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Prose Poetry Seasons Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Seasons

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Seasons and Imaginations


Wind so cold.
Blowing.
Fondles my face.
Tickling.
The tears from heaven.
Pouring. 
Tapping. 
Dancing.
Unrelenting.
I wonder if i wish
    to stop them
From numbness,
    to waking,
          then sensing.

The little voice in me says,
Wait, don't go.
Stay a little longer. I plead.
Sing for me today, rain.
With the gliding rhythm on my piano,
                                                  I'll play.
Chilly Wind, caress my bare skin 
     with the pure coldness that you bring.
Unusual,
     like it's my first time in the snow.
Somehow, 
     the fire tree never fades in the picture.
The yellow sunkissed leaves, too.
What is it about Summer and Fall
    that I can't forget?
Memories. Sweet imaginations.

The chilly rain. The misty wind.
You are here. 
Freeze me with the sharp coldness you give.
Calm me. Maybe, comfort me.
And, if you leave
Will you visit me when summertime comes?
Before it gets too late
   And again I fold.


Copyright © Wendy Meyer

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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...

Copyright © kj force

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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.....

Copyright © Barbara Gorelick

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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.

Copyright © Carol Eastman

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Changing Seasons

Changing Seasons

In a burst of color and animal choruses 
Sovereign sun heralds in a golden morning –
The air was delicate with the perfume of cherry blossom 
Blown in from the hem of pink rows that lined the 
driveway on Grandpa’s farm 

I looked across at hay stacked verdant hills that were
Tossed with yellow daffodils, purple crocus and white snowdrops 
They danced to the baton of the breeze and the 
Hidden orchestra of lilting bird song of that fragrant spring morn

Grandma sang to me her songs of childhood 
As we walked arm in arm amongst beds of fragrant roses 
and budding fruit trees that whispered promises of full baskets  
that would soon be heavy laden with the Summer fruits, preserves, 
Pies and jam of a bountiful harvest, a few months from now

Summer came rich with its harvest, merry hearts
and long hazy, lazy summer days and nights scented 
with wisteria, frogs and cicada, chirping and croaking 
their melodious summer anthem of  ‘All is well with the world’ 
as we toasted to our full and wonderful life

Autumn brought in a more somber note and amber tones
though warm and restful, they soon told me - life is changing again
time quickly moves on - it prepared me for the winter and 
the chill mirrored in the face of the full moon as it lit a silvery path
to my next season’s change

The cherry trees glowed white against the dark night sky like iridescent bones along 
the snow covered driveway - they waved their bony fingers goodbye 
as I crunched solemnly down the long white corridor with slow steps and a  heavy heart that was beating to the mournful dirge of  hoot owls and creaking limbs – I blinked back tears under that star kissed sky and full moon that lit my path 
The moon reminded me- each season has its bounty that I can treasure -I held those memories close to my well seasoned but thankful heart.

Brenda V Northeast

Copyright © Brenda Victoria Northeast

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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... 

Copyright © kj force

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Warm Thoughts

And the petals opened one 
by one, catching the prayers
of the sun. The dew lay like
diamonds, tiny drops of life
giving ambrosia. 
The stigma inhales the aura
as the butterflies come to
dance. While the ladybird
struts this floral crown.
Fragrances borne on gentle
zephyr fill the air with the
wonderment of love. Love 
in a desire that is given so 
freely.
From mulch and passing
seasons new life is created,
birth arrives as death sleeps.
Shoots, saplings, yearlings
shall grace the eye, and the
blending greens caress the 
land.
And the bee shall bless the
blossom, giving fruit for 
natures cause. And nature 
herself shall sit warm in 
the heart, in contentment
and serenity.
Alas as I peep the frosty
window pain I know this
is long away. The white
blanket that covers puts all
life in sleep, the promise
of spring lies deep.
The thought it keeps me 
warm.  

Copyright © Daniel Cheeseman

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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

Copyright © Samar Saleh

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A CIRCLE GREEN IN SEASONS SCENE

Wreath twisted by handwork combined
A wreath with strands of holly and vine.
A seasonal sign the withy willow with blood beads red 
With branches by hand, a woven wreath design.
Wreath writhing wrists work wildly,
Wildly within a world worn worthy,  winter wanted,
And work-ed  wreath, to enliven winter whitened door or walls,
Wreath in the wild winter will wild wishes fulfil.

©Joe Maverick 12-2010



in participation & support of 
Dr Rams Christmas wreath contest.







Copyright © Joe Maverick

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My Heart's Four Seasons

My heart has four seasons,
Spring, Summer,Fall and Winter cold.
My heart changes for many reasons,
from each budding burst of the day I hold.

 Upon a shelf within my heart I place
my Spring of joy of things new to flower,
waitng for the moment, give it space
to spread and grow by God's power.

The Summer's heartbeat  dances free,
without a care, it's fragrance everywhere.
My hearts love flows, unchained from me,
like butterflies dancing in the air.

 A broken piece of the heart needs repair. 
Fall has arrived at a changing thought.
 A chill of sadness in the night air. 
The color this season has brought.  

When my Winter opens it;s gates mightly, 
it shutters my heart's door into pieces. 
I reach to hold my season's tighty. 
for strength until that night ceases. 

My Heart's Springs of Joy and Summers of love; 
The Winds of Fall  and Winters of cold, 
God lets me have from His Love above, 
to draw me into His streets of gold. 

He causes me to Trust and in Him to know 
His Hands. my every heartbeat  to hold. 
Thunder and rough waters will come and go. 
Not my will be done, but let God's will unfold.




Copyright © Edith D Eutsler

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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

Copyright © Joshua Akinwande

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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

Copyright © anne p. murray

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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.



Copyright © JeanMarie Marchese

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Winter

Winter is upon me
Gray and fragile
Life blood flows cold 
Ice crystals 
Decorate frozen bones 
Yet my dormant heart beats
in anticipation
of
Spring,
Spring,
Spring.

Copyright © Gail Roberts

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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.

Copyright © Natala Orobello

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Seasons of Tea

Tea with a slice of orange, not lemon.
Within the somber light of winter afternoons.
Trees carved against smudged grey, white softness clinging
To their edges.

Tea, citrus scent arousing my senses
As they trample the soft brown of the front yard,
Shaking up the dust like fragments of the dry summer 
As they approach

The sun burning death into the land.

Tea, sweetened water held in its cup like an embrace, 
A darkened pool too small to see my reflection,
Yet becomes a giant churning whirlpool 
As my hand starts to shake.
 
Tea, splashes white linen
My mother’s hand painted china now cracked
Broken like the deepest recesses
Of my mind.

All those hours
Like sea waters
Receding
Into the sea

Copyright © Jennifer Cahill

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FIVE SEASONS - WAEL MOREICHEH

FIVE SEASON-WAEL MOREICHEH


SPRING SEASON
 FOR 
YOUTH LOVE OUR APOLLO

SUMMER SEASON 
FOR UNFINSHED LOVE AND
 PASSIONATE KISSES


AUTUMN SEASON
 FOR 
WORK AND STUDY AND JUPITER


WINTER SEASON 
FOR
 WALKING INTO 
 FINE RAIN 
AND 
LOVE BESIDE FIRE
BY FIRE???????????

FIVE SEASON ALL MY LOVE 
 PRETTY LADY 

YOU MY SOUL MY 
EVERY THING 
MORE LOVELY
 FROM 
LOVE HIMSELF
WAELMOREICHEH

Copyright © WAEL MOREICHEH

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SEASONS AND TIME TRAVEL


Seasons and Time Travel

The whirring sound travelled again
I always hear it
From afar or just close by
Jarring my senses
Way above I can see the tiny wings
   the blinkers, they seem to tell
I'm flying!
Places I dream of.
Peoples and cultures.
unfamiliar faces I behold.
Interesting.
Architectures of the most modern world.
Towering.
The skilled hands of God's artists.
Admiring.
As winter melted into spring
Sleepy flower beds, Slowly arising.
Tulips and peaches. Mums and daisies.
Smiling.
Sunkissed leaves on treetops
Rustling.
Then, standing in the valley, amongst unfamiliar greens
I smell mint and fresh nature of the Spring.
Ah, The perfumes of the Gods, lingering..
 To find myself dwelling and blossoming.
I see the beautiful winged flies swirling by
After sometime, slipping yet to another time
I climb and reach the peak
of some snowcapped mountain.
Feeling and listening to the sharp coldness.
Lying down,
 I curl up.
 Feeling.
 The first time,
like making love.
 Thump! Thump!
Echoes against the valley's bosom.
The heart beating fast.
Then I stretch to the vastness and expanse
   of gods' creation before me.
Incomprehensible joy!
I bring home with me.

Copyright © Wendy Meyer

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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 "









Copyright © kj force

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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

Copyright © Raven Drake

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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)

Copyright © Nikkia Roberts

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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

Copyright © Lamptey Godson Kofi

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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

Copyright © Nelson Herculano

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Seasons' March

I greet the morning with anticipation, bubbles 
of excitement inside, straining forward to walk 
outside and stroll among the flowers my hands 
have planted and cared for over the past years, 
the weigela from our youngest daughter, tomato 
plants from her daughter, the dill we placed nearby
to warn off bugs, the orange rose bush from Aunt
Juanita, as happy in my yard as hers, my mother’s 
petunias, flowering almond, and variegated sedum, 
four Alberta spruce, grown several times their size 
as when my brother gave them to me, prior to his
quiet acceptance of death after he lost the battle 
with brain tumor. A hibiscus bush, with its dinner-
plate-size blooms, the longed-for weeping willow, 
living strong where two others before had perished, 
a pink, wild-rose ground cover, spreading more each 
summer,  the crape myrtle my husband hauled in from 
another state, azalea bushes thriving after many false 
starts, spring clematis in deep burgundy, and another 
September one of miniature white stars, framing the 
arch given to me by our only son-in-law on Mother’s 
day, the red rose climber from our eldest son, mums 
everywhere, joining the celebration of season’s end,
as I now contemplate the closeness and inevitability 
of my own.

 

 

Copyright © Cona Adams

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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.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi

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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.

Copyright © JeanMarie Marchese

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.



Copyright © JeanMarie Marchese

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.


Copyright © JeanMarie Marchese

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

Copyright © CJ Krieger

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.

Copyright © Rob Carter