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.
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
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
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.
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
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"
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
My window is like a microcosm
Of the great big world out there
Always changing, always in flux
Autumn is in the air
A forerunner of that nasty season
With it's cold and icy winds
Must endure another cruel winter
Icicles dangling from my chin
Would I move to a warmer climate
Should the opportunity arise?
You can bet your sweet bippy I would
In a heartbeat, look into my eyes
Does it look like I'm trying to jazz you
Even reserving a great big kiss
For a P-Soup friend who'll take me in
But it's gotta be warmer than this
I will consider all generous offers
The decision of this judge will be final
Prefer a winner from the opposite sex
Otherwise my offer's unconditional
My window is like a microcosm
Of the great big world out there
Almost forgot to mention the bonus
I've got long flowing flaxen hair!
© Jack Ellison 2012
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.
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
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
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!
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
The tides of June carry me over yesterday's sparkling
waters to the distant shores preserved in my mind.
Playful summer memories are just a light twinkling
in my eye, pressed into worn photo albums, I find.
Hotter days conjure thoughts of friends, no school
to muddy the rippling lake and hours of summer fun.
'Last one in 's a rotten ..., splashing 'round, we kept cool,
cannonballs and belly flops, a relief from the ruthless sun.
An old boat dock became our fort, buckets of tadpoles were
our mascots. Our neighborhood breathed new life and laughter...
bikes flung upon the grass, lake waters beckoned of adventure
'til the ice cream man's music brought sweet dreams to chase after.
Michael Jackson, The GoGos and Duran Duran played the soundtrack
for our restless days. From our fort, the radio blared across the yard.
Warm breezes held music and secrets of boy versus girl attacks.
And though we often complained, the boys were never barred.
Many years ago, summer time brought treasured carefree days
of hide and seek, dodge ball, board games and cold lemonade.
Slip and slides, cool lake swims and running through sprinkler sprays,
all happy memories of our never ending June days on parade.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
for Memories of June Contest (Joann Grisetti)
Opening the doors to
the old studio I find
A playful capriole
sprinted across my mind
Into a sashay and a glissade
I drifted back
I could hear the teachers
stick go tap.tap.tap
Once a prestigious ballet
school of great poise
Filled with music as our
slippers sounded with noise
The mirrors are cracked
and the floors dusty
Rain soaked wood left the
room smelling musty
The charm stayed behind
as if waiting for me
Spotlighting a ballerina to
The goddess of the sea
The young girl danced
flawlessly then took a bow
Then sashayed off the stage
without a moistened brow
An old battered piano
appeared across from me
Bearing red ballet shoes
like a crimson canopy
Charm embraced her while
honoring her memory
As I looked into the mirror
I saw that girl was me
Carole Cookie Arnold
Amidst a forest of green
Alone a stone cottage stands
In a setting so serene
Surrounded by natures grand
Majestic pillars grow skywards
Firs, elms and oaks
Amidst this forest of green
The beauty of it soaks
The seasons control its carpets
Amidst this forest of green
In winter with coverings of snow
Springing buds claim the scene
The plants explode into life
Allowing summers colours to show
Amidst this forest of green
Petals in rainbow flow
The mourning of autumn follows
Golden browns show what was once serene
The cycle of natures seasons flow
Amidst this forest of green
I’m a daughter of the prairies
Where the weather is extreme
Well I know snow is not always
The sheer joy that it may seem.
Still the beauty of the soft flakes
When they first begin to fall
Can romance me and entrance me
As my senses they enthrall.
As they cover up the clutter
Of the fallen leaves debris
I see nothing but their beauty
In the blanket spread for me.
Long lost memories are flooding.
I forget I’m not a kid.
I want to lie and make snow angels
As so long ago I did.
But that child is gone forever,
And I’ve had a busy day.
I go in to start my dinner
As the snowflakes stick and stay.
By: Joyce Johnson
Winter paints with snowflakes white
Spring adds a touch of green
Summer takes butterflies in flight
And Autumn is a beauty to be seen
With spring still in the offing
My mind sometimes jumps ahead
To the joys of the summer
With its beauties all wide spread.
When strong winds have left my valley
As warm breezes take their place,
And the rains have turned to showers
That refresh my eager face
And flower gardens are competing with
A riotous bright bloom
As the yard of every home serves as
An outdoor living room
From the dew drops of the morning
To the fair skies of the day
I wish the delights of summer
Would not ever go away.
Whether playing golf or fishing
Or lying on a sun drenched beach
Summer is as tantalizing
As taste of a fresh picked peach.
But since I can’t coax summer
To stay for more than ninety days,
I will have a fling with springtime
And her bold coquettish ways.
Spring is always so full of energy
She scampers around the floor
Happy with a child's sure delight
Just watching makes spirits soar
Now summer has grown up a bit.
Still able to compete with the best
Her steps are measured and exact
With warm glamour she is blest
Fall is thoughtful and conservative
Tending to dance in a golden glow
She holds her partner close about
The delights of harvest to bestow
Winter dances in white supplication
Moving slowly to her own inner beat
Her dances are of sweet memory
As this years dance is now complete....
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
I love the white of winter
As the snow lies on the trees
So clean and neat the landscape
But so cold the breeze.
Nothing’s ever perfect
I appreciate what’s best
It’s pretty when the snow falls
Don’t think about the rest.
I quickly grab my camera
To capture all I see
When come the snows of winter
I cannot let it be.
The white snow of winter
Covering all the ground
As far as I can see
That snow is all around.
I see patterns in the tire tracks
And ice upon the lake
What a pretty picture
All these things will make.
Children making snowballs
Throw them near and far
Looks like fun they’re having
Not at all bizarre.
Heavy coats they’re wearing
Just to keep them warm
Temperature is really down
After that big storm.
Yes, I love the white of winter
But can do without the cold.
Another year turns over, people look to see
just what the coming year will mean for you and me.
Tomorrow's worries aren't here, and yesterday's are passed.
Daylight's your new blessing, but it's really burning fast.
The seasons change so quickly, now that we're growing old.
"Seize the day my son", seems I was always told.
You cannot live life over, and you cannot take it back,
so make a first impression, be a leader of the pack.
We hurry every day, never noticing the minutes
flying by so quickly, time has no sense of limits.
Just talking all the while, we have such tales to tell.
If only every now and then we grab a rose to smell.
Take time for those you love, and those who love you, too.
For tomorrow some of them might not be here for you.
Teach your children honesty and show them some good deeds.
Because love will never flourish if we never plant the seeds.
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
Autumn days have now arrived
our summer slipped away
Red and yellow hues proclaim
the change is underway
Soon the leaves will start to fall
the trees will go to sleep
Temperatures will start to drop
and fire wood we’ll keep
All of nature hurries now
There’s no time for delay
Soon the winter winds will blow
and snow will fall for days
Falling rain, as gentle as a mother's touch
On field and flower, the path and pond
Drops glistening in first morning light
Spilling over the far hills and beyond
Showers erase the last of winter's rust
Barren ground shows a hint of greening
Meandering, delight in this renewing
For the troubled heart, new meaning
The wind comes blowing through the wood,
And Winter comes a-calling.
The trees give up their last few leaves,
The first snow flakes start falling.
The open, barren branches,
Now look stark against grey skies.
The rose bush too is naked, bare,
It's beauty sacrificed,
To the quiet and the chill,
As Winter now takes hold,
And on the surface Nature sleeps,
Through Winter's biting cold.
Floating snow flakes drifting down,
Make me pull up my hood,
As torch in hand I brave the depths,
Of snow drifts through the wood.
Just half an hour ago it seems,
The path was pristine, clear,
And now the snow has got so deep,
It reaches to my rear.
It will be good to get back home,
But just plain had to mail a letter,
To tell the folks back home about,
This fine Canadian weather.
Never saw snow before in my life until we immigrated to Canada when I was 27yrs old.
I love it and it's a true miracle of God; but it's cold and wet and it's more fun to watch from a warm room than to be outside in it. (Smile)
In autumn, our love for this farm began, years ago.
We pulled it out of the ground, and kept steady
And watched the kids and corn and apples grow -
Watched them ripen and become ready.
Such love overflowed our hearts with passion.
Now comfortable, mellow, fruitful, it yields
Cosy warmth as we watch the profusion
Of a job well done from satisfying fields.
Everywhere there is ripeness to the core:
Warm pies with swelled, plump apples from each bough
Now loaded with golden, yellow blessings, turning more
And more into a falling sunset of leaves covering the plough.
Gathering birds listen in the fruit-filled orchards steeped
In the whispers of the winnowing wind’s crisp air - passed
Quietly over the corn stubble full-reaped -
That the time to fly is approaching at last.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
< earth ~ third planet from sun
liquid and iron ~ cores
continents ~ islands ~ pun
arctic icing ~ drips pores
wind ~ natures own fury
flow gasses ~ bulk movements
storm ~ hurricane ~ jury
place in pocketbook ~ dent
fire ~ oxidation
combustion ~ releasing
heat ~ light ~ good ~ tar nations
pollution ~ choking ~ thing
water ~ called H2O
oxygen ~ hydrogen
evaporation ~ goes
will exceed supply ~ when ?
earth ~ wind ~ fire ~ water
Nature's elements ~ sure
The Four Elements Contest
Autumn and there's a subtle change to the air
Warm sweaters needed for chilly mornings
Berry juice dribbling on fingers and chins
A few gray skies bringing winter's warnings..
A time for a walk on a tree lined path
Kicking at golden leaves in childish play
Watching smoke from a farmer's burn
Enjoying each moment of one last fall day...
Young and middle-aged ladies, who wear sundresses
when summer days sizzle, make the opposite sex notice
how lovely and sexy their soft skin is; curious guys,
of course, can't help staring at them...not once but twice!
Watch them chatting on a bench of a park,
or just strolling down a busy street...
pushing their baby's stroller in the July's heat;
come closer to hear their silly talk!
Jan, my niece's friend, attracts me like no lady ever can,
she wears a colorful sundress she made herself,
and she talks funny to make everybody laugh;
some thinks she's crazy, but I'd love to be her man!
Many women go to great lengths to get one of these...
the one that makes them stand out and get winks
from men who are easily distracted in the baseball's field:
they wish their wives looked like that...more strength they'd yield!
Fashion models draw admirable glances from an applauding crowd,
but they wear sundresses for recognizition, not for their soulmates;
so ordinary ladies wear them to find that ideal boyfriend or husband,
and admit among yourselves that it is a style of attractiveness!
Written by Andrew Crisci
for Constance La France's contest, " The Sundress. "
The weatherman is predicting rainbows
As this early autumn storm passes by
A few more weeks to enjoy the warmth
Before southward the geese start to fly...
I savor his words this fall evening
As I watch the pink clouds in the sky
The world could use a bit of soft color
Knowing soon the last faded rose will die....
Autumn is a nip in the air
More covers on the bed
Animals put on heavier coats
Wind turns your face red
The color change is taking place
With bright reds and yellows
Sip a hot toddy if you wish
It’s good for a fellow
Rake up the leaves into a pile
Then smell them as they burn
Roast a marshmallow on the fire
Have that s’more that you yearn
Cut firewood to just the right length
Split it and stack the wood
Bobbing for apples in a tub
You’d bite one if you could
Bring the fire wood into the house
Wear gloves or get splinters
Start of the short days and long nights
A prelude to winter
The countryside in winter,
Has a wondrous rustic charm.
Everything so picturesque,
The woods, the fields and farms.
The land is blanketed in snow,
The trees in garlands, white,
That sparkle just like diamonds,
Beneath the bright moonlight.
The brook that babbles gaily,
Through the wood beneath the trees,
Is icey now but babbles yet,
And shimmers 'gainst the freeze.
All is quiet save the brook,
Through Winter's icey chill,
Until the warmth of Spring returns,
To bring the song bird's trill.
Have you ever heard of Miss Lolly Palooza
Lolly's a sweet young thing
You'll never see her when the temperature's frigid
She emerges at the first sign of spring
Sometimes a robin will try getting here first
It's an age old friendly contest
To see who's gonna be the one to announce
Old man winter is finally at rest
Miss Lolly Palooza is the lady we wait for
With bated breath every year
Bringing us fields of lovely spring flowers
But she also brings rain I fear
With every drop of rain that comes down
A flower raises it's pretty head
Spring's not the time to be down in the mouth
We should all be happy instead
So Miss Lolly Palooza has returned once more
Welcome her with open arms
She can only stay for a very short while
Then disappears with her charms
© Jack Ellison 2013
Estephania was the Spanish horse,
with a chestnut coat and mane
and a lighter long tail...and she ate
alfalfa for strong teeth and bones.
She was domesticated, losing her liberty
and neighing she showed keen ability:
to spot dangers on a perilous path...
Estefania even stopped for a stranded cat.
In summertime she fed mostly on grass,
but bees stung her many times to protest,
and struggling to get them off her tail...
she hit a shrilling raven in the head.
And feeling sorry for the dying bird wincing,
Estefania licked his semi-open eyes...giving
him a little comfort as he folded his wings;
and whinnying she wept a river of tears.
Through My Window
Through my window
I see spring flowers bloom
Summer’s blazing sun
Autumn's vivid plume.
I see white snows of winter
Watch all the seasons change
Wonder how this script was written
And who directs this wondrous stage.
There outside my window
The seasons go and come
Life and death are witnessed
Each does in turn succumb.
Somehow this play of life was written
Only outlines of a show
Scenes filled by our words and actions
Those to come will know.
What will the story be?
What act are they to follow?
The script not yet all written
Nor the ending of our show.
As I’m looking through my window
And the many years that passed
I can so enjoy the memories
That thankful I was cast.
Sparkling, Sparkling, Christmas light,
I love the way you shine so bright,
Your radiance makes the room look fine,
which makes it better than the vine.
Blinking , blinking , as your leaves shine,
How sweet passion and love entwine,
Pretty display of green on tree,
Christ birth makes my heart feels so free.
CONTEST:"Nursery Rhyme" sponsored by Debra Squyres
The sky is so blue, the sun so bright.
I look for a sign but none are in sight.
I shed the darkness with dawn’s light.
I barely escaped what lives in the night.
I walk out but can’t believe my eyes.
There isn’t a cloud up in the sky.
It all seems different yet wonder why?
I see a bird and wish I could fly.
The day it seems, has brought another chance.
All that I see appears to be enhanced.
I watch as across the ground leaves dance.
I get mesmerized like I’m in a trace.
As I watch them blow to and fro,
I wonder what happens, where do they go?
Soon the ground will blanket with snow,
I turn my back as the cold winds blow.
I watch all around as life does die,
Winter approaching is the reason why.
Nothing I can do as I stand by,
I can’t change it, even if I try.
I return to times spent in the sun,
Then it unravels as I come undone.
The arms of winter I cannot outrun,
I become trapped in the web it’s spun.
Entangled I seek a way to get out,
Perhaps I should seek a different route?
Darkness approaches with shadows of doubt,
Makes me wonder what this life is about?
I’ve shivered in the colds of life
But never felt the snow
And many fires fueled the raging
Flames that ever grows
I’ve felt the hunger pains before
Though unaffected famine
The bads were bad, but could be worse
I’m driven by this passion
I’ve lived a life that’s almost full
A few more on my list
I’ve not experienced death before
But time can’t be dismissed
I used to think that planning all
Ensures success in all we know
And still a tear escapes the frame
Of one who’s yet to feel the snow
A blue bird sings,
a raven calls,
how sweet the sound,
how strange the fall.
Sweet summer how I love you best
with gardens full in bloom
warmth of your morning day besets
the promise of cool waters soon
Forward see, I look to thee
cool river to carry away
the toil of a labored week now reached
and set my cares to play
Let me drift upon thy current
as beauty donees your banks
dip my toes a stress adjournment
now fill my dry and empty tank
Ah the heat of summer sun
some would dare complain...
Oh no, not floating wild river while sipping coke' n rum
enjoying blessings that came from long the winter rain
Bear on me the summers heat
turn my skin to bronze
light my locks and bare my feet
tis this season I find most fond
Soon the Autumn days will near
it's cool and hurried winds
bowing stocks of corn by ear
begging to be picked
Then I'll praise the Fall of days
it's country roads of colors changed
I'll heed my naps on bales of hay
dreaming of rivers I wish to wade
Good morning summer's sweetest powers
your brilliant blaze aglow
my thanks for all your fragrant flowers
thy refreshing waters too to dip my weary toes
Meadows green, bedecked with diamonds--
It's a summer morning dream,
With gold sunbeams dancing brightly
On the ripples of the stream.
Crystals refract light into small rainbows
cascading together, a silver gleam,
masquerading as a clear white for those
not ensnared within winter’s frosty dream.
Blinding brightness wars with frigidity,
warming the courageous who stand between
Bel’s stubborn sun and Cailleach’s snow sea.
Clarity of detail defines the scene.
Seems no one cares for "winter rains",
So white and wet and cold;
Drifting down so silently,
As we huddle 'neath the folds,
Of coats and scarfs and woolen hats,
And yearn for days of summer,
Complaining 'bout the wet and cold,
Of winter being a bummer.
The ice, the snow, the slippery roads,
Slow going for the traveler,
Are fodder for these transgressed souls,
And fuel their heated palaver;
But there are those who glory in,
The changes of the seasons.
The kaleidoscope of colors used,
Sets moods that give us reason,
To celibrate the time of year,
And it's exquisite beauty.
In nature things are balanced well,
And each thing has it's duty.
From mineral, plant and animal,
To the elements themselves,
We need them each and every one,
For life to go on well.
So don't complain about the snow.
It's moisture that we need.
It feeds the rivers, streams and lakes,
Amid the summer's heat.
It adds a pristine beauty,
As it covers trees and yards,
Of painters, scribes and bards.
Winters tears fall fallow on the sleeping
Soft emotion into dormant hearts creeping
Thoughts to awaken, needs forgotten too long
Reach for the unknown want, new and strong
Push forth from cold dark slumbered sleep
The dawn of wonder, a promise made to keep
Our lives forsaken in winters gathering sweep
In joy emerge, to the sun we kneel and weep
Rhythm created on water tends to kill
Images of trees and sky reflected in lake
Still water but, not any more still
At least not dry or frozen and opaque
Creating a wonderful picnic spot
Inviting place for geese to immigrate
Time to make trips and enjoy a lot
Deer will stay out long to graze
For next few months of spring and summer
Artists will come with canvas and brushes
Boating or may be fishing can occur
Trees will wear colourful dresses.
Sky will finally get rid of grey cover
The vision can roam clearly and further
Fog will entirely vanish from atmosphere
Season to enjoy the beautiful youth of nature
Vibrant colours of spring will be hidden
They will not be so in summer and fall
Leaves will turn first green then golden
And will not be in winter at all.
The tragedy is...
when one finds himself alone,
relying on dreams that die before they are being born;
seasons renew themselves, his hasty years can't otherwise!
Love gently strokes with indelible joy the portrait of happy faces,
and its colors blend in to immortalize those realistic images:
by placing roses in the hands of an elegant lady;
grant her lifetime' wish, love her with dignity!
The tragedy is...
having a lot to say, but afraid to speak words,
all the while she awaited your approval of indecisive lover;
constantly checking the mail-box for another letter!
Showers of confetti swirling in the festive air so delusional...
is a parade of an urealized thought to attract the trivial imagination,
see reality as it is: earn trust by being more caring and lovable;
fulfill her needs, and she will satisfy yours with true intention!
The tragedy is...
most men wait for that opportunity to open up,
to reveal the sensitive side of the their fearful and silent heart;
and keeping affection from their women, can cost them much happiness!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Reflections of Autumn on the pond so still
Like a dying rainbow my eyes in fill
A tear drop in fall to this surface of glass
Drifts now forever, but it's always to last
Browns, reds and ochres in kaleidoscopic view
Whilst dark shaped veins start to show true
Trees will appear in skeletal shape
Naked to bare, now having lost their drape
Into Winters abyss of seasonal change
One has to wonder is nature so deranged
Then comes the Spring as we marvel once again
For when we view her Summers, we know she's so sane
Daffodils by the garden gate
Welcoming all who come that way
Nodding in the morning breeze
Like innocent children at play
Their yearly reign will not be long
With abandon they sweetly dance
Their yellow flags fly cheerfully
A spring and daffodil romance
Goodbye Fall with all the auburn leaves of the reddest sunset,
goodbye crackling path where I met the last songbirds,
whose melody accompained me to winter's doors;
and with deep sadness I kept on looking back.
Welcome gloomy winter with short afternoons and long evenings;
watching the advancing shadows and loudly hearing
the furious sound of the squall rampaging the stately trees,
and making them weep when the icy rain comes down with lightining.
Sitting in a rattling, rocking chair, I peruse through pages of sunny places afar,
forgetting the dreariness of this frigid season and be consoled by a warm fire;
and still nostalgia abounds...thinking of the pleasant strolls of a past season,
which thrilled me with its colors, and through delight I justified my reason.
O winter, don't linger as you always have...shorten your stay, avoid foul play;
and could I ever stand a pale sun, hardly giving off with its luminiscence,
in this house hidden among the maples and the pines of a squalid valley?
Old winter, don't mislead me with days without snow...that's utter pretense!
Goodbye explorer fedora hat keeping my dreamer's head cool,
sparing my skin another ugly wrinkle, allowing late beauty to rule;
goodbye iced coffee sipped from my Big Apple plastic cup,
which I bought along Fifth Avenue in a crowded, variety shop.
Ummerciful winter, pity the desperate state I am in,
reduce the wrath of your devastation, step inside and to tell me your amazing tales...
hoping that I will write them down for everyone to read and enjoy for immortal ages;
relentless winter, reduce the dreariness of this frigid season.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Farewell, Sweet Summer!
Autumn near, flowers bent towards the sun
Almost prostrating themselves-so distressing
Like beggars clutching at Jesus, craving the One
Sunbeams turn their backs without even a blessing
So the brightest star pulls away, off somewhere else
It’s got other appointments to keep
In the distance toll the old mission bells
Like a dirge, and the whole garden weeps
Alas, summer is dying, sucking its last muggy breaths
As crickets scrich their sharp taunting jeers
Not many seem saddened at all by this death
And for this passing mourners won’t raise a bier
Autumn is born, its gestation complete
We excitedly awaited your cool advent
No longer stuck in thick, cloying heat
Gone is the summer of our hot discontent
Yes! Fall is born! Let’s give it a name!
It will spend its time blowing chilled breezes
Soon it will set the landscape aflame
As it whirls all the kaleidoscope leaves
Freed from arthritic twigged branches
As fingers release shiny gold coins
Nature’s allegro pirouette dancers
Auditioning for the autumnal Bolshoi
Others float gently through brisk afternoon air
Like large brilliant harvest snowflakes
Landing softly on a grassy blanket there
To wait defenseless, for the merciless rake
sleep well,my flower..
'til Spring,will be
The sky is scattered and fallen down,
The earth is no more brown,
Winter has bidden goodbye to the fall,
Snow flakes have woven the white gown.
Very soon they have started to crawl,
On the bare trees standing tall,
With Christmas trees, when they abide
Each looked like a cotton candy ball.
With stored food, having feasted inside,
In their nests, the squirrels like to hide.
Sun is too mild to spread the warmth,
Earth is dressed like a wedding bride
Came from work, exhausted and moody,
fall is advancing with an improvised, swift pace,
but the meteorologist defies it with the happiest face;
and tomorrow I'll wake up and trot away!
Planned a day in the merry sunshine,
with a basked full of treats and a bottle of red wine,
to be consumed by the shade of an elm with my dearest;
and all the songbirds I will invite to my afternoon's feast!
We lay on the neatest blanket, facing the calmest, eastern sea
as sailboats drift by...a toddler listens to his mom's nostalgic song,
and in her tender voice that soldier's smile, on rippled waves, appears;
and tears, with a solar luster, fall on the pristine sand to recall her lost love.
Seagulls glide over to announce the close of an August's evening
still huddled in intimate embrace, the rushing waves tickle our toes,
and not minding their amusing play, we carry on and not withdraw;
before we lift the damp blanket, we are greeted by stars in throngs.
Planned a day in the merry sunshine,
a fantasy realized by two who will dream of this passionate season,
remembering our tanned faces and skin glittering with sand;
waving goodbye to the disheveled mother and trembling child.
Note: These are the observations of a happy couple spending a day on the beach,
but the happiness they felt wasn't shared by a mother and child who both missed a husband
and father; and by the sad look on their faces, gazing out to the sea...he had gone to the
Iraq War, and unfortunately had never returned home.
Ribbons of light rained down tonight,
From a moonless, inky sky.
So bright they were as they blew about,
So near and yet so high.
I watched transfixed in wonderment,
As they twisted and billowed out,
And wondered at their merriment,
As they glowed and danced about.
I'm stricken by mystical beauty,
As they writhe across the sky;
Twisting, turning, shooting, churning,
As through the night they fly.
They seem to be a living thing,
At play in the midnight blue;
In a cabalistic ocean,
Of deepest, darkest hue;
Bringing out their colors,
Like a rainbow come alive,
And I'm so blessed to see them,
As they bend and twist and dive.
The wonders of God's handiwork,
Nature at it's best,
Is shown to me when we're alone,
And I'm My Maker's guest.
"Then God said, 'Let there be lights in the expanse of the heavens to separate the day from the night, and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days and years."
And It Was So.
Never much do birds fly south;
if they have stronger legs now.
The winter sun stays longer now,
Now as the seasons start to turn,
Returning life beneath the snow,
The snow that held the earth’s sojourn.
A poet sits beneath a tree,
A willow tree bedecked with buds,
The buds of blooms waiting to be,
Beneath the tree, my heart now thuds.
The goddess works her magic round,
Around the earth she calls for life,
The living seeds burst in the ground
Upon the ground, the signs are rife.
The sparrow sings its mating call,
A call to love and dance again,
Once again, the earth lives for all,
And for all ends the winter’s reign.
Form: Wreathed Quatrains
THE REASONS I HATE SOME SEASONS
Surrender your soul to the seasons
give your heart to the spring
surrender your soul for so many reasons
flowers to come and some to bring
retreat from the seasons and let them rule
let winter roar like the lion it can be
everyone knows the winter can be cruel
but no one knows better than me
I surrender my soul each time theirs ice
and snow piles up except on the subway grating
i'm just standing on the corner trying to discern the price
watching for the man, watching and for too long waiting
surrender to the seasons your sacred soul
because the winter's too cold and the summer's too hot
now you have a brand new and illicit goal
since you surrendered to that very first shot
© copy write PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
back at the Arab Spring
and now a Wall Street Fall
citizens of foundering faith
just wanna change it all
believing in a higher purpose
is passing the way of the horse
power to too few, or many, versus
the prospect of anarchy, of course
can an untouchable or a herder
share with a CEO or Senator
can a cashier and a shop helper
turn from a debtor to a creditor
can people be allowed a chance
to live small lives in big places
without losing the race in advance
beaten and broken, hopes displaced
i mean, we all need to eat to live
the emaciated and the obese, both
there's enough Mother Earth to give
every human some economic growth
but economic growth must be balanced
with growth of spirits' understanding
lest our hearts' remorse need be penanced
for greed blinded with misunderstanding
if i want to break that monied broker,
one of the few to own the power
am i any better a worthy life-maker
than him within his baubled bower
civility begins with our forgiveness
of others, and harder, of ourselves
for the deep greed and covetiveness
that all carry within their cells
summer was hot and so too our passions
lest we suffer the winter of our discontent
let's follow our better desires with actions
to say what we mean, then live our intent
with some sage wisdom and a bit of thyme
we might be able to curry some favor
twixt one 'n' other's condiments sublime
'n' cook up a society we can equally savor
© Goode Guy 2011-10-03
Since childhood my vivid and alluring aspirations
painted my rainbows with different colors,
not the ones I was after and truly adored...
who has ever heard of a teenager being bored?
Anytime I saw a train leave the station with its smooth rhythm,
I wanted to be that conductor who could never fall asleep,
and at every stop he would look carefully before closing the doors...
then, laid-back, watch the changing landscape and whistle his tunes!
If imagination had not been there to tackle my reflective tendencies
that were, indeed, rooted in all aspects of the present wilderness,
I wouldn't have cultivated this passion and turn it into a realistic dream...
which allowed inspiration to enter the subconsciousness of this thinker's realm!
The fast-paced postman delivering mail to mailboxes seldom locked, thrilled me;
he looked so sharp and handsome greeting folks, and it would have been an honor
to chat with them, listening to their suggestions and helping them thoroughly...
I visualized myself as such, and even practiced it daily in front of large mirror!
If tons of ideas hadn't fed the urge to jot down details with ebullient imagery,
unless I wasn't aware of their poignant meaning and powerful message,
I wouldn't have let fantasy create an extraordinary dreamer out of someone so ordinary...
to adorn dullness with my cheerfulness and change winter to spring!
Unmasked, that gorgeous ghostly sight.
White pumpkins on verdant vines.
Reflections glowing in sunlight.
Awaits awesome designs.
Either happy face or spook,
The archduke passes by fluke.
What a sight he did see!
Orphans in the pumpkin patch,
Paint brushes in each hand.
Squiggly hair and lips to match.
The artistry was grand.
A sign beside the pumpkins –
Come get one; it is free!
Artist and receiver wins.
The day is filled with glee.
© November 6, 2011
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: "What No Orange Pumpkin"
Sponsored by: Carol Brown
October skies are painted pink.
Flowers form next year's seedpod.
Migrating geese stop for a drink.
Autumn leaves blanket earth's facade.
Cold nights grow long while cool days shrink.
Heaters turn on; lovers live warm.
There's time to rest, cuddle and think.
Celebrating nature's transform.
Not so long ago I stood in the sun.
Taking in the warmth and having some fun.
The days were long and the sky so blue,
The days were long yet I longed for you…
The days grow shorter the warmth is gone,
Leaves change colors winter won’t be long.
Frost glitters in the sun and melts away,
Things slowly fade that I wish could have stayed.
The wind gets colder the skies grow dark,
They rip through me sending a chill to my heart.
I look to the sky and see the birds fly away
Fall is gone and winter is on the way.
The sky opens up and the snow begins to fall.
It blankets the earth covering it all.
Still I remember what buried below,
I must wait until spring for it to show.
The sun grows stronger the winter ices melt.
As it touches my skin the warmth is felt.
Birds return singing as if to rejoice,
The rebirth of spring seems to be in their voice.
As years fly by so many seasons and change
As a new one comes, the last moves out of range.
The seasons become like stages in life
Some filled with beauty, others with strife.
Spring becomes like when you begin,
Summer is the times in the life that you win.
Autumn is like when you start to grow old.
Winter becomes tears frozen from cold.
Cold, grey stone in formation stand,
Old standing stones, they gathered round,
Around the magic close to hand,
Old hands that grasped the Pagan ground.
The joyous come to dance and sing,
They sing the tales the ancients told,
The stories told by bards of spring
That spring shall come end winter’s cold.
All seasons turn upon the wheel,
The wheel of life that never ends,
At winter’s end the warmth we feel,
All feeling the path springtime wends.
Form: Wreathed Quatrains
Tepid breeze, lull me to sleep
on this grass softer than hay;
all the aches make my brittle bones weak,
they need rest, not asking my body to wander away...
And if I fall asleep, I would like every star, spotting me.
to keep watch; and should the owls, hiding amid the shadows
of the hickories, emit very scary and strange sounds
and fix their vicious eyes on me, angels will guard me...
No harm will come to me from those treacherous evil spirits,
and by just invoking His Holy Name, it will prevent any attack on me;
and my light can be seen from far, this light which strengthens me:
and while praying alone, I will hear the fluttering of cherubs' wings...
Tepid breeze, lull me to sleep,
and without the lovebirds' song, something must
replace that harmony when a sudden rush of fear:
slowly and uninvitingly seeps into my throbbing chest...
And would I let any noise spoil this peace,
to allow distrust lessen my courage and let hope cease?
I am endowed with the faith of the martyrs that evil men are afraid of hearing;
come Satan, try to deceive me: the Holy Spirit will abide with me 'till my awakening...
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
The empty sky over the forest is silent,
But soon the call of distant spring will arrive
And the myriad bluebells who went
Away last summer will once again thrive,
Spreading to every shady cranny and nook
Over the floor of our leafy sea.
These tiny blue mermaids by the brook,
Heads bent shyly in softly whispered glee,
Will speak to me again, as we take our ease:
I’ll breathe in their earthy growth
From the lush sward around the trees
And spring’s warmth will fill us both.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written by Sydney Peck 28 January 2102 for
Carol Brown’s Contest SPRING
I had hoped to beat the violent storm's shooting hail,
struggling through falling branches, some broken and some whole;
my mutt with a rigid tail growled steadily and pinned his teeth to my jeans,
and I stuck in mud, vainly tried to break loose, but nobody heard my screams.
Trucks loaded with tar drove by and the burning smell made me terribly sick,
someone thought I was the farm's scarecrow and threw a beer can at me,
and he even hissed and cursed with a deriding tone for my disheveled shape;
I waved like humans do, but he thought the gusts had shaken my hands with frenzy.
Lucky me it wasn't winter, the warmest wind slapped my unconsoled face,
naughty quails flew over to pick strawberries hanging from my torn hat;
all of a sudden a few became a herd, and my body was being mouled into pieces,
and before I turned into rags and bruises, the farmer came running with his rake.
And I stuck in mud, I yelled for help, then all the birds flew away with discontent,
the middle-aged farmer introduced himself with his sourthern friendliness;
what would I have cared about his hospitality, if he hadn't pulled me out of the dirt,
and hadn't taken me straight to the shower, and given me some clean clothes?
This was my immediate need, and he saw it in my disgusted mood and slow thought,
and with his witty Tennessee accent, he addressed me as sir as if I were his officer superior;
respectable and kind, without prejudice for a yankee, he picked me up without effort,
and singing a country tune, he lied me down on the back seat without slamming the door.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
did he do it,did he do it
Judy did,Judy did
come out,come out-
The song thrush shouts
Brian Strand Entry for Twenty Twenty contest
Leaves crash to earth
As summer's end
The bright sun
To nature's play
And freezing curse
In telling places
A child’s dare
In paint so fair
A winter's scorn
Tell me now
Have I forgot
The aging of
A land of not
A place where we
Have never been
A golden time
And never sinned
Tell me now
Have we forgot
A place for us
A land of not
Shine a candle in the shadows
break the glow stick green
Conquer those New England days
You know what I mean
Tree limbs tapping at the window
frost on rivulets grey
Open up the blinds and melt them
into words you've yet to say
Soak in bubbles brought to boiling
swirled in steam and sleep
Break the silence with emotion
I am yours to keep.
A bon vivant lyfestyle
of the Bohemians de Paris,
has always saddened and deluded me...
by seeing it in someone's happy smile.
Mademoiselles and jeunne hommes,
exchanging artistic and poetical ideas
at the Cafe' de Flore, or at the Les Deux Magots...
with coffee aroma on their breaths.
Living in legendary and vibrant Hollywood
is an honor to be seen with the admired and respected wealthy;
and whoever struggles, can't keep up with any of them...
whose only desire is the glitter of money.
And steadily dreaming of a bon vivant lifestyle with an aloft
imagination, I let this want often disrupt my peaceful sleep...
not being able to accumulate, quickly enough,
fortunes and stand on that pedestal of greed.
So snap out of fantasy and don't peruse into La Dolce Vita
of Hollywood! Stay away from those extravagant fashion shows!
And at the Cannes, Capri or Venice Film Festival, avoid contact with movie stars,
stare at them from far...they are as contagious as influenza.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Fall is here
I see at last
Seems like always
It comes too fast
Seems like yesterday
I was just outside
And getting fried
Yes, I was outside
Planting my seeds
Watching them grow
Along with the weeds
Now it's starting
To get cold and damp
It's time for coats
And to turn on a lamp
So good-bye shorts
And the grass that I mow
Hello to my jeans
Soon I'll be shoveling snow
I have many qualities and talents
that make me popular and likeable for my kindness,
and unpretentious gallantry;
ask me if I'm blue-blooded like the gentry!
I exist for a purpose and I intend reveal my cause;
honesty and shrewdness will guard me against errors...
do weeds grow in a well-maintained and embellished garden?
A grubby garden attracts gloominess, mine appeals to sunshine!
I have traveled down rough and dark roads,
grabbing the attention of bad-wishers,
who handed me gooseberries, not gorse;
it was a clumsy course swarming with rocks and thorns!
I exist for a purpose that puts fear into my unseen enemies,
who grumble and judge more than the-assumed-righteous-ones,
they are obsessed with their perfection and like to impose it on me;
but do they know that I control my destiny by spinning my fortune' wheel?
My belief is not to accept anything of worthless beauty,
I love to hide myself in the grain fields,and shake their stalks...
to celebrate a harvest more bountiful than sunflowers;
and I imagine myself gorging on fresh-baked bread daily!
O golden grains, your seeds satiate many that earn their hard living,
saying grace at mealtime...as God gives them His blessing;
and those hands that cut the husks off are much detested
by the elite with a feeling of inferiority and a lack of gratitude!
I exist for a purpose to bring glory to the Heavens,
that magnificently dazzle upon me in times of desperate need;
pity is an unacceptable word whenever they attempt to make a deal;
I change no direction and try not to fall into the trap of moral weakness!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Halloween, what a night
With monsters that will scare
All the kids walking around
Watch them, if you dare
There are ghosts, witches and goblins
They are all for you to see
Be careful what you stumble upon
For it just might...it could...be ME
So, listen at your door that night
A knock, you will hear it loud
No only one at a time
But, they'll all be in a crowd
It’s Christmas season once again
Our hearts will start to glow
It’s getting a bit colder outside
We expect an early snow.
The season starts with ghosts and goblins
Knocking on your door.
They beckon for a treat or two
Maybe something more.
Next comes our day of thanks
For all that we possess
We eat and drink til there’s no more room
With bounty that we have blessed.
Santa can’t be far behind
With his sleigh full of toys
He holds his ever longer lists
Of the good girls and boys.
But I sense that something’s missing
An d we’ve wandered off our way.
The food, the toys and the witches brew
Have led us all astray.
It’s your God you should celebrate
And beg him to bless your cheer.
And do this every day you wake
Not just at the end of year
Share your joy with everyone
No matter what their creed
And let’s keep ‘Christ’ in Christmas
And give to ‘ALL’ in need.
So I will wish you a Merry Christmas
And a very ‘Happy New Year’
Please give your love to everyone
Throughout the coming year.
I find hard to move around,
dragging my aching body,
unable to do even the simplest chores...
yes, I am very sick of flu:
it's something I can't undo!
I will not go to the hospital,
lie in a comfortable bed for hours,
coughing and sneezing waiting for a call...
while spreading this virus and infecting others.
I'm missing out on brisk walks
that keep my immune system healthy,
and no blues frustrate me more than loneliness...
come spring and let joy renew itself in this memory.
My remedy is Robitussin by far,
a miraculous cure for cold symptoms,
and since I can't go out, or drive my car...
I indulge myself in the creation lyrics.
It's my first day back to work,
I'm drinking coffee, and I shouldn't,
but these headaches won't go away...
unless I smell it, sip it and dream away.
Copyright 2010 by Andrew Crisci
Sunlight enters through the distant dirty window
As the afternoon calls eagerly from behind the glass
Work knows I am bound, but yet I am dreaming
Of the departure from this destitute cell, at last
I wake each morning unto the moon’s blanket
Never walking through the day with its glaring sun
Oh, to dream of leaving to see and feel the sunlight
But, yet it descends and the moon again has won
For winter days of work allow no time for the sunshine
Only mornings filled with darkness and nighttime the same
But, I dream of being out among the many in daylight
Lauding the sun on my face, while screaming acclaim
Autumn weaves its tapestry
Of colors bright and bold
A symphony of nature
A royal vision to behold
On mountains high and valleys low
Everywhere one looks
The master artist paints a scene
Unmatched in picture books
Then as the tapestry unravels
We reflect on seasons past
Wondering why the beauty
Of autumn can not last
As autumn bids the land farewell
And winter's visit starts
An air of pure enchantment
Stirs something in our hearts
The sleeping earth is covered in white
As the snow falls gently down
A sight to behold as the sun comes up
The trees adorned in ermine gowns
The roofs of houses wear snowy crowns
On the hills children shriek with delight
The odor of hickory hangs in the air
Hinting of a fireplace warm and bright
Yards are dotted with snowmen
Each with a jolly bright face
Jack Frost drapes the windowpanes
With a shawl of silvery lace
Footprints dot the landscape
And in the wintry chill
A majestic stag stands regally
A king upon the hill
Winter is a masterpiece
Designed for all to see
A living showcase arranged by God
To be enjoyed by you and me
Under cloak of a midnight sky,
on Halloween, the moon was full.
An eerie sight there caught my eye,
I viewed his body being pulled.
The dirt unearthed was moist and fresh,
once the grave where he'd been placed;
a man of forty, so I'd guessed,
I could, just barely, see his face.
When I moved in closer still,
five tombstones soon surrounded me,
and chanting in the night air filled,
the prophesies of mystery.
On this day, so prophesied,
chanting of a thousand witches,
would raise the dead from all the tombs,
all the morgues, and crypts and ditches.
At the stroke of twelve, or so,
while stirring fast, strange witches brew,
their voices filled the midnight hour,
and chanted 'til the stroke of two.
Potions, cauldrons, signs of death,
raised my hair, as I held my breath.
"Ravens, Banshees, owls and trolls,
raise the bones of forty souls."
Witches moved to form an arc,
and in the center placed the man,
then dripped the blood of forty larks,
that severed both his lifeless hands.
When the chanting nearly ceased,
his hands began to fly like bats,
and to the air were doves released,
soon followed by a hundred cats.
Beyond fear, I was a wreck,
I told my feet to pick up steam,
but one hand grabbed me 'round the neck,
on this, the darkest, Halloween.
So, next time, as you walk alone,
in the dark, on a moonlit night,
remember the rest of his bones,
are out there to fill you with fright.
The witches, "sign of the five,"
are points of a star bringing death,
at this moment you're still alive,
while I am still catching my breath.
Each Halloween, at midnight,
his body still roams, that's no joke.
His hands are still able to fly,
and next time they'll fly at your throat.
The garden is producing food
as we go about our day.
Without so much as a thank-you
this garden goes away.
While in full swing, we pick it's fruit
and never look back.
We haul it in as if it's loot
that fills our empty sack.
One day I'd like to thank-you
for the goodness you provide.
I hope I'll have the time to
but time passes like the tide.
No matter what you're thinking
I appreciate your care
Maybe you're just a garden,
but I'm sure glad you're there!!
Indian Summer don't you need me?
yes I need you too.
Have you something new to feed me?
I have food for you.
Inspiration and dictation
I let you leave with resignation
winter's in the air
I won't let you die unspoken
whisper what you will
leave your legacy
'ere we feel the chill
trading for your inspiration
tales you wish to tell
in your breeze
t he sussuration
winter casts her spell
write red words of true expression
orange for last regrets
brown for traces of regression
do not leave us yet
how we waded in the river
how we made a fire
you fulfilled desire
now poems written of your beauty
won't make us shed a tear
we know that with joy and duty
you'll be back
A soft warm breeze
The birds’ happy song
Playing in the park
Winter was too long
The budding leaves
Flowers in bloom
Seeing and believing
A crescent hung moon
The stars fill the sky
Until clouds roll in
A gentle April shower
New life begins
The sound of the crickets
Singing in the night
Spring time is here
There’s morning light
A walk in the dew
Just like a red tomato
My skin, it now burns bright
Two hours in the sunshine
If only it had been night
The pain is now settling in
And the aloe offers no calm
Vinegar just smells so bad
I need a brand new balm
I'll be the sweeper of dust and of dreams
and eggshells left over from sorrow
I'll rally to you when all the else fails
and you close your eyes to tomorrow
It's not the end of the world at 3:30
just 'cause the sun hides it's head
It's not up to darkness to break us in pieces
dusting our shell hides with dread
You are the spark in a lifetime of living
carefully glued and unglued
You will be solid, detailed and delicately
repaired while the springtime ensues.
Press the sky for answers
Wish for penny rain
Snapping, popping, tin-roof dropping
Copper ankles wade
Wear the moon as a necklace
Tears reflecting the stars
Falling, pooling, drown them unruly
Caught cold in shards, diamond hard
Riddle the sun with emotion
Prison of season's delight
Missing, crying, pale but undying
Winter seclusion is nigh
Trust the wind in the moors
Fog and mystery mist
See me, don't see me, emergency free me
with all of your soul in a thimble sized sip
Shine in the depths of the sea
Light up the indigo silt
Wash up on shores where the sun always shines
and the water recedes at your will
Shoulder the wind as a scarf
Tolerate mid-season moods
Walk up to winter, she's autumn's big sister
The exercise will do you good.
Spring is in my steps.
It's tucked behind my ear in orange blossoms.
It shivers me in sun in morning breezes
and stops to coil seeds in soil spun.
It foils all the last attempts of winter
to ice and freeze the sapling green decree
while slipping songs to birds in rectifying
the quiet of the winter's revelry.
Spring is in my smile.
It's braided in my breath of peppermint
It has me waking irises from frozen ground in sleep
and crushing air perfume into their scent
It matches every moon to slip in silver
It breathes the sun and warms the sullen ground
It wakes to dance the prelude into summer
to the luxury of living things abound...
An alarmist in white
with those pale frosted eyes
She's the edge of burnt autumn
in the winter's disguise
With her peacock cloak velvet
and her wind-painted cheeks
She emerges with lavish
as the summertime weeps
With a wink and a whisper
she turns down the night
She strips off the trees
and locks them up tight
A brush of her cloak
blows the sunshine away
while the seedlings gone latent
grow solemn to pray
She's a spectacle true
with an ice covered crown
With clear clinking ribs
and a perpetual frown
But the one foe she has
is the turn of the earth
A gradual waking
a time of rebirth
This lady must melt
as the sun gains it's strength
'though she stretches her hands
to the infinite lengths
and attempts to hang on
with an frost bitten hand
She slips soft into liquid
and seeps into the land
This alarmist in white
in the shadows does keep
as the summer begins
She falls fast into sleep...
Eternity sits on a lazy road
waiting for time to arrive
A basket of seasons spread out on the ground
to be sorted and thrown to the sky
Autumn is gasping at dry burning leaves
trapped under frost every morn
Eternity lowers the clouds down to touch
and the moment of winter is born
The sky lets the wind loose to rattle the eaves
Grey aspirations and snow
Sun is now stuffed in the comfortable pocket
of time and it's infinite flow
Eternity sits on a lazy road
just whittling down time with a knife
Carving out seasons whenever it pleases
Ah, Eternity does have the life...
After dusk, with this gift
of a dusting bowl of fireflies
we're in tune, with bare feet
on the minty sugared grass
Flying wisps, dandelion
light on tails and giggles too
Humid breath in the air
toward the moon an ocean view
Sparkle wings, sleepy eyes
breath of sweetened apple trees
mark the night to be crisp
after dusk pulls in the breeze
With this gift, we elate
with a glow upon our cheeks
Fireflies, summer skies
closing eyes in quiescent peace.
I walk in the shadow of the night,
under the autumn sky,
in the changing air.
Dead dreams shuffle as I walk by.
I minted purity in flowers
dancing daisies, wild wheat
blowing thus in brittle wind
which grandma said comes from out east
I blacked knees with soil skin
roots entangled, frying sun
'gainst the wilting of the winter
toward a breath that's just begun
I lit the candles on the back deck
air gone sheer with heat delight
smoking whispers of a sunburn
held on cheeks well through the night
I kissed the calling of desire
mirrored eyes, impetuous mouth
and beat my heart to the pulse of summer
bare feet finally at home in the south.
Silence and shooting stars
Spins me in every way
Beckons me in
Night of the deepest blue
Moon on my face
Air of the mountains
mingled with space
Winter is on the wings
Let's sip the silence
I'm filled with shooting stars
Pines on the evening watch
You by my side
makes this moment complete...
His hand dipped into the river
As the current took the fallen leaves
Cupping the water to his lips
He knelt for a moment to grieve
The changes occurring, dramatic
The landscape, subjected to change
He realized the cycle continues
As seasons of life rearrange
He watched the changing of seasons
As he sat on the river’s high hill
Noticing for the first time, the beauty
He knew nothing…ever remained still
As change is a natural progression
One should ride, as the river does flow
Changing is easy, like the seasons
Along with it, then beauty does grow