Autumn brushes her hair slowly
Letting the glorious colors
flow gently to the earth below.
Showing off vibrant colors
in contrast to summer's green dress.
Out doing the starkness,
of winter's white coat.
Autumn compares the mutable
shades of spring to her fall
Giving a sigh ,end of another season.
She packs her brush
as frost touches her tips.
While you sleep
Lady dressed in white
And melt your cold heart made of ice
High into the sky
And fall as raindrops from God’s eyes
Where now you will grow
With me - in the bloom of a rose
Author: Elaine George
* Note: This poem is a Personification as well as a triple Fibonacci
Brian Strand's 'Image Contest': First Place
John Heck's '12-in-one' Contest: First Place
Spring stirs her eager young
Giving life, renewed to those
Who stand about and doze
She whispers hope, of things begun
Beneath winter's cold repose.
Summer, smiling golden rays
With ample breasts of rain
Feeds, and soothes the pain
Of changing white to green to gray
While dressing her wards again.
Fall, donning multicolored hues
Weeps, her leaves cascading
As her life is brilliantly fading
She takes with her the morning dew
Leaving frost in the trading.
Winter, wearing crystal shards
Bares her nudity to all
Standing gracefully tall
She lays a white robe upon my yard
While singing her wanton call.
And I.....well, I sit passively by
Watching through shielding glass
Four sisters marching past
Thanking God who dwells on high
For His daughters stark contrasts.
Timothy I. Brumley
. Beneath a brilliant sapphire blue and cloudless canopy,
dipping swaying dreamily adrift in a fantasy,
shimmering in the noon daylight she dances with the breeze,
until she breaks on the shore and is swallowed by the sea.
Author: Elaine George
Written: February 9th, 2006
I was once a little twig with dreams of being a mighty tree
So people would come from all around just to look at me
As the years started to come and go I fell in love with the wind
I would open myself big and wide swaying to the music of my friend
My rings became many and my bark was as red as red could be
Then the day finally came I was the tallest of the tallest trees
I stood tall and I stood proud and everyone knew my name
As my rings continued recording my destiny to fame
Then the fateful day it came my friend and I had a fight
Looking back I can't recall who was wrong or right
I said, "You are but the wind something people can't even see"
" And I'm the king of them all the tallest of the tallest trees"
That night the wind started to howl she really started to blow
And I the tallest of all the trees learned we reap what we sow
My roots struggled to hold on tight but without a soul around
She who had been my dearest friend knocked me to the ground
The loggers came and cut me up then shipped me away
To my soul that truly was a sad and lonely day
Torn from all I knew and loved wishing I didn't have to feel
I was cut into boards and post down at the local mill
Now I'm back here at home just a few feet away
From where my friend the wind and I used to dance and play
I'm the deck on which you stand I lay below your feet
There is a bench made of me would you care to have a seat
Sometimes in life our roles change just take a look at me
The trick is no matter who are what you are be all you can be
See I was once a little twig who became a mighty tree
And now I'm a redwood deck as proud as proud can be
And of my friend the wind she visits me everyday
So I can thank her once again for helping me find my way
The first breath of autumn - so softly creeps
Kissing the face of summer - as she sleeps
Stirring within - such passion and desire
Setting every bough and green leaf - on fire
Ablaze of flames - in shades - of red and gold
Burning the meadows - and the valleys below
Autumn’s breath - a perfume of sweet decay
Hangs over the earth - in a crimson haze
Memories rekindled - in all the leaves
In their final hour - still cling to the trees
Until Autumn expels - her final breath
And falls - in a kaleidoscope - to her death
Where her ashes will sleep beneath the snow
giving warmth to the seeds - buried below
Author: Elaine George
Written: August 23, 2013
I am the spirit of satin stardust
and the antiquities of golden memories alive
I call to you from the rising warmth of the sun
and greet you in the misty morning light
I am the steady and rolling drum beat
echoing from the jagged heights above
I am the mysterious curves of the raging waters'
and the freedom birds of love
I rise above the white summer clouds
in lilting songs of grace
and roam with the western tail-winds
to take you home again
I am a Spirit of our gracious Lord God Almighty
of love hope and faith
I have come to tell
Dedicated To P.D.
Who Art Thou?
Thou carriest me to distant clime, to Egypt in my mind.
I’m Cleopatra, naked. In thy folds, I solace find.
Thou art gentle, like sweet Antony. With body splayed, I lie
Upon thee in a valley, and above us is blue sky.
Those times, I come to visit thee with arms outstretched, for peace.
Other times, with steady strokes, I find in thee release.
Thou holdest me though I cut thee; thou art soothing like a balm.
I love thee when thou art able to flow, clear and calm.
At times, thou canst rage. On those days, I've no need of thee,
But other times I move within thee, working mightily.
And when my body’s spent, I leave thee for a while
Until I see thee next, and thou wilt be for me, my Nile.
This is a Thing!!
The fish is a creature cold and wet
Hooked by line and trawled by net,
Easy to catch and yummy to eat
Fried in oil or seared by heat.
I must admit I eat my share
So my guilt I sadly bear.
Handless and legless they strive to survive
Yet they are loved more....Dead than alive!
Fish cannot scream
Fish cannot yell
The pain from a hook,fish cannot tell.
Fish cannot scratch
Most do not bite
They go to the pan with little fight
What a frenzy,what a fuss
When one of them devours us!
It's on the telly,it's in the press
"Each shark killed is a monster less."
It's not in the press,its not on the telly.
How many of them are in our belly!
If fish could scream,if fish could cry
If fish had fur or big brown eyes.
If fish were dry and nice and warm
We'd never do them any harm.
We'd think them cute,they'd get respect
They wouldn't 'get it in the neck'.
Protest groups would march the streets,
And fish would multiply in peace.
She holds herself above the thorns of bitterness-
So sharp and green with envy of her loveliness-
As she trembles in the chill of winter’s breath-
That stills the beating of her scarlet breast-
As her petals fall like drops of blood
Upon the snowy mantle white
As beautiful in death
As she was – my Rose - in life
Author: Elaine George
Awarded: First Place
Brian Strand's 1 to 8 contest