You blossom too soon dear snowdrops of spring
Secluded in the cold dark earth;
The white flakes that fly still haunt the sky
Too weary with sorrow to salute your birth.
One warm day awakened you from sleep
And sang with springtime’s soft breath;
Caressed your eyes with the lips of spring
And you awakened to winter in the arms of death.
Where is the due she pledged to you
The passion of sun and song of the breeze;
The frilled hyacinth with heavy perfume
And the robin’s merry note in the trees?
Birds are yet hushed and the branch is yet bare
The snowflakes fall on the crest of the hill;
Your sodden petals lie pressed on the ground
Without warmth when winter kept his chill.
The snowflakes conceal the spot where you lie
Living too soon in a winter's cold noon
They are covered with snow so no one will know
The grave of the snowdrops that flowered too soon.
September, you are a wistful song
Summer sheds a tear when you come along
Sunny summer melodies yield to your mellow song
Its melody fades while yours grow strong
Summer ends and a certain sadness ensues
Sunny days make way for winter blues
September gives us glimpses of summer
Though days be short and golden leaves slumber
The vibrant colors September brings
disguise the coming winter sting
As summer dies it makes one last sunny stand
But will return, for thats how it was planned
Until then we must endure a harsh season
All bundled up, keeping warm is the reason
When the first snow falls
The pristine beauty leaves us enthralled
Soon summer will begin anew
Gray clouds make way for skies of blue
We awaken from our winter slumber
And welcome the butterflies of summer
For Joanne Grisetti's Copy Cat contest
:Inspired by the poem: September
Which was written by: Andrea Dietrich
Behold the silent battle
That the changing seasons bring
Winter's grip is loosened
As the robin begins to sing
The flowers strain toward Heaven
As their fragrance fills the air
For spring has given notice
But winter will not despair
Winter will not be broken
As it fights with it's last breath
But spring's warm winds are endless
And the reason for winter's death
Spring proclaims it's victory
As it watches it's rival die
The snowflakes have changed to raindrops
As winter begins to cry
All the evergreens are greener
And the pines are darker skinned
Only leaves that bear the burn marks
Are the witnesses of wind.
On the grass the dew is frozen
In a spiders web of white
And the cold that bites my fingers
Makes me wonder as I write.
How did winter come so swiftly
How did summer die so fast
Where’s the grave, where was the battle
Are they all buried in the past?
Now I feel the winter nibble
On my fingers with its frost
And the wind that it has summoned
Mourns for seasons that are lost.
Was it but one dusk, one daybreak
Was it only in a blink?
For the summer was my feather
Now the winter is my ink.
How did shadows shift so quickly
How did colours change so much
As reflections in the water
That simply vanish with a touch?
Now the daffodils are rising
Yet the jasmine blooms are gone
Now the evergreens are greener
And the frost adorns the dawn.
Yes, how strange it is to wonder
So I wonder as I write
What if winter should then also
Simply vanish in the night?
I dedicate this poem (and I'm not being sarcastic or exaggerating)
to my mentor and my friend Timothy Brumley, who taught me
the art of rhythm, showed me the advantage of counting my syllables,
raised my goal from acceptable to perfection,
and helped me to turn my nursery rhymes into poetry.
(and no Tim don’t protest, they really were nursery rhymes)
The brittle stems of Queen Anne's Lace
reduced to barren winter bone;
a hoarfrost Ermine coat embrace,
impaled in soil that's turned to stone.
The flowers now are wicker cups,
wear Bowler's hats of purest white;
the snowflakes that they interrupt
await the wind; resume their flight.
The Junco in the Prairie Grass,
drad colors blending, stem and snow;
his flitting business come to pass
without a glimpse of style, or show.
White crystal mist; the morning still,
a cold and colorless display;
the fenceposts marching up the hill
like soldiers, slowly fade away.
This day in its entirety
constructed thus to fit the mood,
cabin bound and winter weary,
must you in my lament intrude?
From deep within the Cedar tree
in blazing red from cap to tail,
you interrupt my woe-is-me,
insure my pensive mood will fail!
Emerald etchings are given birth
to bask their lives in summer's sun,
until brushing brutal winters cheek,
They cower yellow; brown undone.
Swirling down onto concrete pyres,
They somersault to a random grave.
The earth lays claim to copper corpses
But the winter wind is a cunning knave.
It finds and flips the fallen fibers,
then flings them crisply to the street.
The failing sheaves of burnt magenta,
tossed like chaff from harvest wheat.
Now strewn about with playful malice,
and denied the resting place they crave,
for the golden sun is a glint of amber,
but the winter wind is a chilling knave.
Twin, silver cathedral bells, sway and chime.
As every note peals out, clear and sublime.
No winds blow through the sky, this silent night.
The peaceful heavens, filled with a celestial light.
Arm in arm, down the icy lane we do walk.
Heart to heart, our souls they seem to talk.
A pair of happy cardinals, one red, one gold.
Go bobbing through the snow, so white, so cold.
Along the hillside, stands rows of frosted pine.
The fields, blanketed in diamonds, a vision divine.
Couples, young and old, seated in horse-drawn sleighs.
Making new memories, and reminiscing their by-gone days.
Nestled so close together, like two turtledoves.
All bundled up, with warm scarves and gloves.
Amongst white winter lands, we two do wander.
While our light hearts, are growing ever fonder.
Written for Isaiah Zerbst's contest - "Let It Snow-12 Paintings of Winter"
This poem was inspired by the painting-"Christmas Day" by John Ritchie
wind whips the weeping willow
a wolf rests deep within
watching snowflakes waltzing
I left my
of wonder and
awe. A place that
knows me better
than any other place
I’ve been. This place
has changed me and
molded me into the
person I am now.
The forests, trees, creeks,
and open skies instilled in
me a love for God’s works.
The harshness of the winters has
taught me to be patient and to endure. My small
town is where I learned the small-town work ethic;
you don’t get what you don’t earn and earning what
you want takes a little bit of sweat and tears. Here
I learned that you don’t have to be blood to be
family. Brothers and sisters are made throughout
years of school together. We relied on each other to
be happy. This place will forever hold my heart and
soul. I am a small town girl through and through.
It’s who I will always be. Forever. Thanks IDAHO
for shaping me into something more than I was.
vivid green cedar
against winter's bare oak tree
red bird sits alone