Tis the rose that wants to live
That rails against the frost,
Tightly closed, the petals warm
The autumn heart that summer lost.
The dew that drips from rose to leaf
Like tears from cheek to breast,
Once was cold, now shimmers warm
To earn, at last, its' rest.
The blackened bud, once struck with cold
Appears to others dead,
But burns within, a passionate soul,
And heart of bright and crimson red.
And bursting forth it cannot hide
The will to live within,
Its' bold and subtle softness tells
Persistent hearts can win.
This quatrain poem was written twenty plus years ago and was inspired by a true frost bitten rose at a truly emotional time and its story and message is real and still lives. I brought the rose in and put it in a vase and it opened to be a perfect rose and like the rose love did the same.
And seasons go
In all of the above
Her colours flow
Just like pages
In a book
What the seasons bring
Are worth a look
Spring brings life
In many ways
The sun radiates
From warm awesome rays
The summer oozes
With blooms and colours
The winter decides
Who lives and dies
The reader dissects
In passionate cries
But the season for me
Are the Autumn Pages
It's decision to end
In colourful stages
This poem came to me as i was reading poems by Autumn Page.
The sun had a way, of lighting the fires
that would often die, and turn to ash, and dash our hope
The wind had a way, to spread the flame,
to light the way
or die in vain
Sun-ripe gold and red leaves
have lined each trail and every road with heavy brilliance
Our eyes, perhaps unwise, were often blinded by the glare
But embers, frozen there, remained alive
Approaching autumn, there is new fire
Ripe with the sun, we have been shaped and formed
grieving over postscripts, of a faded summer sky
while the outstretched arm of autumn
reaches through the trees---
Her leaf-fluttered hand opens fingers wide
brushing passed branch silhouettes, to look into the sky
and has tossed the evening embers
to light our way
For Gail's Contest: Where Frozen Embers Still Burn 8/27/14
In winter’s white, as angels cry
for early spring to warm the wind,
to bring to life with gentle sigh,
in love, the bitter frost has thinned.
For early spring to warm the wind,
at Valentine’s romantic calls,
in love, the bitter frost has thinned,
where dancers twirl amid stone walls.
At Valentine’s romantic calls,
rebirth of nature’s light divine,
where dancers twirl amid stone walls,
and blossoms pastel shades recline.
Rebirth of nature’s light divine,
when day equals the hours of night,
and blossoms pastel shades recline,
to hail the queen of May in light.
When day equals the hours of night,
a summer’s sun will come to play,
to hail the queen of May in light,
we chant and sing along the way.
A summer’s sun will come to play,
so life can grow as gods decreed,
we chant and sing along the way,
with warmth and light our hunger feed.
So life can grow as gods decreed,
the rays of sun on seeds we’ve sown,
with warmth and light our hunger feed,
the wealth of harvest is our own.
The rays of sun on seeds we’ve sown,
in autumn breeze that chills the heat,
the wealth of harvest is our own,
as gold and red belies our feet.
In autumn breeze that chills the heat,
a year that ends with blessed Samhain,
as gold and red belies our feet,
the call of Ancient’s name to reign.
A year that ends with blessed Samhain,
to bring to life with gentle sigh,
the call of Ancient’s name to reign,
in winter’s white, as angels cry.
“Look up,” she cried,
And the rains came swiftly,
Overwhelming her youth
With migrant purpose.
Interrupted her sound-scape,
Giving her pause.
“Look around,” she said,
And autumn bowed to her,
A colorful character
In shades of golden afternoons.
She found solace and comfort
Through the grace of experience.
“Look up,” she laughed,
And silver dusted her hair,
Weighing the diversity
She wore as a crown.
Became her teacher,
Yet unforgiving presence.
“Look around,” she said,
And spread her arms wide,
Dancing in the perspective
This life is transitory,
By the seasoning
Of one’s attitude.
My Son Moon and Star ~
Approaching the celebration of his Birth
cherishing the gift I received
within weeks of conception I knew
something amazing was in Creation ~
the Stars held a party
sending me with one of their own
Gazing at 3 shooting stars twinkling crossing the sky
It was magic It was destiny taking its flight.
In love with an October full moon
drawing and painting I liked
thinking of Vincent Van Gogh ~
caught in a loss of time
Hours going by as choosing my color
a wittness to three falling stars
A clear night sky sparkle's
A once Famous Star was sent
inspiring the tiny child inside ~
Never a doubt in my mind at all
child bearing was worth any pain received
yours will be in a pursuit of a dream ~
one to cherish and hold
My Son was born the following August ~
working on the set of Grimm 3rd season this year
as the set of Leverage for 3 years .
Has done a Indie movie here
In Paris it was seen and honored
coming soon filmed in Portland ~
"The House of Last Things "
awaiting the credits , you will see
1st Assistant Director ~ production assistant
My Young Lion Mans dream ~
A proud mom I watch every show and the credits
as foretold in a whisper to me 25 years ago
My Son & Moon and Star
A name you will all know ~
Happy Birthday to my creative Son
you will exist in my heart forever~
Forest alive now
Autumn colors brilliant glow
Poplar_ Maple grow
Colors seen_red, yellow, rust
Auroras of autumn flow
For the last ball before snow
She smiles at artist
As he gathers paints blends shades
Painting her colorful gown
As sunlight dances
Against gown that glows with dew
Gracefully she bows
As bare limbs begin to show
Last of grace before first snow
Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama)
I never knew I'd be in heaven
In the autumn of my years,
Or that I'd be immerged
In the brilliant art of words,
Or float above operatic notes,
Or view ballet through
My elated tears.
I never thought I'd meet
Inspiration face to face,
Or feel it rise within me
With a poet's surrendering grace.
I just know that I'm contented
As profound love keeps flowing
From my impassioned heart.
This is the gift that artists
Of this world yearn to impart.
© Connie Marcum Wong
My golden love of autumn morn
touch so delicate this heart torn
with amber streaming light adorn
and peaceful hues of grace
You touch this soul, again reborn
a loving interlace...
You rise above the mountain height's
with calming rays of loving light
where ocher words of hymn's recite
and emerald vale receive
I lay in warmth my soul ignite's
as one with God, I cleave...
My autumn wine; white winter rose
Please tell me how your garden grows?
I’ve lost my touch, I feared as much
You are fragile and it shows
Can I still call upon you?
With no words ever spoken to you?
And would you come to me?
Could you hear me in a dream?
Would you “sense” me if I came close,
But not in sight of you eyes?
Would you tempt me if giving up hope
Could cleanse me of all the lies?
I survive through a disguise
Designed to hide my immortal light
You will never see it
For I am a chameleon
Crawling through the ancient garden
The (other) not known as Eden
For it has no name to keep it safe
Until light shines on this darkened place
“April showers bring May flowers”
And so your flower has not yet soured
You still have the power to reverse your desires
My white winter rose, will you grow any higher?
Prosper or wither
The choice is now yours
Bound or severed
I’ve done all I could