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 | Haibun |

Past reflections and New Beginnings

her brimming eyes.. shreds of a happy picture in the icy lake Each gust of the bone chilling wind, blows in fresh despair. Though seemingly brutal has a new lesson albeit a bit harsh, to teach, a new message to deliver. The lonely lady in a dark trench coat with frozen tears in her sea green eyes, casts her eyes on the bare fanged limbs of skeletal trees around. Through all the bleakness she feels a glimmer of hope shine as a silver lining in this cycle of nature. Pondering over the human tendency to scratch up old wounds to keep them afresh and hold those daggers of the aching past, locking and unlocking them in the recesses of heart, to keep renewing the hurt. The flora around has shed the burdens of yester years, eagerly awaiting the blooms of a fresh spring. Clearly, it is the time to let go. To look forward to the bright horizons of the morrow, to cherish the first sprout of life rejuvenated. Let Go. Hope. one last look.. the frigid waters ripple her past reflections Haibun Yesha Shah


Details | I do not know? |

(It Feels) Like: This too shall pass

Like the end
Like a death
Like you cant catch your breath
Like it wont end
Like the pain will kill you
Like tomorrow will be full of more pain
Like your heartbeat will stop
Like no one likes you forever
Like you will never love again
Like all you ever known has rejected you
Like your soul is crying
Like your darkest place has kicked you out
Like you will never recover
Like you are the ONLY one
Like you can’t go own another moment
Like you are the biggest fool
Like the LIE is real
Like the truth did not set you free
Like she is the only love
Like being ask to live the rest of your life without LOVE
Like there is no forgiveness for you
Like God stop your blessings
Like you have flat lined but didn’t die
Like you die every every day every day
Like you are the worst person ever
Like God doesn’t love you
Like you won’t make it back from the pain
Like you want to weep
Like you want to weep
Like you want to weep
Like there will never be someone who adores you…for you
Like your heart is broken
Like you can’t go on
Like you love a love that don’t love you back
Like you don’t know how to love, so it asks to be excused and leaves
Like your life and your love won’t ever matter
Like you want be blessed anymore 
Like you have wasted so much time…
Like you want to just die… (Make the pain stop)
Like hope is as hope does…no hope for you
Like they get away ….Free and clear
Like you are left broken 
Like they get to live HAPPY EVER AFTER
LIKE: THIS TOO SHALL PASS


Details | Limerick |

Afternoon Afterthought

                                  Upon the roof, outside the walls,

                              now tapping soft its whispered calls,

                                              aftertaste of pain,

                                             this afternoon rain,

                                  like a  fading afterthought, falls.


Details | Quatrain |

THE SEASONS OF MY LIFE

                                  THE SEASONS OF MY LIFE

In the Spring time I was blossoming,
The world was bright and new.
I learned to laugh annd cry and fight,
For what I knew was true.

That there`s a time to have your fun,
And there`s a time for work,
A time when we must learn to earn,
And value all life`s perks.

In Summer time I learned of life,
Of people and the world.
I learned that life`s a mixture,
Of experience, a whirl,

That sometimes life moves way too fast,
It should be sipped and savored,
Or else it plays out way too soon,
And loses all it`s flavor.

In Fall I learned acceptance,
That what must be will be.
It does no good to fuss and fret,
`Bout what was denied me;

For some it seems are richly blessed,
While others get the crumbs,
Who gets what is up to God,
From Whom all good things come.

Now Winter fast approaches,
And what`s important now,
Is what memories I`ll leave behind,
Who remembers me, --- and how.

                                                   Judy Ball


For At This Age Contest by Nette Onclaud


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