Spring stirs her eager young
Giving life, renewed to those
Who stand about and doze
She whispers hope, of things begun
Beneath winter's cold repose.
Summer, smiling golden rays
With ample breasts of rain
Feeds, and soothes the pain
Of changing white to green to gray
While dressing her wards again.
Fall, donning multicolored hues
Weeps, her leaves cascading
As her life is brilliantly fading
She takes with her the morning dew
Leaving frost in the trading.
Winter, wearing crystal shards
Bares her nudity to all
Standing gracefully tall
She lays a white robe upon my yard
While singing her wanton call.
And I.....well, I sit passively by
Watching through shielding glass
Four sisters marching past
Thanking God who dwells on high
For His daughters stark contrasts.
Timothy I. Brumley
I am the spirit of satin stardust
and the antiquities of golden memories alive
I call to you from the rising warmth of the sun
and greet you in the misty morning light
I am the steady and rolling drum beat
echoing from the jagged heights above
I am the mysterious curves of the raging waters'
and the freedom birds of love
I rise above the white summer clouds
in lilting songs of grace
and roam with the western tail-winds
to take you home again
I am a Spirit of our gracious Lord God Almighty
of love hope and faith
I have come to tell
Dedicated To P.D.
One moist patch, like dewy grass,
surrounded by a field of weeds,
emerges first and breathes at last,
through openings, the air it needs.
Cut off from, and cut off of;
counting on, and counting in;
from down below, to up above -
A smack on tender, crimson skin.
There is a pulse.
One spring bud, like seedling stems,
surrounded by a garden wall,
is standing out from all of them,
despite the fact, they're just as tall.
And though the bud has not yet grown,
the soil and the water see
more than just the seed they've sewn.
They see the flower it will be.
There is a pulse.
One tall stem, like climbing vines,
surrounded by its petals' plumes,
shares its elegant designs,
and stretches as it blooms.
And when the wind begins to call,
the flower spreads it's pollen 'round.
It falls in love, and loves in fall,
and falling love renews the ground.
There is a pulse.
The world that once was slumbering
Beneath the quilt of Winter's snow
Is now set free to gladly see
The rays of golden sunlight
He peeks at first so shyly through
The drifting clouds of leaden grey
And then, behold his beams of gold!
A kiss of gentle sunshine
The trees are budding, flowers bloom
And shades of gentle green abound
The birds of spring so sweetly sing
While kissed by rays of sunlight
How father-like the sun looks down
In glorious warmth and light
To see the things his fire brings --
The miracle of sunshine
From east to west he travells on
In grandly royal golden robes
A pilgrim man, that once began
Benignly sending raylets
As here I watch th'unfolding spring
And bask in beams of heaven's king
I think of monarchs, once divine
Whose wond'rous kingdoms once did shine
This sun hath missed not one poor soul
But fondly with a tender touch
Hath kissed the maids that dwelt in glades
Of distant lands now vanished
Now all, I think, once gently kissed
Have sung the praise of heaven's rays
And all, it seems, that Sun hath wist
Have tracked his run throughout their days
His rhythmic climb and equal fall
While heeding Nature's firmest call
His constant change, yet still the same
When once returned from whence he came
A mystery, a miracle
At times a friend, at times severe
But each new day at Dawn's approach
Reveals the kiss of sunshine
April heralds Summers March
as she leaves behind her warm glow
in blazing trail of red and orange hues
pursued by winds she trips and Falls
chastened to submit to colder paths
stormy clouds-- thunderous showers
shedding garments of leaves and color
exposes herself baring dark squall bruises
behind fragmented damp misty wisp
SUMMER FALLS AS WINTER CALLS
© Kim van Breda—April 2014
(The start of another winter here in Cape Town)
Glorious spring sunshine kiss my limbs as they sprout
With each opening bud, "I'm so alive" I want to shout
April showers cling to me as I drink each delicious drop
Hopefully chosen by blue jays to build their nest atop
Caterpillars and ants tickle me as they crawl to and fro
Nothing sweeter than watching everything around me grow
Come sit under me, take a break from the hot summer sun
Join me as I watch the baby birds leave their nest one by one
Let's marvel at the beautiful butterflies that flutter all around
The music of my friend the humming bird will surely astound
Smell the delightful fragrance of all the many flowers in bloom
Capture the magic nearby of a newly wedded bride and groom
I'm bursting with colors of yellow, orange, red, gold and brown
I proudly smile each time one of my leaves cascade down
Laughing children make my day as they roll in my splendor
You taking my picture makes this memory much more tender
Scurrying squirrels truly fascinate me, as my acorns they hide
Forgotten ones will one day be my saplings, I'll burst with pride
Snow flakes have delightedly dressed me in a suit of white
City folk string me with lights, I boastfully light up the night
Skaters whipping by me, their energy and actions are compelling
I feel so very blessed to have been rooted within this dwelling
Come and join in the festivities and beauty of each and every season
Become a memory on my branches, I can't think of a better reason
*Dedicated to the 50-80 year old trees in Gage Park, Brampton
Sunshine-blonde with sapphire eyes,
Cheeks tinged pink by bold sunrise.
She smiles at noon to light the sky,
Nudging clouds with gentle sighs.
She wears a gown of mossy lace
With blooming buttons, neatly spaced.
With ocean heart and river veins,
She seldom cries - she dislikes rain.
Fire-red locks with rose gold eyes
Bright with flecks of fireflies.
She pulls a veil of thunder clouds
Across the sky - a purple shroud.
She wears a robe of flaming beads,
A golden crown of rainbow leaves.
With full moon heart and molten veins,
She weeps at will - she enjoys rain.
Raven mane with silver eyes,
Soft skin pale as milky skies.
She exhales gusts of icy wind;
Her breath leaves frost on everything.
She wears a cloak of northern lights
With sunburst jewels carved from ice.
With clouded heart and frozen veins,
She cannot cry - she freezes rain.
Amber curls with emerald eyes -
A fickle pair that floods and dries.
She melts away the ice and snow
And resurrects the sun's warm glow.
She wears a cape of tangled stems,
Of gauzy vines and rosebud gems.
With honey heart and nectar veins,
She loves to cry - she lives for rain.
Perfect for this weather
Leaves falling from trees
Hair waving in the breeze
Cheering at football games
Bonfires with there dancing flames
Stepping on the frozen, cold, hard ground
The wind is the only sound
Stepping inside after being in the cold
Eating fall’s harvest can never get old
So much rain
It's just hard to explain
My love for fall
WICKED BREATH OF THE WIND
Oh wild North Wind, the wicked breath of Winter’s being
You, whose unseen soul scrapes raggedy branches bare
Are driven, like madness blindly from the darkness fleeing
You, who harvest each grey glimpse from sea and sky--
Frighten even stalwart men to hide away in fiery warmth
While you grimly taunt faint-hearted souls to die
Fragile seeds hidden by fairies stay safe and cold and low
Like compact bodies small within their quiet catacombs
Until seductive Spring sends her sweetest winds to blow
and Love madness calms Winter , their passion rouses the dreaming earth
Voyeur sunbeams with Spring's laughter wake the seeds to tingle
And thus enticing sister Summer's greens as hills give painless birth
Wild winds, brave cousins all, you spin our life
And are the witnesses of both our joy and strife
A Winter’s night observed by: Steven Hudson
Tranquility mounts in the silence of the moment,
Snow glistens from the branches of a full moonlight
Contrasting darkness’s shadowy backdrop,
A gentle calm breeze permeates the air,
Stillness, listening, as this wonderland envelops you
For a season an instant another land transports you
Apparent breath exhaled, a machine fearfully and wonderfully made
In wilderness, frozen and wild that is fearfully and wonderfully made
Green boughs heavy in blankets of snowy white
Black branches barren and void, form lines, into the starry night
Crystals flutter, sparkle and swirl on lumined plains spread out beneath,
On A winter’s night observed, a winter’s night of peace.
She dropped me from her burnished arms
upon a dusty prairie road
and cry I did, and pulling at her skirts
heavy with mud from a morning rain
that fell upon a dying earth..
I begged her to stay for just a while longer
and looked for yellow sunflowers
to help me make her stay, I found I was alone
as the sunflowers wore blackened robes
and shriveled heads that could not speak
and crumbled in my hands..
Turning towards a dying sun, she stole away
with eyes she laid upon the shadowed hills
and fields where flaxen heads had caught
the breeze of golden summer's breath..
With one slow turn she raised her hand
as if to wipe away the liquid rain that
ran on my face - as in a mirror I saw
her reflection, as her tears became mine..
They danced and they turned and they tumbled
In wind, how it sighed and it grumbled
With force, how it howled in its fury
But still they bore no trace of worry
In cool autumn winds they cavorted
My foot! How they laughed and they sported
They flew through the air just like pheasants
Till set in my excellent presence
“Red Leaf,” quoth I unto the leader
“To fly, there is nothing more neater
But weren’t you the least bit affrighted
As thus from the breeze you alighted?”
“Dear sir,” quoth the leaf as he flitted
“To fear, for a leaf ain’t permitted
We’re taught from a bud in the cradle
That even a crash isn’t fatal.”
“I say,” quoth I unto the yellow
“You seem to be such a neat fellow
I wonder how likes you this sporting
Or if you a damsel are courting?”
Quoth he, “All this sporting is splendid
The days of my courting are ended
My lover has flown to the northward
While I am constrained to fly southward.”
Before one more word could be spoken
The peace of that moment was broken
Away flew those leaves o’er the treeses
Borne by the chill autumn breezes
October 25, 2012.
For the contest, Up in the Autumn Air. Second place.
traipsing in with muddy boots.
Even new snowfall
seems to lose its luster and
houses seem no more to gleam.
In the aftermath
of festive celebrating,
the new month’s first day
is a paltry offering
with nothing great to follow.
The very first day
January comes calling,
some folks feel inspired
to make resolutions, but
others, hung over, just curse.
November, though dull,
at least brings gifts of thanks and
hope of joy to come.
the ugly sister.
Written by Andrea Dietrich/Jan. 1, 2012
in Tanka form, For nette onclaud's
Personification of January Contest
Warm is her embrace
Nectar is her sweet kiss
A cool breeze is her breath,
Bright green was her face
Since birth, taking remiss
Being born of sister's death.
A universal play reforming
Down through the ages
Finds every soul an actor,
In this play she's performing
Act two on the annual stages
That find linear time a factor.
It's a tale of great strife
Of great love and great loss
A tale of passion and woe,
The never ending story of life
That found climax on a cross
But still has a good way to go.
In this play she will perish
But her death shall give way
To life for others down line,
A repeating theme to cherish
Death begets life, shows the way
Of the authors divine design.
She will sacrifice her life
That her sister might live
Who'll do likewise the same,
But for now play the fife
To the performance she gives
For, Summer is her name.
Timothy I. Brumley
She stamps her feet and whistles loud.
She will not be ignored.
Starting her reign, mighty and proud.
By most of us, not adored,
Though by her theatrics, we will not be bored.
for nettes "Personification of January" contest
by Francine Roberts 02/01/2012
The poppy said "No",
The nasturtiums said "Wait"
The seedlings were jumping at the gate;
"We have to get through Winter first,"
The old oak spoke, and everyone burst.
The pansies nodded in assent,
With a great deal of sentiment.
He looked down sadly at his girth,
Smiling wryly with perfect mirth;
"Ten more years is all I am worth".
He glanced at the herbs tenderly wilting
And spoke as though his heart were melting
"We have to be patient and wait for Spring,
And there's the catch, it's a learning thing".
"I won't make promises I can't keep
And we all know Winter will put us to sleep".
Summer will rise again, in all it's glory,
And that for now, is the end of my story.
In mystery I awed her quietness while Mother Nature accompanied with a wind song
January is her name, eyes bedazzled like the stars that dance in the dark
Cheeks shiny and pristine, skin pale transluscent and new just like this year
The sun crept behind its veil of white and January said she must go
Hard and unimaginable to believe she prompted to stay a lovely thirty one days
31 days of songs, skipping over the frosty crunch of dehydrated land
Holding hands as my year proceeds, she lets go
In sympathy she promises her return same time as always
In reality I let her go and in pain forsake the other months to come
But as she gently climbed back out my window she looks back smiles
Galliantly like a soldier who has finally returned and with a whip of the wind
A gentle whisper she leaves her love in symbolic bumps from head to toe of my body
I shudder grabbing closer my coat
Her scent I still smell... of sage, rosemary and leftover holly
Trinkles of wet cascade down my cheek slightly brushing the edges of my shoulder
As I say...
See ya soon! my dear old gal January
Janus opens the door after a long sleep
And looks through the gate of the past,
Now says farewell to all that’s been done
Until turning his head to the future,
And walks in one direction for all to follow.
Restart has begun and it’s now a new
Year, and Janus can once again sleep.
By Greg Stanley
Entry for the “Personification of January” Contest
Sponsored by Nette Onclaud
My January, I lost you last year
Your leaves left a whisper as they floated by
And I, I was left with a cold tear
Yet to you- It was merely a glistening eye
I remember so fondly the good times
In the beginning of a year once so clean
And when you ran away, I could not rhyme
For my garden was left without green
Dear January, now that you are returning
Stay longer, my friend, and be kind
Put your arm around me as the world is turning
And, once more, give me some peace of mind
PERSONIFICATION OF JANUARY
The fallen leaves looking at the heavenly sky
and at my own doorstep they, in silence, sigh;
they often criticize my feet as I pass them by.
Day and night, they hang around, relentlessly
and never know that they, actually, bother me
from entering and leaving my place. My kitty
cat does not like them too, ‘cos they do crackle
as she tiptoes out, eagerly, to touch the sparkle
of the afternoon sun. Ah, today I have to tackle
the task of teaching them and myself. Luckily,
these delicate hands of yesterday are totally free
from the arid office, serving my boss with a tea
that I gathered them and place them in a shelter
of green, letting their last smile not just to loiter,
but for them to use it, for Earth to have a better
feel. Now, I see them not, yet they promised me
that they’ll be back once they’ve seen the beauty,
curved from their skin, of a blossoming cherry tree.
Jesus know our greatest needs
He has planted an incredible seed
That whosoever may believe
Being halved in a disc
of ember and snow,
tinges bicker merits on opus.
Exulting own shadows
after breaking from spectrum;
from erstwhile adjacencies,
Sable consumes radiance of white
making the latter peep at night.
Grey has veiled beneath its blanket
tangerine's burst of smiles and giggles.
In false humility, azure weeps:
portraying dolor in dark hued navy.
Bold and proud, crimson was;
but is now eclipsed behind jaundice cast.
Behind the shadows, colours dwell
secretly longing for dominant reign.
Monopoly: alas, they yearn-
ignoring the threat of audience, bored.
In winter I nestle
under your quilt warming me
till snow melts.
In spring I bloom
from your quilt to bear fruits
of everlasting joy.
In summer I watch
hordes of backpackers, under my shades
as heat wave makes them bored.
In fall I remember
you, my sanctuary, full of uplifting smiles
as I, slowly, turn into gray.
Before your eyes I became
the silent poet, longing for your warm
embrace when winter, again, comes.
When I was young I had a wondrous dream.
I soared in the winds and swam in the stream.
I carried a blade and rode a swift white horse.
I named Him Swordsey and we rode in force.
We toppled Mountains and jumped on clouds.
We rode in stride and pride harnessing crowds.
Swordsey had a spirit and a breath of livened life.
He wore a golden sachet and a silver sheath knife.
He was proud and gleamed brilliant as the Sun.
Me and Swordsey galloped and had lots of fun.
Through the deserts and over the hills we were.
In the valleys or through the forests we did purr.
Swordsey was perfect and so was I, we did glide.
Come rain or shine we toted the lines just to slide.
Then one day Swordsey met Pallor and fell in love.
Pallor’s a brown horse and saddled from up above.
Pallor had a friend named Chaos who had a friend.
His name was Scaler and they came from the end.
So then I started to ride with four horses by name.
We went everywhere and all trotted the very same.
We went to the beginning and found the end times.
We collected gold and silver and coins of dimes.
We built a castle and founded a kingdom of great.
Scaler watched and guarded twelve golden gates.
Pallor and Swordsey galloped the golden streets.
Chaos keeps things stirred and seasons she greets.
Then one day the children came along and grew.
We were abundant and happy and a plan we drew.
We’d multiply and divide by three and by four.
We’d add and subtract by five and have more.
Four at the corner and three in the center will do.
Five by day and five by night with nothing to lose,
We’d stay on top and look down at nigh noon.
Count and calculate the seasons way too soon.
We’d sort and gather many a crops every day.
And at night we’d trot and be on our merry way.
We counted the Stars and made a sparkly trail.
We lit the fires and filled the water jugs for ale.
Then I woke up and realized I was in a land far away.
I was not from this domed Earth and neither were they.
My life is mother nature,
when i cry everyone cries,
when im scared everyones scared,
when i feel mad i produce a storm.
when i feel hurt everything is torn.
when i have tears, everyone has fears.
When i have hate,
i try to hold back.
A tornado in the sky comming to collect.
collect all the dirt and garbage,
and pain the world has.
As a mother of nature,
i stand on my throne.
Looking through everyone i have known.
Now all my tears are dry and its a beautiful sky.
All the pain i hide, it will all say goodbye.