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Prose Poetry Seasons Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Seasons

These Prose Poetry Seasons poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Seasons. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry Seasons poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

Her Name was Autumn

 
Thoughts of " Autumn " and her " off Spring" 
Seasons change as do people...
Her name is Autumn...
She quietly puts her mark the on Season ….
Yet no one sees her there..
She has a certain presence, still …
and her perfume fills the air..
Yet no one speaks to her…
Her colors are not light, but bright…
reds, yellows and orange, quite a sight…
But even though , she’s more than that…
No one approaches, some don’t seem to care..
So she quietly leaves ...before all the trees are bare...


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Cherries in December


A few leaves that escaped my rake are skittering across the yard. The wind seems to be playing with them, teasing, a winter bully. December, the fire a comfort. Here I sit, watching the leaves and eating cherries..he brought me cherries. Somewhere it is summer and fruit is ripe and dripping with promise.. Who would have thought it possible? The world small enough that I can taste that bounty and pretend I am dancing under the summer moon..dancing, a red skirt swirling around my legs.. wiping juice from my chin with its hem... Cherries in winter...just imagine.....


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Hunting for Spring

We’re so tired, of winter’s, snow and ice,
For too long, we have been, within our house, winter’s price.
Why won’t you come, to visit us, and sing?
Where we’ll be touched, by your sun, so heartily, beaming.
Oh where! Oh where! Are you, our sweet Spring?
We need you, so very longingly!

We saw you peak out, for just one day.
Then you quickly, and suddenly, ran so very far away.
So we did a Rain Dance, and danced in the cold.
Without your shinning brightness, all we got, was cold snow!
Oh where! Oh where! Did you go, our sweet Spring?
Why did you run, so very far, with your blessing!

We sought the Groundhog, that he ask you, to come back.
But he was burrowed, deep beneath, all the snow, and ice pack.
He wouldn’t open his door, as we knocked, true and hard.
He refused, to even come out, as he denied the pleas, of this bard!
Oh where! Oh where! Are you, our precious, sweet Spring?
We beseech thee, to please come back, to me!

The trees want to bloom; their sprouts are ready, to collect.
Our hearts are there beside them, under this winter, and it’s effects.
We’ll sit here, dreaming of the beauty, only you can affect.
We’re hopeful, can’t wait, but now at March’s mercy, and redirect.
Oh where! Oh where! Did you go, our sweet Spring?
Our hearts and souls want to be warmed by thee!

What? Dragon and I see you! We rejoice my friend!
Our hearts, like the trees, are beginning, to warm again.
The snow is leaving; all is greening, before our eyes.
We beg you, to please stay here, solidly, close by our side.
Oh where! Oh where! Did you go, our sweet Spring?
At last! It doesn’t matter! We have you back, and all that you bring!

Written for my good Friend Jack Ellison.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

BITING COLD

(Winter Song)

This cold is touching me and I'm liking it 

It hugs me real tight and I'm loving it 

Now it's biting me real hard 

From my foot up to my face 

I wanted to let go but it won't 

Though it realy hurts, I won't mind 

Cry? Never! 

(c) 2012


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Girl Named Autumn

Seasons change as do people... 

A girl named Autumn….enters quietly into the room…. 
Yet no one sees her there... 
She has a certain presence, still … 
and her perfume fills the air... 
Yet no one speaks to her… 
Her colors are not light, but bright… 
reds, yellows and orange, quite a sight… 
But even though , she's more than that… 
No one approaches, some don't seem to care... 
So she quietly leaves ...before the trees are bare... 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Glistening Silver

Glistening Silver

Glistening silver on water’s edge like thousands of diamonds for my hair - 
Snow covered mountains hide summer flowers of purple, pink and gold
while black bear and deer search for left over apples from October’s harvest.
Ellijay is crisp and cleaned to perfection by nature’s wind and cold - 
The cows hide inside the old, red barn up the hill.
Hickory trees barren of fruit, yet a lone woodpecker flits back and forth looking -
searching for substance from the thick bark only it can penetrate. 
My prayer for snow covered mountains has been answered.
Seventeen years of Florida sun has scorched my throat and mind.
I wanted to see New York snow in North West Georgia -
One full Sunday of snow falling for my eyes to fill
 in the glorious beauty of winter’s wonder.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Here Comes Winter Again

Here it comes again; softly knocking on windows at 2A.M, here comes the winter at a cold silent night, awakening my soul with the smell of dust after rain, the smell of mom holding me into bed, with the voices of my sisters playing next room, here it comes again with painful delights, here it comes again taking me back home.

Let the drops of rain knock on my door and let them ache my heart, let me taste the sweet smell in my tongue like a little boy getting wet beneath the rain, waiting to be rebuked, but none of this does matter because the burdens of life are slipping down with the rains being drifted on his coat, none of this does matter because the weight of life was just not this cold before.

Here comes the winter with empty corners in my head and echoes of laughters in my room, a piece of chocolate I can no longer find and a broken toy I’ve never thrown away, with good sweaters that never felt warm on a cold night like this, let the chilly breezes of winter take me back home again, to smell my father’s smoking cigarettes and my mother combing my hair, and the smell of coffee beans on one cloudy morning to refresh my day, oh here comes the winter, remembering me again and stopping by with few memories to take me home.

Check out my writings at:
http://echoes19.wordpress.com


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Perseverance

                     Perseverance: a poem




Long ago or should I say sometime in the past?


I had dreams and now at the age of 31 I have realized most of them.

It’s funny how good luck; joy, pain, rejection, effort and ‘Perseverance’ with a capitol ‘P’ have played a part in my life and sealed my Fate.

I now choose to think more positive thoughts even though this is still hard for me when I hear a negative voice in my head or when I hear people say negative things about me.

Those things hurt me and stay with me until I let it go.
I am self-motivated and I was a star pupil in my memories of my childhood.

My main goal is to be able to take care of myself, be responsible for myself and for the choices I make in life.

I am finishing school next January ’14 with my Bachelor’s degree and I want to find a good Internship.

Then after that I want to have a part-time job working 20 to 25 hours per week and continue doing volunteer work.

Oh and poems, I will keep writing my poems and reading other people’s poetry.  Right now I am reading LIT a memoir by Mary Karr. I also want to write children’s books.



Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Reflection on Seasons in the Supposition of Snow.

I stared at walls and contemplated colors~

I believe it was after midnight~

he spoke of nothing as I imagined the importance behind us, as I imagined the breeze that
was affected by his voice, as I realized nothing intrigued me...

and here we were.

His arms spoke of goosebumps, little shivers up my spine, and September had this way about
her that I wished to somehow capture in mason jars that would decorate the rooms we may
sit in come snow, I knew the reflection of fire across skin and I kissed possibilities as
I watched our seasons...

change.


There's no stopping distance despite the desire to break clocks, minutes and miles are
irreversible, I've found, so I counted them, the hours, and made sure he was touchable and
only an arms length away...


My August arms brushed across his chest, he had the ability to calm though summer still
danced through his heart, my fingertips traced over the forgotten eyelashes that
desperately tried to escape sight and I breathed, sending wishes to the walls that
surrounded us, to the edges that had yet to decide their color, that touched nothing...

yet captivated my attention.


There were shadows that covered us~

I think they appeared right beyond midnight~

but I knew we were swallowing September,  I supposed we'd create minutes that would make
us smile come snow and we'd kiss in the reflection of fire...

escaping distance

with the whispers that affected skin.




Details | Prose Poetry | |

I'M ENTITLED TO CHANGE

I’m entitled to change.

My skies don’t have the blah-blah-blahs.
My trees aren’t bare in every yard.
My caterpillars find cocoons.
Butterflies will be flying soon.
Said I’m entitled to change.

Yes, I’m entitled to change.

Don’t stop the ice from melting down.
Don’t stop the floods beneath dry ground.
Don’t stop the buds from reaching bloom.
Cleaning closets, sweeping out gloom.
I’m so entitled to change.

Change, Change, Change, Change.
Change, Change, Change, Change.

Nothing in life remains the same.
New season, and I’m a new dame.

Damn right, I’m entitled to change!

Just call me Spring.

(Goodbye Mr. Winter)


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sacred Mother Earth- Colors Of Nature

Oh Great Woman of all Nature
  Mother of our Divinely blessed, sacred Earth
Your beauty has kissed my lips
  with the splendor of your clear, sapphire skies
 

The golden, moon bathed Sands
  that are gently caressed
 by your crystal blue clear flowing rivers
Your gentle rain that ascends from the Heavens above
  to delicately soothe and blend
with tears that flow from the broken hearted
 

Your moist, emerald green hills 
 filled with enchanting, lovely flowers 
of every elegant shade and hue
I have beheld the splendid beauty…
 of your green weeping willow's gracious bows and limbs
of iridescent greens and golds
that whisper gently in your swaying, languid winds
 

I have witnessed golden eagles fly so gracious and free
  in your pictorial, periwinkle blue skies
I've feasted my eyes on the sublime splendor
  of your enchanting, golden harvest moon
as its elegant beauty paints a rose, gold, splendid image 
  so deep within my mind
 

All your violet-blue endless horizons
  Your smoky, gray mountains so grand
in the rose blue cool light of dawn
  Your chattering bird songs in skies of azure blue
The fragrant scent of amber gold pinecones
   in the sparkle of the crystal clear early morning dew
 

I pay Ode’ to you Great Mother Nature
  for every golden ray of sun that warmed my skin
that hangs brilliant and dazzling...
   in your glorious skies of cerulean blue


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Autumn Filigree

The gray haze of autumnal fog drenches the leave-strewn grass. Trance-like, lain within the wet air, like babies breath, the leaves fall. A soft, damp, blanket of gold, filigree, edges the green cloak of the Mother, Her garb lays adorned with a pointed patterns of earthly stars. Warmed so, by the abundance of her children; caressed by the love of the Father, beloved, the Mother yawns.... stirring the leaves, yet again, the leaves arise.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Words From My Thoughts

I spent the days looking at the ground
I thought the world had clipped my wings
I spent the hours saying I felt down
I had no strength. I felt entangled in things
And then I hear you called me (Godson)
I set my face into the breeze
I lift my head. I spread my wings and I am free
My heart was heavy in the valley down below
My soul was empty, void of love

My sight was cloud by the dust the world blows
So I set my mind on earth not things above
But now your lifts me up 
From the sick bed in which i lie groaning
I will not be conquered, I am destined for your love
Courage is three letter words
Real courage is saying YES to life
Not backing down when faced with adversity
courage is acting with fear, not without it
Angel! I really love you deep down my heart.

Life is filled with challenges and opportunities
Mountains to be climbed conquered with others to follow
When you are no longer interested in climbing mountains
to see other mountains to climbed, life is over
Vision sees the invisible
Believes the incredible
And then receives the impossible
This makes the blood never to run cold
Because loves for the path of the future lives
A mind that makes Success my QUEEN


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Cloudburst

 In the black dirt where the worms flirt
 Trees root in the dark earth
 Fruit falls like a dead limb
 Rain pours like a soft hymn

 Boys whine, girls glow
 Ice forms as the wind blows
 The corn tilts, the hills moan
 The sky hides as the rocks groan

 Reeds sway, dogs bay
 A hungry beast enchants its prey
 The fog blurs, the grass stirs
 And through the mist the moon returns

 And where a tired body bends
 To taste a running stream
 A flood of pounding hailstones rends
 What rain and wind sweep clean

 Written by © Raven Drake


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Story of Mr February

It was almost sundown
Early in February
When the wind blew the trees down
When the thunder in conjunction with the lighting seemed scary 

But up in the sky
Mr. Blue looked down with a smile
When the Sun had to say goodbye
And the weather all over the town shared the same style

Down in the ghetto
Critical conditions were experienced
Poor houses were defeated, together with young stores
And it brought merciful conditions with high expenses

While around the city
The weather seemed to be curious and deliciously
When the thieves became stronger and high in velocity
And the weather results brought Miseries and a concern of Brutality

When that happens … It’s a sign that Mr. February is Back !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

By: NH Kandjimi


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Gator Bait Series 1st Cold Snapped

The wind was blowing when she left the city...

I believe it was twenty below...

Where she was going she already knew...

But... first she had things she had to do...

Get rid of the body that was clear....

There were no options, it had to disappear....

The heater was broken and blowing cold air...

She could feel the ice, building up in her hair..

She had cleaned up the blood as best she could...

As she had hit him hard with that log of wood...

All she had asked him, was to light a fire...

To take off the chill in the house....

Do it yourself if you are cold...he snapped

And while you’re at it get me a cold beer...from the fridge..




It was early morning when she finally arrived at the bridge..

This was his favourite fishing spot...

She pushed his body off the pier...along with his ice cold beer..

And suddenly began to shiver and sneeze.....

Oh well, she said...this too shall pass..

When I get to the Florida Keys..


PS..this is the first in a series..watch for part 2.."gator bait..the dream "










Details | Prose Poetry | |

Two Minutes Too Late and the Clock Struck June.

We fell, two miles too far down to count the days ahead...

Two hours too late for me to forgive myself, I kissed him in the morning when the clock
struck...

five...

and tears covered me in a bath of fear...

I asked him if he knew, if he understood, as he mumbled and held me in his sleep.


Two days passed and I watched the sunset, I found it far

too

hot

to breathe.


I wondered, as I circled, as I watched him in memories, as I watched his face glow and fade...

I wondered where the comfort of January ran...

I wondered if he swallowed it as I brushed my tongue across his open mouth when he
whispered the promises I knew, even then, 

he wouldn't keep.


And hope was funny, she stayed by my side for two months plus three, I found myself waking
up in May, amidst the lilacs and unusual heat, I wanted to close my eyes and let my lashes
fall down as they tickled tomorrow so maybe..

he'd see...

but obsessions are addictions and he had an affiliation with the color blue.


“I love you,” I told him, with eyes wide open when the clock struck two...but I was three
months too late and my heart
held onto January
for the fear
of sight
in
June.



Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Fading of Salvador Dali When Wednesday Rose Too Late.

I regarded us on Tuesday, after finding Monet in the closet, and thought our lives
resembled institutions, I thought I'd tack that painting right above the fireplace, I
imagined we'd laugh...


He took ten minutes to figure it out, he took fifteen to tell me, he took three minutes
more to kiss my lips and I told him he was seven minutes late, so he glanced to the clock
that raced tomorrow above my head and told me that late was better than never as he
grabbed tomorrow right out of my hair...

This tangled me, you see, and I gasped for air as my thighs fell apart, it seemed to be
distinctly him as he swirled into me, and I lost the definition of myself shortly after
Wednesday rose, and we smeared Van Gogh all over the walls as my screams became edible and
he licked his lips as I sighed his name, he removed the fabric that kept me warm, he wrote
forever with his tongue and I thought, better forever than gone, right before I dissolved
into nowhere....


I think my hand prints were distorted and I searched his chest for some resemblance of
sanity, but I only found myself in the swirls of moonlight that ventured in through the
window we tried to block...

he had told me of blankets years ago and I wished they would cover me when December came,
but I haven't seen December yet though I've watched snow fall and settle on his eyelashes,
I've studied the melting of time when he blinks...

“You have the most beautiful eyes in the world,” I informed him, minutes after the night
solidified herself and I realized we were tired.

“No, I don't,” he replied, in a tone that sunk beneath Tuesday, and offered me the calm of
Monet...

“You do,” he whispered, and I could hear that smile and the echoes of his eyes closing, I
could hear myself enter his dreams as I watched my hair flow abstractly through the weeks
he remembered, and sometime before I fell asleep, thinking about St. Petersburg when the
visions that dance underneath my eyelids resemble the imagination of Salvador Dali, he
told me he loved me...

right on time.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

January's Wishes Spoken Through the Dishonesty of April.

Her eyes amused me, slices of January that held April tightly....

she could rain in snow, drop from upside-down skies, and we held tightly to the tears that
only appeared on the opposite side of closet doors as we marked our claim on unusual with
hand prints that never saw the sun.

Two days could have passed underneath us before we blinked, my windows whispered glorious
promises but we kept them closed for safety, for the opposition of who we could be, and
she knew the secret of every season, she knew how to laugh when bedroom doors...

closed.


I drew her behind the mirror and we created October across December stars, we became
disobedient underneath the glorious names we sang that night for lips speak magic when
they pretend to lie and dishonesty was but a kiss away from sunrise.


Time stung me come August, come March, come the age of thirty-two, her eyes had been shut
for years now and she sunk beneath flowers I am positive would be beautiful enough to
photograph had I the courage to glance, but my feet have never crossed the grass that
blankets her and roots her promises...

tangled beneath tomorrow with a tight grasp on yesterday, and I wonder if the days have
yet to fade the color of her hair.


It rained in January when I existed miles away, teardrops of memories that fell as softly
as the whispers of her name, I closed the bedroom door tightly and listened intensely for
the echoes of dishonesty, for she remained there, somewhere, behind mirrors that painted
her and the lies that bit my tongue, that reassured me...


our hand prints would hide from summer...

covered in ice-cream secrets that screamed her pain from a smile, from a foolish wish that
spoke us inseparable.


Her eyes, blue as October, slapped me, that day, as they painted themselves the secrets
girls are never supposed to witness, as they refused to allow April to fall but declared

honesty

with the beauty that she

could never see.




Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Morning Drive

Pristine crisp, clean morn

Crescent moon floating above

A monochromatic wintry scene,

Frosty crystals clinging atop 

Rolling, sleepy meadows,

Rugged white peaks all round,

Lush conifers – jet black, set against

Soft pastels of blue,

Venous deciduous with bouquets 

Of birds leaving their tops

Like petals drifting at will 

Upon a lazy, summer stream

Afar, wispy crimson marks the 

Direction a lover rests, in wait of

Of a new year and new beginning


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Valley of the Universe

It matters not how we flourish in this valley of the universe, grazing in our meadow of celestial existence.

Life blossoms, life perishes on this pinhead of eternity but we strive to see the seasons through and escape the lurking perils, whether nature's or man's will.

In trepidation we anticipate the seasons predictable course. Springtime comes bringing beauty and warmth, igniting life, our petals unfolding in full glory.

For all mankind, there's a time, one season will not appear. Predictable as timely segments but not in content, we love the treasures that they bring but know they're mere signals to the finish line.

Life should be cherished, we should grow to be our absolute best but deep inside us we're aware that life is but a smudge on the handkerchief of Creation.

Our Earthly minds can not comprehend the endless possibilities beyond the stars and while space expands we continue to rape and pillage our own gift of a planet. 

But to the juggernaut called Creation it matters not how we flourish in this valley of the universe.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Stitches of January.

“Buy me a scarf” she said and curled her toes through snow to demonstrate the color of
numbness..

“Buy me a scarf and I'll wrap our memories around my neck, you can watch me smile in
storms as I contemplate warmth and look at you beneath the sky.”


I wrote promises on windows with fingers that touched shadows and counted snowflakes
crystals as I destroyed their patterns in a feeble attempt to claim love...

There, in the house that spoke one thousand tears, I thought about the secrets we
whispered when the year turned and purple was fantastic on the other side of frozen lakes
despite the voices that named us something unspeakable.

Rings and silver and I wore one on my toe, polished perfectly, my feet felt summer and I
laughed in lilts of June and breaths of lilac bushes that lined my backyard, but I kept my
closet door shut, winter stitches on shelves so January's voice would never be heard...

I boxed up photographs and letters that quoted songs we had sang together, I covered up
her haircut and placed her eyeliner in an envelope but I knew, beneath the ground where
lilac bushes rooted themselves...

she wore the ring I had placed upon her finger on her fourteenth birthday, on the day
August spoke up and we listened intently, mocking 

January

and bedposts that wrote her name...


and I sat, cleaning prints off of windows, erasing promises and eluding love, wondering,
if I had learned how to knit, would sidewalks have been so convincing?


I listened to memories and bought myself a scarf, wrapped stitches of January around my
neck and heard her, in laughter, as she whispered through the wind that numbed the fingers
that broke promises...

“Lend me your scarf, and I'll see you, I'll hold your hand when August knocks you down.”







Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Grinning Tears That Held the Shade of Southern Suicides.

There was the capture of life somewhere inside his eyes...

We wiped away tears in the slipping of secrets, and I remembered the draw of suicide as
the shade of Southern Octobers grasped me in his glance.

He pursued me, his kiss and his smile the nets that tangled my feet up North, somewhere,
on I-95, his voice interrupted my destination and I supposed his face at midnight would be
my end, ironic, as he turned death....

upside

down.


We fed on control, that of ourselves, lost it in the snows that blanketed March, and
though I counted every one of my footprints, I only circled myself right back to him.


I never realized the nightmares that held me, the three a.m. teardrops that would stain
his perfect shoulders because my lips tasted that skin right before my last breath was
taken, in the seconds that proceeded the metamorphosis of life, and we took a turn to the
left as we discovered each other on the inside, and I felt that existing in the middle was
better...

than never

existing

at.all.


He heard me, every catch in my voice, every lost word that floated in between the curtains
that we drew for safety, he agreed in the direction of sunrise, for who was I to argue
with silence and the sleep that occurred after I broke my most famous rule?


He wanted us to be normal as laughter interrupted me, as fear grasped my throat, and I
choked on my own words as the dictionary definition of life eluded me, and for those
seconds that threw honesty away, I remembered it was yet September, we were up North, and
the surrealism of tragic Southern October nights were but the embers that burned on the
edge of his 

snow-white cigarette

and the ashes of his exhalations

that scoffed impossibility at me with the hope

that the end would recall I-95

and the remembrance of his smile

at midnight.






Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Taste of Autumn Underneath the Words I Forgot to Speak.

I stopped and turned to look at who we were now, I fell in love with the distractions that
hid behind the sun when afternoon appeared in his eyes and I rolled mine back...

underneath my lids..

to allow time to kiss my lashes.


He held me, he stopped tomorrow from bruising my arms, the Autumn touching my tattoo, and
I could have stolen his lips just so I'd never have to let go of his smile.


I knew, behind the reasons I gave, that October was waiting, I was aware of fire and
touched the flames that became the fabric of my tongue, my teeth died when I spoke and I
tasted him...

to bring myself back to life.


I studied sunrise and wished for rainbows, I discovered the selfishness that lay in the
desire to sacrifice myself...

only to remember January...

only to know me...

only to touch the shade of blue that existed in his glance.


On the bottom of my lips I hold December and I tremble the month with the fear that goes
unspoken, I pray that tomorrow Autumn will touch me, I forget the possibilities of me and
throw myself over the edges of him...

the sweet corners of his smile...

and the promise of life...

to douse my tongue and speak the diaries of yesterday, to rewrite him and understand

tomorrow.





Details | Prose Poetry | |

Seasons of no reasons

seasons have became with no reasons,
looking at the light of the sun in winter and rainy clouds in summer,
I start to ask myself why all this?
perfect silence I tune into as I start to realize seasons do not exist anymore,
the temperature of earth has changed into a really confused state,
natural life is dying infront of our eyes!,
we still don't even do anything about it!,
big pain I start to feel in my heart,
as I realize we are destroying the tree of life and the spark of natural goodness from our creator, God Itself.,

The colorful fruit starts to become the rotten fruit,
the green trees start to become the black trees,
every natural thing starts to turn into dust!.,

The color of our planet starts to change,
everything starts to fade as the procession of the spiritual revelation starts to get deeper.,

The human being starts to feel sorrowfulness down the pipe of its life!,
as it realizes that only trying to find meaning for it's life is causing others to suffer,
thus their is no meaning for it's existence,
thy to bond & share with others by experiencing oneness it would find meaning.,

Meaning of it's existence would be valid as it is being what it had to be and thats the guardian & true parent of it's species just by becoming selfless,
transcending to us all where we would be experiencing the wisdom of true love as one sequence elevating towards resurrecting the formulation of our divinity.




Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Unraveling of August.

I've wrecked me again, scattered, undone...

and here...

We were foolish to believe and he was simple, then, I could have told him...

underneath me...

but I turned upside down, you see, and tumbled from up above.


Bee stings and southern air, and if I thought I didn't remember, if I thought it was
easier to smile when words weren't spoken...


brilliance is never found in silence and oh, how I knew I was right, how I knew hearts
didn't break when the moon was full...

I forgot to look, through the months that his eyes shone brighter, and I almost stopped
myself because when almost everything is right....

what does it matter?


I wished that he was never enough, though I felt him deep inside, though I rocked through
weeks that confused me, though I slipped through fear alone by his side and Wednesday
whispered her premonitions from skies that were slightly too dark....

too full of August...

for safety.


I wanted him to hold me, just once, when the sky fell, I repeated words over and again and
found myself...

wishing...

I was new...

and I could feel him breathing when I stopped as irony slapped me back to life, I saw the
mirrors crack a little, I saw who I was underneath, I kissed the surface to convince
myself I was still beautiful, despite the changes in my mind....

I knew I loved him, I knew...

I couldn't hold his hand...

so I held onto nothing a little bit tighter, I suffocated circulation, I stopped....

breathing...

and came undone...

because I could still feel August...

and I still...

needed him.





Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Time of Scurrying Squirrels

Autumn arrived
With a cool morning wind
And the rustling 
Of golden brown leaves
That changed color
As they hysterically danced
Through the town streets
Before heading out
To their winter home

Here and there
Gangs of ferocious squirrels 
Ran up and down the trees
Harvesting whatever fruits and nuts 
That refused to drop
From the shivering trees
Whose bare bark
Could be heard
All about the woods

As I watched
Their once small mouths
Now bulging
With bits and pieces
Of summers’ leftover bounty
Hurrying down 
The old woodland paths
I couldn’t help but smile

This is the time of year
That I enjoy the most
A time of transition
When the earth 
Prepares for a long winters nap
Yes, it most definitely was
(As I thought to myself smiling)
A time of scurrying squirrels


Details | Prose Poetry | |

WINTER SEASON

you can tell
by the smell
chechnut
cold weather stuff
and the cloth line
the its
WINTER TIME
FOR THE REASON
its the 
WINTER SEASON


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Sins I Commited When I Loved Him Too Much.

I knew the rules, the engagement of us, he had a wound on his chin, he told me it was ages
ago...

he told me about her, he never spoke her name softly enough.

I sat on floors as I looked out windows, I stared for the time it took him to pull his
jeans up, I heard his fingers fumble at the button, his callouses rubbing against metal
and the quick goodbye of a zipper, and I knew it was summer, but the sun seemed to mock
me, the sun rose two hands too far for me to feel her.


“One day, one day, you'll love only me,” I whispered to myself, loud enough to break the
silence but quiet enough so he wouldn't know he had hurt me, though my tone wasn't
convincing and I could never stop the tears.


I pressed my back against pillows and sunk quietly into where he lay his head as I closed
my eyes, I made myself familiar with the fabric of blankets, the soft pattern of quilts
and discovered a new way to hide, and I hid from him so he would stay...

I would have done anything if he would just stay.


He reached over to kiss me, to touch my cheek and run his hand over the freckles no one
ever saw, he smiled for a second, for the moment it took for me to curl up into him, my
lashes tickled his arm, my tears traced over his tattoo and I found it hard to let go.

I composed myself, I looked into his eyes, I thought about how sad it was that I begged
for him even when he was right there, I stopped for a second when he opened his mouth, I
followed the trails of his breath as if they were swimming through my air, and he told me
that I was the only one who ever made him happy...

I shook my head, I blinked and found love to be ironic because the feel of him was killing
me, I kissed him, lips meeting and sins committed, and for the time it took him to walk
out my door, I turned my head and stared out my summer promising window...

just to watch him leave.



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Beauty Surrounds

Beauty Surrounds
WLM
Wildncrazy555
June 27, 2011


See the wonders of the world
As they pass to us unfurled
Such an amazing light
Sun shining so bright
Flying on the wing
Hear the birds sing
The grass so green
Such a sight has you ever seen
The lilies in bloom
Orange hue in their flume
I see stars in my head
Of the roses so deeply red
The crate myrtles so pink 
They cause me to blink
Birds sitting in the trees
Catching the cool summer breeze
Dogs continually play
Let them stay and have their way
The fluffy clouds so high
Up, up high in the sky
The trees they sway
In the wind they play
The magnolia blooms
The beautiful pearly white flumes
The scent so pungent
So sweet to the smell
The bees they separate
Jump from flower to flower to pollinate
God’s wonderful earth
Created for our birth
We shall begin again
From now until the end



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Daisies and the Way to Undress Summer.

“Dress me in daises,” I said, as if flowers could cover my skin in respectable ways, and
he smiled as my shoe boxes of paint tipped over, as the floor became art and the way I
walked towards him smeared my heart at his feet.


We captured laughter this way, drawing insensibilities in between us, and there was an
element of beauty in the grin of a child when it appeared to dance across his grown up
cheeks, an attraction to Peter Pan, and blond hair in the summer, as I thought I could
capture July...


The month used to sit beside my bed, fluttering night lights to save me from dreams, stars
danced in mason jars and fairytales were whispered beyond moonlight as I wrote them in my
dreams, as I watched seasons disappear into morning light.


I arrested kisses with a word and slipped them in my pockets, he commented on the rips
that always decorated the hems of my blue jeans, I played with the brown flowered
patches at me knees, I looked at him and told him my secrets, I whispered content beneath
the spring as we watched summer rise, as the sky became a canvas and I wished my hands
were more capable...


“Show me the way beyond you,” he requested, as my glance became puzzled, “Show me who you
are.”


He handed me a daisy, he told me to undress, I studied the petals as they fell to my feet,
my toes became blanketed...

and I walked towards him...


the decoration of spring mapping out my heart, and he smiled with a mouth that grinned
when he spoke my name, when he laughed in the fashion of a child and held me under
moonlight when spring faded and summer came.





Details | Prose Poetry | |

THE NATURE

                Cloud gathering in the sky
		Blown by wind it darts so high
		Layer by layer it darts so high
		What a fun to air ride.

 			The sky is stamped deep black
			The sun is held under its trap.
			No light comes, the earth is dark.
			We seldom find a singing lark.

		It rains, it flashes and it thunders
		It rolls over the sky, how?  One   wonders.
		Some wait for the downpour to stop		
                Some get wet, some to safety hop.

                        Some like the rain, some fear it most 
			For many it is joy, for some it is not.
			Yet it drenches the parched earth
			It is elixir for all providing mirth.
		
		Cloud now does not cover the sky
		The rainy season has gone by		
		And winter casts it spell on all
		We find   nights long and days small.

                                                                                             By Jay-en


Details | Prose Poetry | |

seasons of Harmony Pt4

Now with the 
branches so bare
They don't have a
care in the world
The snow will keep
them warm
Everything and
everyone slows down
To count the snow
flakes
Howling winds in
search of a mate
But the animals have
excepted their fate
And don't argue with
Mother Nature
Just go back to
sleep
Go off to dream
about spring
Can't come fast
enough
Such pale and frail
days
White serenity falls
delicately onto the
ground
Making a blanket of
protection
Gray days
Fly away
The sun wants
nothing to do with
the changes
Darkness comes
quicker with every
hour
The blue sky gets
dyed with gray
The birds go on
vacation
Even the children
run away
Not enough layers
will take away the
chills
Go up your spine
There's silence and
stillness everywhere
Can only hear the
beating hearts of
those around you
Try and survive on
such a small food
supply 
Time to quiet the
mind
And deepen your soul
The years come and
gone
With the blink of an
eye
Time fly's by
Days are short
And the nights are
long and cold
Find your companion
to snuggle up by a
roaring fire
Go back to basics
Winter cries out a
melancholy tune 
The animals know
what to do
We as humans forget
To busy fighting
against it
Let its arms wrap
around you
Now the cycles been
complete
Its time for along
and healing rest
Close your eyes
And go to bed to
dream of a fresh
spring


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Imagination of Fear When Playing Bonnie and Clyde.

We stood there, back to back, creating shadows in rooms the sun

dared.not.touch.


I could see eyes racing through breath and life stalled herself, time equated minutes with
the way my knees shook, and I counted the blinking that occurred when I waited


to hear him speak.


His hand reached, my fingers placed themselves between his grasp, and I thought how
wonderful it was I had my nails painted, how pretty my hold on tomorrow appeared when you
couldn't see the sweat that sat on my palms...


The air was thick that day, sticky with the idea of summer and humid with the possibility
of June, my curls tightened in the damp atmosphere that circled us and I wondered why...


(if we were so in love)


we refused to look at one another.


Pretty words often cloud reality, and we stood in the middle of a storm that had started
off beautiful, the darkness surrounded my waist and crept up my neck as I wished it was
his touch, dancing across my skin, on the Sundays he had smiled down at me, on the days he
claimed me beautiful and the afternoons we had made love.


“We'll fight this,” he whispered over his shoulder as his breath crawled into my left ear,
and I wore white, a skirt that stuck to my thighs, so that my form would be desirable, I
silently begged him to look at me, I bit my lip and thought that there was no way out if
he didn't turn around.


Low~cut and desperate, I took hold of the denim that created belt loops on the back of his
jeans, I fumbled for a pocket to place a love note in, I searched for the words to write
that would heal us, I studied the explanations that scattered themselves through my brain
and decided he needed to stop protecting me and...

turn...


“Look behind you, Dear,” I begged, as my legs fought the need to run, “look behind you and
capture me.”

“I am,” he replied, “but your eyes are closed and I can't see my reflection in you anymore.”


I could hear his breath catch, his decided desperation, and the way my teeth clicked when
I became scared, I felt my lashes, the black painted cage for my tears, how frightened I
was to open them and how determined I was to...

fight.


He kissed me then, brushed his lips across my parted mouth, and upon the blinking release
that flooded ages ago down my heated, flushed cheeks, I saw him, standing, in a room that
the sun had attacked, his shadow crossing the floor, his hand...

touching mine,

and my back...

against the wall. 




Details | Prose Poetry | |

seasons of Harmony Pt1

Spring is like a
gentle flower
Time for new
beginnings
Birth new creations 
Magic at your finger
tips
Lush green grass
Soaring trees
Seem to whisper in
the breeze
Flowers smiling just
for you
The sun comes out
from hibernation 
Stuck on cloud nine
Hear that gentle
rain on the roof
Let is serenade you 
Washing away your
pains of yesterday 
Listening to the
calming essence of
the birds singing
your song
Why don't you hum
along 
Move out to the
distance 
Following the
blazing trail
Make room for new
roads
The new animals have
secret codes
The answer’s to life
Click restart in
your mind
Waiting til you've
discovered that
special hiding place
A sense of
tranquility 
Pick me bouquet of
forget me not's 
Being in the rhythm
of Mother Nature
Time for a subtle
change in the way of
things
Let nature take its
course
Watch the plants
grow with every
moving day
Reaching up and
around for the sun
to comfort them
From such a gray
winter 
Days slowly getting
longer again
Being a social
butterfly
Living on a natural
high
Drink in your
universe 
Its come to say
'hello'
How can such little
seeds
Become such mighty
projects?
The power to be one
with nature
Feeling the calming
hum of our planet
That is really
insignificant 
To the broadened
scope of things
We are just a spec
in the galaxy
Reflecting on a once
pale winter
Gives you time to
redirect your
thoughts 
To optimistic smiles
Death has come and
gone
New awakenings come
to be
Time to set up some
goals 
Re carnations of all
that’s around you   
Starts to pick up
speed
Make room for a new
generation
Pass on the wisdom
of the elders 
Let the sun melt
away the unwanted
snow 
It's served its
purpose 
Get inspirations to
be more creative
A new out look on
life
Every cell in your
body's regenerating
Feel more youthful
and alive
Striving to the sun
To become number one
After a long rain
storm
A rainbow makes its
way to center stage
Away of an apology 
 
Showing you that
everything's going
to be fine 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

English Garden

I have found the treasure
that lies at the Rainbow's end;
surrounded by Sweet William, for-get-me knots,
and crimson shades of velvet rose.

Near the cottage of old where I was young,
the quaint charm of the English garden.
Where time has not weathered with due harm,
swirls of hued asters still in the brisk fresh air.

Moments spent dancing with cupid in midst
of a sunny afternoon.
Seconds where dreams danced on the moon,
sweet perfume floats by to wisp away my breath.
Up ahead mine eyes view the grassy slopes
where a thousand of narcissus bloom.

I watch them sway the day away tossing 
their sweet perfume to the winds.
Wicker seats and ivory benches upon I sit and muse.
The soul cannot thrive in the absence of a garden,
a rose plot, fringed pool and serenity.

Burn the sage, the leaves of rose and wintergreen
Light the candles in the middle of the afternoon.
From within my center core I breathe for more of this
paradise near heavens view.

Sweet surrender to growing things, cupids chimes in
melody rings, for here is a heavenly peace that mirrors
my thirsty soul.


My x4 Great Grandmother was from England a Duchess but she chose to marry my X4 Great
Grandfather and lost her inheritance and rights for neglecting the wishes of the family in
England. He was a Captain of the sea and brought many to the American shores of Mass. In
reading and studying, I found she loved to write of the sea and those things she cherished
from England and growing up, from memoires, she has touched my muse and from time to time,
I let her speak of such cherished beautiful things.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Amanda

Amanda
December 12, 2011
WLM
Wildncrazy555

Amanda my Dream, 
Just let out a scream, 
I know it will be, 
For YOU shall be with me, 
For the rest of my life, 
Without all the strife, 
We will always give,
Through our lives we will live, 
So happy and content, 
As it should be meant, 
And live and learn, 
In my arms I truly yearn, 
To have and to hold, 
For this I will be bold.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

june

Glorious Hot Summer Days,
Where the only relief come from the onslaught of rain. 
The rapid release of air,
 followed by the high impact of colorful spheres filled with paint.

Cooler nights,
filled with the consumption of Chinese food, plate after plate after plate...
the cleaning of our armaments deep into the night, until the dirt and grim
of the previous days war is removed, and the guns are ready for new dirt and grim.

Hot day after frigid night, 
We’re assaulted. Battered beaten and bruised.

But,

We Fight.

Hour after hour, minute to minute,
Not knowing whether or not you’re going to get hit,
By one of those deadly spheres and the men in black and white come to call you,
Call you out of the game. Just to be re-inserted again and again.
Until that final horn blasts its wondrous song, and we’re forced to rest.
“Until next year my friends” is said before you leave the battle field,
As everyone trickles off to their places of residence, 
We all reminisce on the past weekend, tell of exhilarating moments,
But alas... We leave, until next year my friends.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Nostalgia Winter

Trees shivered in the wind
as winter gasped with frost
 the last fresh
fallen snow.

A lonely star frowned,
As the sky was lighting with
sparkling stars.

The tree grumbled from
its trunk of the frosty limbs
of numb cold fingers.

A candle flickered from the
small window.
Wind it whispered of the coming
eve.

The Trees shivered in the
winters giggle.
With numb fingers and frosty
limbs.

Nostalgia is a comforting old friend
memories of the past winters
when the sky is lit and one small
star alone.

Winds brushing and frosting with
chilled puffs the limbs of the trees.
I stood and watched from the window
by the flicker of the candle light.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Song Of Frozen Birds

It was an unexpected chill 
As the icy north wind 
Pierced like a shooting needle 
Through the morning sun 
So cold 
That you could almost see it 
Tumble down the mountainside 

It was a morning of frozen birds 
Falling like rain from the sky 
Off the boughs of trees 
Dripping down 
And splashing like colored drops 
On the rock hard ground 

As I walked the wintry woods 
I pictured the ice-cold wind as a brush 
Painting the woods with drops of color 
Bird colors of blues, greens and reds 
That seemed to come alive 
And sing


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Seasons

It was a season of calling
When phones rang
And knocks fell loudly
On the front door of my home

When friends 
Would call out to me
As they walked across the street
In old familiar voices

It was a season of places
And romantic spaces
From far, far away
That would whisper to me
Saying
Come
Come visit me
Come away

It was a season 
Of no winters, summers
Autumns, or springs
That ended
In the same way it all began
Calling out to me
With a simple knock
That fell loudly
On my front door


Details | Prose Poetry | |

seasons of Harmony Pt3

The trees are
depressed 
They can't get
dressed
Losing all their
amour 
Once a plant of
burning fire
Now has no desire
You could have felt
the warmth 
As their innocence
fall freely to the
ground 
To be found by
wandering eyes
To make a pile of
happiness 
Autumn is here to
make peace with your
misunderstanding's 
Forgive you of your
mistakes
The chilling winds
Takes your breath
away
At least we've made
it to another day
Colors start to fade
away
Now your color blind
Preparing for a
harvest
Standing in this
place of time
Do you think your
mine?
Is the death of
nature saddening?
Did it need to pack
a suitcase?
Or does it just know
its time?
Letting the past rot
into the ground
Fuel for even the
littlest of
creatures 
Stay inside where
you safe from the
chilling winds
Watch the winds push
the frail leaves
Pushing them away
from home
Scenic view changes
with every blink
Could look out your
window all day
And pray that you'll
see the light
Creep through the
angry clouds
Let the leaves get
recycled back into
the Earth
To be born again
next spring


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Fall Of Winter

The ice fell from the clouds 
Coating and bouncing off the highway 

From time to time 
The car shifted going down the road 
As if the wheels had a mind of their own 

Turning off the radio 
To help concentrate on my driving 
The hail sounded all about 
Tic, tic, ticking with varying constant beats 
All about and against the window 
As the wipers frantically tried 
To keep up with the cold frozen rain 

The lights 
Searching down the icy highway 
Sparkled off the falling hail 
Giving them the appearance 
Of dancing diamonds 

This was winters last hoorah 
A final stab at keeping spring at bay 
A failed charge 
Like the light brigade 

While I 
Was mesmerized 
Steering down this gem infested highway 
With a front row seat 
To the beauty of driving through 
The fall of winter


Details | Prose Poetry | |

seasons of Harmony Pt2

Summer comes out to
play
Laze around on
sunshine days
Let it warm your
heart
Have the sun hug you
Feed your soul
The only way to go
Bum around on the
beaches
Draw that line
through the sand
Building monuments 
Wear your cool
sunglasses 
Show a bit of skin
Feeding off the
Earths energy
Schools out of
session
Learn in different
ways
Family vacations 
Pick your goal
destination 
Freedom of the mind
Spending time with
your friends
Making new memories
Smiling faces from
all around
Even when the sun
goes down
Stay up all night
Dancing in the moon
light
Up your world
Sharing tales of
current events
Taking walks in the
park
Listening to the
beating of your
heart
Fall in your lovers
arms
Let the sun
hypnotize you 
Your cast under an
ancient spell
Let your body, mind
and soul absorb the
light
Go back to animal
instincts 
Having your body
absorb the nutrient
Having picnics in
the horizon
Hope in every corner
Invitations are set
Shadows have no
where to hide
Frozen treats
Oh, how sweet
Your not an
individual anymore
Step into the crowd
And work together
In synch with every
heart beat
Surrounding yourself
with water
Swapping stories
with the fish
Finding peace of
mind
Meeting new friends
Opening up your
world
Going camping the be
one with the
elements 
Game of survival
But before you know
it, the fun in the
suns come to an end
Wave goodbye as it
sets for another
year 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

HALLOWS EVE TO CANDLEMAS

Hallow Eve to Candlemas,the sun now turning south,also;November 
sombre,December dark,January,February cold and stark.Catkins litter the forest 
floor,beeches shed their leaves galore.Gales melange the mix,as decay brings 
nature's bionomics.Hexagon pointed stars move and shift ,into a patterned 
powdered drifts.Rain filled days of slush and muck,webs on shards of gossamer 
stuck.Twilight months in winter shade until the snowdrops matamorphise in the 
glade.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Spring





Grand trees and flowers blooming once more;the world is alive again. Everything is changing;such a delight. How I love the wonderful sights,from vivid flowers to full trees with bold,emerald trees. At night I adore gazing at sunsets and stars all around me. I like to capture each moment in my heart or with my art. When we receive rain it is quite a treat. Rainbows after a shower are my favorite;the world is at peace. That's all I can ask for in the least...


Details | Prose Poetry | |

THE HALF CROWN

In the cornfield the horse drawn reaper stood steady,the vacation crew were up 
and ready.The days were long,recent clouds had gone.Yellow beams on heavy 
harvest food,the lark departing with her second brood.Field mice scattered ,their 
nests torn and forlorn .Our stooked up sheaves midst  growing clover,
unbalanced and toppling over.The clock ticked slow,the field seemed to 
grow,eleveneses a dim distant view.A working break ,to seek a half  crown for the 
week,somewhere sunny and sublime...seemed  good idea at the time.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sidewalk Ant

I like ants.
They're adorable.
With their tinky little bodies and legs, 
They put a tiny little smile on my face.

I remember there's things I love about the world,
Like how each ant,
Works all day with his family,
And how they all built their home together,
On a crack
That someone will inevitably step on.

I respect that ant.

As a child with minimal understanding,
I would make games
Of crushing ants beneath my sneakers,
Or blowing down their noble mounds.
I would never do that now.

Those ants inspire me!

If I venture outside with laziness
On a ninety-five degree day,
I find them scurrying faster than days past
When the temperature 
Had been seventy!

Their endless motivation tickles me.

To see an ant this spring is to remember
That there's more 
Than winter's obnoxious squirrels
And harsh words from a chilled humanity.
Where were those ants all winter?


Details | Prose Poetry | |

SUMMER FUN

am going to have ball
and let the splash fall
going brind all
my friends as summer began
and party hard
im my back yard
going jump and bump
have a beach run in the sun
this
SUMMER FUN


Details | Prose Poetry | |

3Fabel5 Part Two

Color While color is a matter of personal preference, there are reasons why you 
may choose one color over another. Bright, neon-like colors are good only in 
search-and-rescue situations because the blinding material will stand out 
against the snow or the green and brown of the woods or the sand in the desert. 
Since most camping involves designated sites, this situation rarely arises. It is 
more common among mountain climbers or others who find themselves in this 
situation having traveled in remote areas. For the very reason bright colors are 
effective in emergency situations as described above, these colors can be 
annoying to other campers, causing a visual disturbance in what is supposed to 
be a natural, outdoors experience. There is no substitute for charity and dull 
green and brown hide very well let no one knoe when you are around but if you 
have to be in the snow then make the cover white. Winter Survival id this Fabel 
number thirty five in the Book of CharlaxFabels. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Orifice of Creation – Part One



The plight of creation in the end days, posted this under war for there is a spiritual war
present in these days.
Now4ever Midi

Revelation 17:4-6

In meanderings of alcoves of
blood bathed sliming blithe,
demons of hollow sunken mindless
degenerating gruels of flesh scales
and minds filled with rape and destruction,
haunting babbles of abominations.
In the present and ancient
times.


They will bury you in your generations
from creation to damnation the
summit of all worlds surmise.
The temptress allures you
into open graves of slither indigestion
pools of regeneration and manic
skulls of empty thoughts and
meanderings.

Just another collected corpse of the temptress.
Who did not heed the warning of
the current times.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Wind Mountain


High above the horizon
rises your form of gray Zion.
Shawls of majestic boughs
of evergreens.

The ground covered with pine needles
the essence of nature blows in the wind.
Serene Silence evolves here in Mother Nature.

Ray fingers from the spirit sun, dance
caressing the heartbeats of brown earth.
The small mountain variety of flowers,
bloom and flourish in this rich soil.

I sit quietly and mediate,
I am one with the rolling
streams, floral bounty, winds,
that toil on this mountain.

Here on Wind Mountain I come to
the great spirit in the heavens,
one as a child of his creation.



 I am always drawn to nature and spiritual inspiration in the end. For me when the world
seems cruel and overbearing to live within I withdraw to the Creators Zion.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Comes Winter




A blowing season moans mournfully
rising with fearful anger
and singing determinedly in passion. 
Chilling the air around me
makes way for natures winter slumber.

Winters sun disappears
in shades of violet,
this season grows with anger.
A wintry wind now sings in blue layers,
stars twinkle through the darkness
and nature displays her glory.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

WINTER TURNS TO SPRING

Snowfall so heavy in 'eighty-two reproduced a Christmas card view.A biting wind 
swirled in one foot drifts over hanging in bridges..makeshift.The fields flooded 
into skating rinks into which each footstep sinks,cracking under body weight so 
not the best place to skate.Thawing February brings twitching noses in tussocks 
of awakened primroses.Rummaging on hazel boles,hibernating mammals poke 
from the holes.Leafless hedgerows where buds now form a carpet of white 
corm,Badgers forage for food near their sett renewing their bracken scented 
couchette.Sparrow and robin pair off in twos as lengthening days come into 
view.aconite open in rays of sun below yellow catkins with tails fine spun.Osier 
shoots in green corn camomile as early Spring mornings begin to smile.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

PLAYED FOR FUN

April and the clocks forward spring,our cricket practice gets in full swing.Nets to 
untangle from their poles,players to call and enrol.Gang mowers to grease and 
oil,the team kit-bag to disembroil.Green stained pads to whiten bright,fixture lists 
to expedite.Mend the sight screen's rickety panels,coax another season from my 
flannels.Wash and iron the umpire's coats,the score-box to creosote.Tea urns to 
scour,crockery to rinse and clean..a team captain's tasks routine,and 
unseen.Cricketers good,indifferent,unsung,across this land in a timeless sport 
played for fun.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

DEATH IN THE MORNING

The wood pigeon awoke on her roosting perch,fluttered with a nervous jerk;warily 
searching for sustenance,above the peregrine made a fateful entrance.The 
winter harsh and icy cold,driven far from its familiar fold,seeking food further 
afield to an urban garden that might increase its yield.Under a biting wintry sky 
the short tailed falcon hovered high,an efficient killer from above,more than a 
match for pigeon or dove.Taking its chosen meal in flight,swooping sudden from 
a great height,the momentum imprinting our window pane,her throat slashed 
she soon was slain.Talons sunk deep into the pigeons chest this finicky eater 
pecked at head and breast.The lawn strewn leavings of a ravenous raptor,as 
nature's journal leafs another chapter.