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
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.
You have caged me for too long
I want you to just let me go,
I have to spread these feathered wings
I need to feel the wind's blow.
You know that I love you truly
I said that I would never leave,
I want to see the rain's dance
Not just sit here and perceive.
The scene never changes, day after day
I want to go where white roses bloom,
I have never seen an ocean's wave
And neither have you, I assume.
I need to see the autumn tree's change
I want to see the snowflake's glisten,
I am wishing on the stars as they fall
This is my dream, so please just listen.
I want to fly in the sky's blue
I need to feel the sun's burn,
When I have experienced these wonders
I promise that I will return.
The magic came to Christmas Day when shepherds first were told,
When wise men brought their frankincense, their myrrh and gifts of gold,
When heaven opened wide its gates and angels came to sing;
For in a manger on the hay, lay Christ, the newborn king.
I found it first at Grandma's house, so many years ago,
When she prepared her Christmas treats and Grandpa seemed to glow.
The house was full of warmth and love, so sweet, so pure and real;
And what I cherish most of all, that Christmas magic feel.
It's in the music, on the air; just turn the dial to find
Inspiring songs that sing of peace, goodwill to all mankind.
They sing their praises unto God and spread their Christmas cheer,
And everywhere the songs are sung, they find an opened ear.
Its clamor, sparkle, warmth and hope, of which we try to write
In pretty lines of words and rhymes that never sound just right,
Can best be seen in children's eyes when they awake to see
What Santa Claus has brought and placed beneath the lighted tree.
The magic feel returns each year with warmth on coolish nights,
With memories steeped in seasons passed, in songs and blinking lights,
At Grandma's house, her Christmas treats, aromas rich and spiced;
To recognize the best in man, and honor Jesus Christ.
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.
Take away my static hair,
My thick, wool toque, my glassy eyes.
Take away the chilly air,
The endless clouds, the covered skies.
Give me back my sun-streaked hair,
My floppy hat, my shaded eyes.
Give me back the sea-salt air,
The fluffy clouds, the crystal skies.
Take away my dull, dry skin,
My soggy mitts, my booted feet.
Take away the frosty wind,
The icy paths, the slushy streets.
Give me back my sun-tanned skin,
My denim shorts, my flip-flop feet.
Give me back the toasty wind,
The sparkling dunes, the sandy streets.
Take away harsh Winter's sting,
His gales of hail, his banks of snow.
Give me back my darling Spring,
Her rising sun, her lovely glow.
I stopped just once to look back..
And saw my tracks across the snow.
Steps upon that pure white blanket,
Wishing I’d found another way to go.
Already though, in gentle downy flakes,
Nature began to fill those intruding marks.
And return the gentle winter splendor
To that serene and lovely woodland park.
The sun was sinking to its rest,
Leaving its sparkle on the forest floor.
I smiled and turned for home again…
My tired heart at peace once more
Inspired by Robert Frost
Oh, love in spring, you’re peridot,
and new’s the grass; with dew - aglow!
On clovered knoll ourselves we fling.
You’re peridot, oh love in spring!
In summer’s sun, love blazes red,
and to the dune at dusk we’re led
neath cobalt sky that’s crimson spun.
Love blazes red in summer’s sun.
When fall arrives, our hues change oft.
Like leaves through winds of life we waft.
Then comes the chill, but love still thrives.
Our hues change oft when fall arrives.
When snow descends, we’re changed to white,
the color of reflected light.
And though we die, pure love transcends.
We’re changed to white when snow descends.
March 25, 2014/ For the Dabbling in Poetry Forms Contest
of gautami phookan
` ` , ,,,, ,` `` ```,,,,,, ,`````
magenta boughs sheer as bridal lace
adorn mid summer-time trees
they flutter like acrylic confetti glazed,
and scattered on rapturous breeze
Botticelli petals drift like scarlet flakes down
to gather round pastoral feet,
their fragrance fills September’s gown
with brushstrokes so apricot sweet
bridal trees alight as beguiling mists
all clad in sultry glow’s array
awoken by a waft of groom's kiss
on this, God’s first September day...
© all rights reserved
Especially for Brian’s September
By nette onclaud
It's now the heart of the summer
Perched on parched, I on this leaf
Rains are forever cried for
To moisten and rid earths grief
Suddenly I hear a rustling
Corn stalks bend and sway
A creature just so beautiful
Allures these words I say
As I talk I feel their excitement
Describing this beauty so fair
Porcelain skin she is
With shoulder length blonde hair
Curvaceous now shows as she bares
As the sky mimics her eyes
Azure blues capture my thoughts
Whilst the clouds begin to cry
A light shower falls
Cobb's become pert at attention
Words described through my eyes
My thoughts in quiet mention
To a filling creek she walks
Slowly immersed in natures champagne
As the heavens caress her body
Translucent pure virginal rains
Her hands caress her body
Blonde hair, now a wetted mane
Droplets run down her curves
I, a Butterfly, in distant frame
Hail beats against the window,
Wind howls on without remorse.
Do you hear what I hear?
Winter's voice is blithely hoarse.
Trees are glazed with icing snow,
Panes are veiled with frosted lace.
Do you see what I see?
Winter's face is full of grace.
Pine pours spice into the air,
Ginger floats in gentle wafts.
Do you smell what I smell?
Winter's perfume - fresh and soft.
The hearth is bright with fire.
The chilly night brews up a storm.
Do you feel what I feel?
My darling keeps me safe and warm.
There comes the time when spring has run its course
And summer days lay heavily on the land
When eager steps have slowed to garner strength
The stream runs slowly as if in reprimand
Summer's wealth oozes like honey from a comb
Horizon stark, not a cloud to soften the sky
Evening settles round like a golden cloak
And life seems slower as summer slips on by
Colorful symphonies sound
As red and gold bells fall down,
Shook loose by crisp cool air,
Tinkling their way to the ground.
Displayed on the limbs of trees
Are rich orange marmalade leaves,
Visions of autumn’s dessert
Tasting sweetly upon the breeze.
Autumn brews warm concoctions
With auras of perfection
And richly spiced aromas,
Which soothe our frayed emotions.
Fall’s festive nature brings out
A spirited dancing shout
And lovely celebrations
With beauty bursting about.
For: Autumn's Beauty Contest
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.
For At This Age Contest by Nette Onclaud
Winter winds seem angry this morning...
Pulling at the branches, teasing the last leaves
My song is quickly swept away, my voice scatters
The last of the brown meadow grass dances...
The weather is changeable this time of year....
Pink tinged skies quickly spread across the horizon
My step hurries home, I pull my coat closer
Wanting to rest by the fire, and listen to winter.
Autumn clouds drift over the Wenatchee River
Changing from blue to a metallic silver
I walk it's shores as the greying breaks
As it captures ochres and greens in reflection shapes
Translucent ripples in undulation dance
Insects skim the waves with their life they chance
Trout break the surface to share my view
If I am the first man to be here, what a debut
Ancient rock from a long ago past
Scatters it's slopes in sporadic cast
Stones and boulders of all shapes in sizes
Carpet this podium like neolithic prizes
I go back to my canoe, the way out I came in
A Scotsman leaves humbled in his skeletal skin
To be here for this moment brings a tear to my eye
As I turn my head and look back, reminds me why
The moon, pausing near her zenith,
On that balmy night in May,
Painted a warm, nocturnal landscape,
In varying shades gray.
A mockingbird insomniac,
With golden harp did play,
And serenade his lady love
With songs as bright as day.
A shy, retiring whip-poor-will
In some hidden, forest swale,
Intoned his lonely-heart refrain,
In a melancholy wail.
The gentle breeze, that washed my face,
Tasted honeysuckle sweet,
While silver dewdrops glistened,
On the grass beneath my feet.
Though my magic, childhood years have gone
On frightened wings of flight,
I treasure, in my reverie,
That enchanted full moon night.
Frost bit lovers
standing in the snow
Trying not to trust
what the other seems to know
Parting in the cold
seems a fitting thing to me,
Opened up their aching hearts
and let their love fly free.
The flowers are blooming
along with the trees
and the sweet smell of blossoms
are blown in the breeze
The warm winds that blow
shake the new little leaves
where the ice and the snow
once had their freeze
It's Springtime again
and its beauty is grand
though it may not remain
long o're this land
But while it is here
it awakens the earth
giving winters cold deadness
a glorious rebirth
Be happy my friends
and sing with great cheer!
Let all hearts be thankful
for Springtime is here!
Written Spring 1978
There's an antique red barn
Sits atop the hill
And a small little pond
Chock full of blue-gill
There's old rusty cars
Which haven't ran in years
And a hundred year old house
Once manufactured by Sears
It's loaded full of memories
It's filled with lots of charm
It's a place I know and Love
It's all there...On Grandma's Farm
Used to go there every Sunday
From as far back as I can remember
Sledding down the hill
In the snow come December
I Loved it out at Grandmas
Playing with toy tractors in the sand
Going to help split wood
Just to lend a helping hand
I Loved it winter, spring and summer
But my favorite time of all
Was when the leaves all turned
The wonderful colors of fall
I was carefree and happy
The world was free from harm
Way back when I was a kid
Out On My Grandma's Farm
© 2011 Kevin Stock
When summertime has kissed the rose,
And nestling trees blossom so fair
The dappled leaves twirl in repose,
Bathed in mist’s spray… beyond compare.
I crave her touch on paths winding
Like a damsel amid lush grass;
Sultry when the vibrant breeze flings,
As limbs thrusts in passion’s contrasts.
On blushes of night’s wild glimpses
Embroidering her russet veil;
In slow movement… this enchantress
Drops heat’s thrill while she bids farewell.
As mornings welcome Autumn’s gold
My breath lifts in a mellow way,
When tinsels of fog glide… to unfold
A silver whirl through fall’s ballet.
Kelly Deschler's Summer's End Contest
by nette onclaud
Pick those crisp, red McIntoshs,
And warm some caramel for dippin',
Pick those green Granny Smiths,
And heat some cider for sippin'.
It's time for apple pickin',
Down on the rural farm,
And Halloween treat or trickin',
With some rustic country charm.
From the beginning of September,
To the last day of November,
We will be gone apple pickin',
Makin' fun moments to remember.
Pick those crisp, red McIntoshs,
And warm some caramel for dippin',
Pick those green Granny Smiths,
And heat some cider for sippin'.
None of you will be sobbin',
Cause right before your eyes,
There's a game of apple bobbin',
And some homemade apple pies.
Written for Isaiah Zerbst's contest -
"Apple Pickin' Time"
The sapling was planted in the spring
When my grandparents first settled this land
Generations of a family their seed would bring
Working together hand in hand
To its branches were tied a tire swing
On which grandchildren, in the summer, played
Underneath, a picnic spread we’d bring
While resting in her familiar shade
The pile of leaves that autumn fell
Stuffed scarecrows out in the fields
Through her branches you could hear the fall winds yell
A bonfire, from waste, she watched us build
Now beside her have sprung a few gravestones
That winter snows cover in peace
How her branches of memories have grown
The top ones remembered, not the least
It's another North Carolina morning,
Just before I see the sun rise.
To lighter blue the sky is turning,
And nature wakes opening her eyes.
©2013 Honestly JT
Nature’s victorious armies of spring and summer
Marching are now, in a stunning glorious retreat,
Proudly displaying the harvest’s banners of plenty
As their destiny’s undertaking is for now complete!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
16 SEPTEMBER 2014
Oh the Christmas tree
standing ever stout.
Hear the children’s glee
when they search you out.
In the wood you stand
evergreen crisp spice.
Branches stretch; expand
beauty to entice.
Atop star will shine
for shepherds to see.
Telling birth divine
guiding wise men three.
Oh the Christmas tree
with arms spread real wide.
Lovely sight you’ll be
when you’re brought inside.
Copyright © 2008 By Caryl S. Muzzey
A tinge of mauve designed by autumn’s glow
upon her leaves, coated in frosty dyes
glorious their sways, draped in misty yellow,
iridescent like tassels of fireflies.
I roam to catch ridged curls in revelry
and seek them through air, blowing a wish
to wonder at leaves’ palette from ornate tree,
their ribs tenderly coiled by fall’s varnish.
A landscape gleaming through brushed mosaic
where dew trickles on their velveteen sheaths,
from backdrop of night’s frame to lamplight’s wick
upturned by breath of winds when hours bequeath
and know that their radiance will crack in time
if I should gather them in my hands to keep.
This enchantment is never to be mine,
I fling autumn leaves to skies, half asleep.
Contest: Autumn's Breath of Gail Doyle
Life changes as the seasons do, first our youth along with spring
As all earthly things begin to wake, our life also has its beginning
Birds spread their wings and learn to fly, green grass reaches for the sky
We do the same while we can, never stopping to ask why
Like teens do, the summer too, never stops to rest
While they last, we think these years will somehow be our best
Things are in bloom, we take long days cues
Our bodies growing, thinking life lasts forever too
With middle age, brings routine, as does the coming of fall
Families, work and getting gray, as leaves turn color after all
We find those things that we love dear, and bring them near
As all migrating things, do year after year
But the end of life, along with winter's chill
If prepared for, can be better still
Like wild things do, gather things you know
You need and spend it sitting by the fire's glow
To sprout from your creator
To be nurtured and fed
Surrounded by your family
Only love ahead
Days pass by
The love survives
As time runs out
You try to hang on
Your family smiles
Tells you to come along
As you fall to the earth
With the wind on your back
No longer afraid
Love always intact
When you return to the earth
There is no more grief
One more season
In the life of a leaf
Autumn is my favorite season,
The green leaves are turning red,
Falling with no rhyme or reason,
They are crisp, gnarled, and dead.
Lightly they fall in the chilly air,
The leaves are brown, orange, and yellow,
Brightly, they tumble without a care,
Indian summer days are beginning to mellow.
Gray clouds form, you rarely see the sun,
Through tree branches, see the cold wind blow,
The leaves come cascading down, one by one,
And, at any minute now, it could start to snow.
October days; dark and cold
The People don’t complain
No one seems to stay at home
Because there’s wind and rain
People come from out of state
They hate the weather scene
Seattle's residents say:
“Well, that's what keeps us green”
Now a bright and sunny day
Finally comes around
The weather is talked about
By everyone in town
Sun glasses on - barbe lit
Lawn chairs out on the grass
Skip your work - enjoy the sun
It’s sure not going to last!