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On Writing And Words Seasons Poems | On Writing And Words Poems About Seasons

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Details | Haiku | |

STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN

Now my tendrilled soul,
Has found its pergola-- Christ--
To wind its way up....


Details | Epic | |

Pledge of love and loyalty

This pledge that l,Ntando, make today serves
as my guideline that I shall follow
happily, ungrudgingly and tirelessly
for the sake of our love life.
Indeed l am well aware of the fact that
the beauty of this pledge does not only lie
in word alone but in action as well.

For that reason in every season
I shall show steadfast commitment
to the implementation of this pledge
with a great deal of astuteness.
I therefore commit myself to be your
devoted and delivering husband for
all the years l shall live with you
on this earth.

I shall treat you with the love and care
you deserve as my wife.
Indeed l shall treat you with
the distinction and dignity
that is befitting of the queen of my heart.
That body, that bone, that breath
shall be my mine to treasure,
for sure;
a dearness to promote and protect
for dear life…and love!
I shall stand by and with you in all the
situations of our life.
If the situation demands that we sail,
sail we shall together.
If the situation demands that we
climb,
climb we shall together.

I know very well what l am getting into:
I am getting into a marriage that is
overflowing with blessings.
This marriage- with our mutual
commitment-
will stand the test of time.
I know very well what I am getting into:
I am getting into a relationship that
brims over with a transforming power
of love.

This marriage-with our
mutual commitment –
will transform naivety into maturity
troubles into challenges
pretence into practice
pride into progress
bachelorship into companionship.
I pledge to be your steward and partner
for all times.

I shall value the consultations
and decisions that we make as
husband and wife.
As head of the family I shall do nothing

 

to derail our love train for anything else
least of all for personal and selfish reasons.
Now and forever

I am your lawful and loving husband…
This pledge that l, Nothando, make today serves
as my guideline that I shall follow
happily, ungrudgingly and tirelessly
for the sake of our love life.
Indeed I am well aware of the fact that
the beauty of this pledge does not only
lie in pronouncements but in practice
as well.

For this reason every season
I shall demonstrate untiring love
and loyalty to you;
a love and a loyalty that is a living
embodiment of our marriage vows.
I therefore commit myself to be your
honouring, supportive and loving wife
for all the years l shall live with you.
I shall treat you with the love and care
that you deserve as my husband.
Indeed I shall treat you with
the dignity and nobility that is befitting
of the king of my heart.
On my mind it is always fresh
that I am the flesh of your flesh.
Green or grown

I am the bone of your bone.
I know very well what I am getting into:
I am getting into a relationship that
elevates me into a kingdom of wifehood.
I shall endevour to put my family first
with all the rights, obligations
and privileges that come with wifehood.
I shall endevour to wipe off and ward off
loneliness and lostness from our relationship,
seeking nothing but your companionship;
banking on your stewardship,
sinking together any hardship.
Since you are mine
I shall not do anything else to undermine
our relationship for personal
or egotistical
reasons.
Now and forever
I am your lawful and loving wife…


Details | Verse | |

Beach Poet

Arm over arm, I glide my body through 
warm, glistening water near the beach. No
harm can come here; Sun’s my lucky
charm; my skin and hair are soaking in its glow!

When I go back to my towel, I sink
ten toes into the sand, warm summer bliss.
Then I grab my bag, and I pull out
pen and paper, best tools for a day just like this!

For Rick Parise's Lento Poetry Contest


Details | Free verse | |

in the farmer's song

so, i got to thinking
about all those words
planted in my language
where fertility grew them
to leave and stalk and pod

the farmer's words scatter
my fields like seed on clod
watered by thundering flashes
awash, fertilized and germinating

progeny seedlings, my own growth
in some time-lapse photography
writhing their creamy roots
into earthy loam and droning
on through a summer daze

into fruits of sweaty labors 
on humid chlorophylled days
silks sultry green, stalking me
through rows and rows as far
as i can see, if i squint

the farmer, suspended in time
stands with his hands in pocket
or on some implement toed to soil
and surveys life's prospects 
for this season, before the

days bake the green back into 
the humus and the cornucopia 
spills the field and orchard
this verse of the farmer's song
picked and stowed away cool

eyes closed now, ears gently
strain to hear, worldly phrasing
come from where? my larder
or some ancestor gleaning meaning
and dropping it into her apron

to carry home to hungry minds
to feed them something of today
and sustain them through a fallow
solstice and the chilled breeze

any cultivation harvested over
picked clean and harrowed flat
nearly time to plow it under again
while the farmer gazes the horizon
and sips something in his cup

© Goode Guy 2011-08-22


Details | Rondeau | |

THIS MISTY RAIN



This misty rain dampens my pen,
so I envision a small glen
with a cottage of ancient stone
that for one day is mine alone...
then lock myself within its den.

I nestle deep, a sheltered wren,
The pane weeps again and again,
But every stanza will atone
this misty rain.

Oh, this modern scribe has read when
springtime showers would enlighten
dark inked quills as drummed roofs would moan
and showers meant a verse to hone...
Poe and I, we have both ridden
this misty rain.




*Inspired by Francine's contest, but not entered.







Details | Narrative | |

BEFORE SPRING CAME

Before spring came, in late February
to the blooming and jolly hills 
I ran, breathing heavily and frantically,
touching the perfumed blossoms 
of a solitary, old cherry tree;
and underneath it I sat writing poetry
that hadn't a perfect rhyme and beat! 
Weren't my skills marred by imperfections?    



Canaries and red-breasted robins
flew down and rested on my outstretched legs;
perusing my lines to spot their names,
and when they did, they flapped their wings in gladness!
I could have imagined their joyful words,.
if only they had acquired the gift of speech,
and deeper in their thoughts I would have reached:
to dispel the myth that they had no feelings...



After my short poem was completed,
I reached for my harmonica to play my favorite classic tune;
and being surprised by the paleness of the fading moon,
I dedicated that happy melody to her not to let her despair:
by waving my hand to make her farewell less sad, while I whispered,
" Silent moon, eternal companion of every poet,
what's beyond the realm of this universe?...
Tell us more of those invisible suns and planets! "
 


Before spring came to the dormant valley,
the mountains' peaks allowed the sun to melt their snows,
to create gushing torrents to feed its water to the dry and cracked soil,
which needed rain instead of harmful frost;
and I drank the freshest water and washed my sweaty face,
while fighting off the bees' stubborn rivalry!
That spring has come again to dress herself with incredible splendor,
and this discontent and wishful heart desires nothing more than being there!  


My theme is: Happiness In Childhood


Details | Fibonacci | |

Her Poet



If 
I 
Should be
Your poet,
In thy garden, let 
My muses, as I do now, spell 
For thee, the sweet honey of spring where I humbly come.  


Details | Verse | |

Describing Autumn

There are only so many shades of turning leaves, so many berry-stained skies to describe before the hues merge and burn through. Only so many times I can wax poetic on the waxed-wood sheen of horse chestnuts, only so many sun-dappled apple depictions. My lexicon trawls fall's lush colour spectrum hoping to harvest new autumn-rich words.


Details | Couplet | |

The Pleasure Has Been All Mine

<               I have dipped my pen in the sublime, it's my gift to you
                 Now use it wisely and write about some captioned caught views


                 thus that of an snow-capped mountain with an eagle that soars
                 or white sandy beaches where ribbed tides rolls back to it's shores

             
                 maybe stars and moon dance reflecting off stilled bay's port
                 in ones head you must determine choice of words to now sort


                 from beautiful to just pleasure does not hit it's mark
                 beneath recant memory that caused the ignited spark


                observer of denial you can not destroy ones voice
                within pens stroke there comes a poet with another choice


                seize the day and come bow to the chosen word of the day
                dont let an overpowering object just get away







Written By Katherine Stella  6/26/11

Entry For A Rambling Poet's

Writing In The Sublime


Details | Footle | |

TWELVE FOOTLES

Summer

Sunshine
moonshine


Children's dreams

Happy
scary


Discovery

Fearsome
awesome


Ocean

Rolling
foaming


Mother's Love

Immense
intense



Life's Pleasures

Eating
loving


Spring's Arrival

Cheerful
lovable


Poetry 

Soulful
music


Vanity

Empty
ugly


Mothers

Loving
giving


Corporal Desires

Lustful
sinful



Child

Happy
teary


Writer

Thoughtful
lyrical



Golden Years

Deserved
reward


Details | ABC | |

A Glurmy Gleepcious Glorp

I plurm and glorp with every breath
My existence defies and deifies death

I splurp and glomph amongst your days
Indistinguishable from mud and haze
I slig and slorg, a dark breamy blaze
with unctuous vim I sleam through your days
and go about my large gorptious ways

Slimy, I slawl in shades of grey
leaving glossful drippings to mark my way
and make your life gang aft agley
as I spream and slorl in spurious ways
and glurm and gleep with hideous gaze
I sleam and glort in vorptious dark ways

‘Til you come undone
And my sporphing’s won!

My job’s complete – I’ve sprunked your flaze
My job is done, I’ve gronked your days!


Details | Free verse | |

Crazy, Hazy, Lazy Days

It’s summertime 
and Janis wails through the speakers.
I sit at my picnic table, 
papers scattered, 
and I chase perfect words
like I used to chase butterflies.

My kids splash through the scene, 
armed with Super Soakers.
Their antics threaten to jar 
the few words I managed 
to land on the page.
  
They jump in the pool -
giggles come up for air 
in a million bubbles.

I trade my pen
for a popsicle,
join them poolside,
and succumb to 
easy living and
the sweltering  rhythms of
“SUMMERTIME.”


Details | Romanticism | |

One Summer Day

I want to muse—
without 
wearing eye-glasses, but 
urge my pen for words that guide 
to sea of love. Sun makes 

her lips fiery, we sip 
the day, 
swallow it, childishly! Hmm, Nitz’s heart 
pumps out breath, holding our souls 

like victims for ransom. Ah, 
etching our aliases in the sudor like wine 
on the lustful spread of green, I 

look for the cheerful shadow 
of sky, as we dress our minds 

with chrysanthemum of a summer day.
   


Details | Narrative | |

MY TREASURE BENEATH THE TIDES

The murky rolling waves subject
to the whims of the February's wind, 
far above the secluded lighthouse;
the roaming aircrafts vanish through thick clouds,
leaving behind a trail of hazardous vapors...
but the geese and seagulls can't continue their existence!  

And still the sea offers them its promise,
a distant shore untouched by man...
by his greedy ways and incompassion,
causing the extinction of many species;
my reflection is based on fact :
we can't survive without them!

The stylish wild birds engage,
as if striken by a sudden rage,
in their frantic, daily dance over the marina,
as I listen the melancholic lyrics of  " Nessun Dorma "...  
the exquisite area of Puccini,
which comes alive through the extraordinary voice of Bocelli!
   
 At four the fog thickens and shrouds the shoreline,
the brass lampposts light up with reluctance...
to shy away the presence of any ghost; 
I, in transitive joy, hide my treasure beneath the tides,
hoping someone will find it  and remember my work... 
long after my thoughts will be no longer alive! 


Details | Cinquain | |

PRECIOUS MOMENTS a quintile

Long days
Of August sun
Where nature blinks and shrinks
The dying grass,yellowed in sleep-
Held fast
as
Oat grass
Tinted old gold
Shimmers on tall green stems;
On a clear warm light of evening sun-
Back-lit
the 
Brimstone
Awakens,then
From each flower hovers
On the drying wind of the breeze-
Sun-lit.


Details | Rhyme | |

Prayer of Thanksgiving

I thank you Lord for life,



 health,and strength.



I pray for the haters,



Who think they have me bent.



I love you Lord with all of my,

Heart, my mind, and my soul.

I know that even if I strive,

To live right and allow you

To rule my life, then all of

My battles for me you'll fight

And win. I will then see

You and I'll walk the paved

Streets of gold in Heaven.

I pray that  each  day,

I help someone to come,

Your way. I love you Lord,

To express it there's not

Enough to say.


Details | Rhyme | |

Five

The light of my life is the tide of the tight
Which half of witchcraft is blight to unbright?
Paper of papal intent in the tent
Fare of the fate to the wittingly went

Knives are nice, but butter is better
A flick of the wrist and a twist of the fetter
Burn through the binder and break down the bricks
The deluge of delusion that stickles and sticks

Ruptured erruptions of singing to sin
Enraptured in rapture by fiddling the fin
Won't will your wont until the wight's won
Sorrowful song of the son of the sun

Lice come less when Winter won't wrest
Sum of the Summer rests in the West
Oughn't the Autumn to singe from the binge
Swing with the Spring of the tingling tinge

Donning the dawn of the bleeding night's blight
Moon dies at noon at the frightening fight
Dust of the dusk falls to slickening breath
Bright light of deep night dreams quickening death.


Details | Free verse | |

my favourite path

i see it before me 
i have not stepped towards, nor walked along its direction 
it is clearly there for me to do so 
the decision 
can stray left or right of the way I go 
and all I know 
is that it starts 
before me


Details | Bio | |

Felled

I walk  in the pathetic pages of a used tired book
Crushed by the heavy leaves that lied to me
The older I become, the angrier I see
orange, red, yellow peeling 
Panting, painting, pelting poems
against a soggy canvas and sagging
lines like tired feet held together with
sad gray shoes

We're the oldest ones here
The doctor is so young
The lawyer is a child
The children are all grown
My grandbaby is going to college

Still when I brushed my hair today
and sashayed by you
a lilt to my tongue and a 
swagger in my lips
I curved a kiss to you and 
blew an ocean of windtossed
leaves

I scooted under them
like a silly child
Smelling the earth
Rooting like a piglet

When did Tubman push her
passengers along
Putting nails in trees to indicate
the turn in the fog
the fork in the road

If she could work into 
the autumn and beyond
Why kant I rite the lanterns 
of my life?

And in autumn
You don't need permission
To fall and land in earthy
grandeur

Staggering, solemn, orange
Reborn like a felled tree


Details | Free verse | |

For Sweet November Rain


Yes, I remember…
I’ve a sonnet of us, rhyming
silently, across the vast blue sky
in waiting, eagerly 
for sweet November rain.
We knew, we both
have the need to feel 
what’s good to be touched… 
the truth was, by the way,
I enjoyed the beat.
We danced, whilst the noon birds warbled, 
with unchained melodies, as the passing wind 
gently rippled the field’s golden hair, till we 
settled, ourselves, into a naked ritual, exaggerating much 
the vers libre it was leading us, before
finally, we wrestled the night, with an adieu kiss.

Yes, I remember…
I’ve a sonnet of us, for 
sweet November rain to cleanse and freshen
the wrinkles we left on a golden field, of tares, 
…for its next transients!  


Details | Narrative | |

AUBURN TREES IN FALL

In June everything was festive and green,
a patch of deep blue couldn't  be seen...
the struggling sun was kept off, with dire,
by a dense foilage of emerald;
and the robins competed with the blue-jays
to harmonize a new song with notes
that even a great composer couldn't write...
Oh, how I loved that sweet sound!

Auburn trees in Fall showed a dull color
andulated by the softest wind,
which wasn't as perfumed as that of spring,
and its sadness was compensated by a beauty,
which inspired a poet and a composer
to write it with a tender melancholy;
and I jotted down the impressive images
of a peaceful Nature that revealed its loveliness!

The freight trains scurred through the defoliating forest,
I found a massive rock and laid my body to rest;
and finally those struggling sun-rays
broke through to warm my forehead quickly:
so glad to have seen, with awe and curiousity, 
the forest's beautiful and swift creatures
storing away food for those gloomy winter's days!...
Oh, how happy I felt to have been the wanderer of the forest! 


Details | Monorhyme | |

A RETURN TO THE PAST -Triple Monorhyme

At the arrival of the winter storm, stretching for a mile,
a bockout occurred in a rural town famed for its exquisite wine;
it became very dark as the lights went out in every house...
I felt scarier than a hopeless prisoner in bondage,
but an idea struck me while I stepped on a fleeing mouse.


And while the moonbeams filtered in invitingly, and the crickets sang me
their awkward melody...I couldn't live in darkness and feel safe!
The willows of the reef seemed phantoms moving towards me...
I had a red candle never being used and its glow could have safeguarded me;
at least, I would have had some light shedding on me to keep them away from me!



Didn't poets of long ago write by dim candlelight? Weren't they often taken by rage? 
They used quills to make their work even harder writing in medieval style!
I wasn't expecting a return to the past...it could have caused a disastrous fire...
if I had fallen asleep! But for Heaven's sake, I lived for passion, not waiting to flee!  
My sonnet had to be written throughout that time for my inspiration to survive!


Entered in Russell Sivey's contest,
" Candlelight "


Details | Senryu | |

Spooky Ratio

terra firma
three hundred sixty-four days.
terror firma for one.


Details | Free verse | |

Compton Ghetto Art Christmas

youd have to see it to believe it
but im making compton famous
a medusa mask
tribal
leave a candle burning
and a wall of clocks and mirrors
and a wedding day gift i painted

so you walk to your car
or into your apartment
and my window do you see
the blinds always drawn shut

but this artist game is open season for criminals like me

there is a candle burning beside the book 
with exactly that title

a kite and a flag of rainbows
and several mirrors to haunt your soul
kept safe by the hands of time
in case you have shattered one

but the grinch of the ghetto christmas is reminding one and all to behold
the cracks that keep us cold in the winter
the pots and the pans
sure it seems messy
but there is such a method to the madness

a pet nmaed rock
and no cats are allowed
but when you wlak by or drive by this view of the closed curtain of lights 
and delights

we're onto the mayor of the surprise holiday now

remember loose lipped sunken shppied


Details | Quatrain | |

AN EXTRAORDINARY DREAMER

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!
 


Details | Rhyme | |

TRAITS OF A GORGEOUS CHILD

I had the traits of a gorgeous child,
different in looks and behavior,
only mother understood his tremor...
when night fell and he ran inside.


An adorable child expressing curiosity,
touching everything in his path,
and those hands seemed full of creativity...
when visions lured his interest.


I hold this photograph to reminisce the grace
of that tiny toddler beginning his first, memorable race... 
while his mom stretched her protective and loving arms, 
ready to hug him and reward him with tons of smiles. 


I had the traits of a gorgeous child,
obsorbing the vivid images and colors of the seasonal scenes...
I'd describe in my writings, to feel the essence of unreal dreams;
Oh, was I aware of my final stride?


Details | Free verse | |

After Eden

(for Hart Crane)

How completely the silence
                  encloses our life.

We will talk    and crowd the room
with words        like blown-in insulation.

The beveled moon     cuts us
with its edge    something not considered
                        not thought of before.

The treason of a moment
never pleases in retrospect.
          And there is no season
for banality     just frailty
              for there must be living:
                      autumn's benediction
the pale strawberries of spring
a rainbow trout     in winter lake.

There is that    and the silence
so nearly said     telling nothing
and everything of presence     a dull
sheen concealing the stone   the dark
wish    the plum    Hart    the plum.


Details | Cinquain | |

CINQKU#5

August
shaded gold
becomes monsoon-
berries rot beneath the
bramble.


Details | Free verse | |

Mea Culpa, Extol Belles-Lettres

The Jackal's line of demarcation ye souls' furlough for interim...
Today, cockcrows perturb in a gala thrice for thee quiescent stay,
God's Park of Ephemera, sashays the daggled the minder harks,
a chest not in to rest, of dais edicts, cudgels so contagious; 
haughty wheels peddle rashly between two havocked hearts,
foisting wintry fobs of progeny pleating to let pigeons exeunt,
if bedlam trotting by pothers ye, the cob, yet calmly sings, 
"Fare-thee-well, Oh snowflake in dwindle, hallow me next spring,
via crepuscules, cleaved like vacant aulas crescendo conveyance,
wholly abutting city lights, this chimney calling cannot sight!"
Jolly pedestrians twinge at our capitol! Touring a mindful chance,
Ample of verve, knowing mortuary amblers must get their fight!
"Fountains, thawing ye? Janitor, what does the blind really see?"
tryst squelch time, squirm squander squalors n' ante antiquated feet,
Jocund or beh£s belief! Ye! Behind bellicose belletrists by beggars!
When baubles full-fledged, hast consummated thee to hobnob no more,
jongleur sloshed anchors on mimes bare laid laic stoolie, loupe aims,
Headmost, request lasting breaths above broadcasting fortune n' fame,
Then fated fires the Sniper jostles from home to goad n' prod,
Ye kindred stanchion and I, skimmed, the sunset even with me...



Details | Tail-rhyme | |

To Rhyme Or Not To Rhyme

An ad for fancy sports shoes
tells the world to 
"Just do it! "

Dash off lines of rhyme or
free verse, haiku or 
limerick

Whatever suits your mood
of the moment will do 
the trick

Bill Shakespeare of yore
nasally intoned, 
"As you like it."


Details | I do not know? | |

The leaves are falling from the trees

I'm so glad that Fall is here.
It's the greatest time of the year.
I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving because I love pumpkin pie.
If someone says that Fall sucks, he or she is telling a lie.
One by one, the leaves are falling from the trees.
Autumn has finally arrived and I sure am pleased.


Details | Quatrain | |

Snow and Silence - For Ellie

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.


Details | Free verse | |

claiming to have the poets eye.

claiming to have the poets eye,
that when upon looking at the world,
your vision goes beyond the sky.
to see the formation of clouds,
the birds singing,
the insects disappearing.
sorry, sweetheart, thats no poetry of mine.
i see the loneliness,
the cold brush of wind that cuts egos like knives,
blistering tears swept away
to a place neither of us will ever know.
because fall is far from vibrant,
how cliched to write anything about the seasons change.
the leaves are dying, 
turning to shades of brown and mustard.
the fields are not gold,
they are decay.
the trees are skeletons,
naked,
your eyes violating them with every glance.
the sidewalks dampen with sheets of rain,
that cleanse the streets of viruses,
sweeping them into the heads of schoolchildren
and grocery store workers.
humiliated pumpkins sitting on doorsteps,
their bodies stripped of nutrients and life,
hollow and empty.
does assimilation make your heart heal faster?


Details | I do not know? | |

Bring the Bitter Voice

Bring the bitter voice
Broken game of sacrifice
Embrace the sea of yesterday
Reconcile winter poetry...


Details | Haiku | |

GIFT

YOUR GIFT WILL MAKE ROOM.

YOUR TALENTS WILL SHOW OKAY!

JUST PUMP YOUR BREAKS ....WAIT!


Details | Free verse | |

Warm

Winter's chill
Howling winds
Arctic blasts

Knifing 
Slashing
Cutting
Through layer upon layer
Deep
To the bone

Turning skin a shade of blue
Normally reserved
For tropical seas
And newborn eyes

Drifts of snow
Piled high as my home
Sleet and snow
Driven by Mother Nature's gales

Through the bone-numbing 
Skin-biting 
Cold
And the blinding storm
Of purest white

One glimpse

Of you

Warm


Details | Lyric | |

Salacious Poet, For A Bitter Muse

I have admired many, so often, and 
wondered for whom they used to write 
their muses; if not for their lovers, then 
for whom? A poet like me who loved

them for great things. Ah, I know—
a different thought, a different 
style, but not that much concerns 
me, awhile, but the smile in you 

that beamed like magenta moon and 
lured strollers to kiss the twilight night, 
until it dimmed away, so were you, 
ditching the one you loved.  Having 

dazed in the stolen memoirs of 
spring that was mine, I know now— 
admiration, sometimes, if not always has 
a bitter ending…in a poet’s lonely page! 



Details | Free verse | |

April Fools

The warming
muzzle of sun
burrows into
budding souls
till wind changes--
turns its back,
broods, then touches
us cold
as temperatures
fall
and yes,
this is
the cruelest
month, the
naked temptress
of sateen summer.


Details | Alliteration | |

Winter Writer II

Winters' wandering within
wicked waves of worsening weather.
Wildly whipping winds
whistling through windchimes
tinkling tenderly.

Women wrapped in wreaths
of wool or, if rich,
cashmere coated against
the avalanche of chill
around corners marching,
counting with a
pink pedometer
to ensure a regimen
regardless of winters' waft.

Snow softly swirling
through the thermal drafts
not ready to land yet.
Not really stuck ...
yet.


Details | Free verse | |

Language Arts

A word and a breath but it’s the thought that counts.
Up or down in or out love and trust is what it’s all about.
To you I say can you hear me perked up on the mounts.
You are in or you are out.
A touch and a whisper but it is the kiss of truth.
Knelt or bent I am down on my knees.
And I beg you please.
To me I say can I hear me or am I aloof?
Language arts is a dance in the breeze,
With a summer squeeze,
A winter’s pinch,
The spring’s stench,
Even the autumn’s leaves!
Bathing in the words and dancing like a twit.
Singing in rhythm and painstakingly making a switch.
Language arts is a breeze on the summer Seas.
Lifting you up or pulling you down and spinning you all around,
It will knock you to your knees,
Lifeless and unbound!

® Registered: Ann Rich   2005


Details | Cinqku | |

Cinqku#3

a light
frost whitens
the frozen verge-
inert below,summer
awaits

A cinqku is an 'English language 'version of a tanka with 17 syllables 2;3;4;6;2
no title and last two(or three) lines being a surprise/comment on the first three 
lines ie as in he American Cinquain of Adelaide Crapsey


Details | Free verse | |

Winter Writer

The river of words
she heard ran dry
as the cold came
into her bones
through the crack
at the bottom 
of the door.

That sublime time
of rhyme came to be
more of a chore
as arthritic hands
fought to hold a pen
type a line ... 
the mind didn't rhyme.

It grew cold and dark
without the spark
of light that often
would appear of its own
accord and, whats more,
wrote the words before
the cold and dark.

Winter settling in
to freeze and blow
the beginnings of snow
in the air, though
nothing stuck.
Nothing at all.


Details | Light Poetry | |

Eviction

You're being evicted. Get out do it without delay. Oh yes, I got kicked out my 
apartment in the cold month of February. Now all my money is spent, paying last 
month's rent.
Working on commission is hard you see.Returns, returns and more returns.How 
can I earn when the customers continue to return.So this is why I struggle to pay 
my rent. 
Now I'm living with my cousin and I spent much of my time fussing,about the 
strange things that go on in the night.I'm really stressed having no one to turn to.I 
fight to pray but I'm left with no words to say. So my spirit man intercedes for me.
 I get up in the morning with a tired and achy body,due to sleeping on the hard 
floor.This the second time this situation has happened to me.  
I continue to work on commission. Keeping my eyes open for better job 
opportunies. Chicago was a possibility, but I needed to move,moving 
money.Moving from place to place.
Shut the door to the secret things you used to do when no one was around.That 
would bring frowns to the people's faces if they would of caught you doing what 
you do.
Shut the door . Now you're mature.


Details | Lyric | |

The Murmur of this Poem

I would like you to listen, attentively 
To the murmur of this poem, but
Ahh, it’s gone now, as if nothing happened 
‘Cos, honestly, it wasn’t today’s morn

But last night, yes last night, before sleep

A heart, so gentle and pure
Like of winter rose in pristine December sky  
I still remember, I think it was love
Ahh yes, the love you’d wish for---the murmur 

Of this poem, flattered to its unknown grave


Details | Free verse | |

Untitled Love


I am--
A poem, the component 
Of heart and
 
Soul
With all the rhythm 
And rhyme that I gush
In wordy hives 

Of craving
Curved, delicately
On a tree, as its 

Blood-stained 
Juices run down the earth
To kiss and reverse the enchantment
Of winter. Ah, I am--

A poem
Not to irritate 
Your eyes

Yet, to please them 
With scented hue 
Of sensuous love, wafting 
From sleep 







   


Details | Free verse | |

Critical Moments

Circles of confusion and a mirrored box
Image decisive instants of living and dying,
Entering and leaving the state of existence
In movement and idleness 
Capturing the connection of all things... 
The closer to, the less seen,
The further away, the bigger the picture
Yet, there's always something hidden
That answers the reasons why, shows new ways 
Of thought that suggests stones and studs
Metal and glass from ground, trees, air and sun
With flesh and bone of darker shades of white 
Lighter shades of black interrelating for undertones
Of what's his, what's hers and everything is theirs
On paper without words for the deaf through 
The unseen for the blind... the emotional by way
Of what is felt reveals the greatest mysteries
And implications of the objective and subjective
Views join together for knowledge to understand
The crucial for a better society on earth
As the truth that is a lie etches in the memory
And freezes in time culture by capturing 
Critical moments that connect all things in 
A mirrored box through circles of confusion
To usher in indispensable periods of success


Details | Kimo | |

Writer's Block

I am ready, set on the mark to go
Run in between the white lines
Waiting for the gunfire.


Details | I do not know? | |

Opened to the Public

Once the paper is kissed with ink of beautiful array,
Only to share with the world today.
Whisk away,
Into the public's arena without delay.
The poet's life is  finished for one to say,
"Are you out there? Hey!"
"Look!"
"I know in the writing I left my life an opened book."
"I'm smiling in saying cheese."
"Give me my privacy! Please!"


Details | Rhyme | |

Sheryl Gilly

Sweep me through a summer's day
I'll pick up memories along the way
and when the winter hits the sea
I'll save some salt for you and me
The autumn's moon I'll sketch in red
The valient spring in blue
But most of all, summer or fall
I'll write of me and you...


Details | Free verse | |

The Last Autumn Poem

Again,
        apple cider season,
              cool autumn whiskey,
                    burning leaves.

No one needs another autumn poem.

      We grow gaudy phrases
                  like pumpkins,
hollow out foreheads,
throw away seeds.

Always paring, cutting
eyes
      with awkward thumbs,
seeing autumn
      as a pewter stallion
and winter
      wildly undone.


Details | Free verse | |

to thereandon

Softly I fall
Under the spell of Spring
My lips recall
My tasting of the morn
Each day I work 
Recalling what could really be too far to reach
In time to see the dawn
My back is warm
E’er I could feel a soaking rain, and as bees swarm
Neath brighter longer days do yet I see
The way that time sneaks quietly by
How could I know life ties itself to thee
I rest my back against a young and helpful tree
Victor of wars I hardly knew I waged
I roll the dice of Lady Fate and dream of what could be
Not knowing where this road is going to end
God knows I pray to gain the sight and rise again begun
So must we all travail
Each day is new
As rises yet the life persuasive sea
So goes the time in  rhythm with the tides
Yet swiftly too


Details | Rhyme | |

reeping

Once
Back in time
A life or two
There lived a loving soul
The words he’d rhyme
Where meant for you
To know when you were old
And in this generation
I find in veneration
Sweet exacting finite truth
Repeating to extol 
Youth’s  swiftly dancing  role
In this road there is a toll
And the travel makes you whole
Again


Details | Lyric | |

As I think Of It

My poem, as I think of it,
I am taken to solitude of happiness,
Where the bitter memory of yesteryears 
Disappears, without traces.

I am delivered in spirits
From hell of anxieties to an exotic paradise
Of hope, where it is me and my poem
Alone for a moment.

There’s rhyming sonnet, and beautiful verses
Even a haiku, too, you’ll see as you gently peek 
Thru my soul, fed by the reflection ripples of the sea
With placid water so warm and really blue. I sigh.

The magical seasons of pink summer night,
Of white winter noon,
Of golden fall day,
Of bright-green of early morn. I breathe.

Sweet caress from the rhyming sea  
As I look deeper into my heart,
A poem, sweet as me as I whisper to you
My life, not of yesterday, but of today.