Elegy Seasons Poems | Elegy Poems About Seasons
These Elegy Seasons poems are examples of Elegy poems about Seasons. These are the best examples of Elegy Seasons poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
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in foul folic grain,
lay quid’s worth teal of guilt,
slain yonder eye
held pelt polled tax,
near terra gar fear wilt…
I see you there
While your swarms of light surround you
A typhoon could hit,
And you'd still stand just as still
Your expression unfaltering through it all
It is spring now
Your name smells like flowers
But the rose
Of your cheeks is gone
Winter frost clings to your hardened face
Your eyes were rich
Like sunset on planting soil
Warm earth to sleep on
Now I sleep in the trees
I always get frostbite from the cold ground
A touch of your skin
Would make my heart melt
Last time we met
Gliding your arm underneath my robes,
You were ice cold
Portugal in September.
Perfect translucent day and I can see the peculiar nature again,
as it is no longer a blur of glaring sunlight. It is like meeting
an old friend, one who was rumored to have died, in a country
I will not see again. Evergreens, carob and olive trees lost in
the mist of time, forever alone in the transience of seasons.
I also see glimpses of the sea it doesn’t interest me, not today
anyway, but I do notice it is deep blue and has white sails on.
On my scooter I drive across a narrow bridge they have been
working on so it can take heavy lorries, a road is being built
somewhere out of sight. Wish I were a painter, fair clouds on
azure sky, could be smoke signals sent by an Indian tribe yet
to be discovered, I see the past and future at the same time.
Bewildering, do I drive in a landscape of ancient dreams?
I better stop find at a café, drink a “Bica” (coffee) before I fade
into the mystery of nature and can’t find my way back home.
How can there be despair when the entire
natural world is unfolding in delight with new life?
When the anhinga alights from the Nowhere
he was, into the Somewhere you are, negotiating
his spectacular landing, spreading out his
Gulliver wing-span to warmth and healing on
the grassy knoll that rolls down to the lake, which
manmade it may be, but the burnished green ducks
don't know that. They swim, they scan, they dive
into its mysterious depths to disappear beneath its
provident surface for what nurturance is there.
How can there be sorrow when a cardinal
darts across your line of vision with his red reality
two times in the same day into the Crape Myrtle
as it readies to burst its rooted heart? And,
he comes again at dusk to rest on a budding branch
to sing a song you never heard before--
permits you to tell him how beautiful he is,
but when you ask him to stay, he darts away
because you are not the regulator.
How is there is no blessing when the stone-gray
Buddha in his prayerful place on your porch
with his folded hands and naked feet reminds you
that the gods we honor do not always look like us? Or,
when the Northern mockingbird who fell in love
with the South offers his limitless repertoire from
the Laurel Oak, that wise grandfather; their leafy
language writing the Braille of the senses that
says Hold On, Hold on, and So, you do.
…And there’s a naked lady
On a rocky shoreline, I see
Her beauty, a pinkish smile
As I, the lover, pass her by
The jolly rhythm of the sea
Has a great resounding plea
The rain will not fall today
Though, the sky’s real gray
Sweet laughter in the wind
Hers touches my worn skin
I plead thee, O careless tare
O let you not disrespect her
For she, truly, reminds me
Of my ever dearest fantasy
Every time her beauty I see
Whilst I drink my morn tea