I know it's there somewhere beyond the clouds,
Beyond the snow which slowly falls and falls;
The babes of summer covered like a shroud
And arborvitae's shoulders like a shawl.
A mellow hint of yellow somewhere dawns
And splashes through the trees its hopeful rays.
The golden glow in morning skies adorn
Horizon's clouds in colorful array.
Hues that lift the heart when winter goes;
When rapeseed blossoms smile back at the sun;
When white and pink and blue put on a show,
Through fields of green and yellow we will run.
Sunflowers stand and bow in prayerful hush
Like inspiration born from Vincent's brush.
Feb. 13, 2014
the magnificent autumn-sun bursts at its seams
the icy october-wind blows her soft-cold breeze
one of the most impressive and mesmerizing teams
stumbling over each other making me warm and freeze
fragrances of fresh grass mowed for the last time this year
the muted-green foliage whispers with leaves drying out
the hidden dark-red blackberries wither behind protective thorns of fear
the last flight of geese flying over another scout
rare but visible some glorious leaves of gold
the cloudless sky colors the very rare whiter shade of blue
the bike trail I'am on partly covered with wet leaf mold
the passing summer is now really saying adieu
while the wintery wind and summer-sun bicker for attention
I'm overwhelmed by this whiter shade of blue's fourth dimension
Dutch composer&harp player Anne Vanschothorst wrote a piece for harp and recorded her version of "A whiter shade of blue"
The link to hear HER "A whiter shade of blue" under "About this poem".
Procol harum's "Whiter shade of pale"(I am that old- or young?) is on of the songs on my list of most played songs on my mp3-player.. when hearing this song on a sunny autumnal day I was inspired to add my color to the palet.......... I saw a new'kind of blue and wrote this poem..
November was not all that bad. We had
Thanksgiving feasts and very little snow.
The Yuletide season came. Since it was glad,
I felt so sad to see December go.
But January so far we have seen
cars sliding off the roads and freezing cold.
Blue skies I need and white replaced by green
and sunshine spilling onto fields like gold.
But Winter still persists. Up and about,
he's freezing pipes, car engines and my toes!
That old cold man has worn his welcome out.
And next month's Valentines? Well, who needs those?
It's Goddess Spring that I am waiting on.
Why hang around, old Winter? Just begone!
Written 1/19/13 For the Winter Begone Poetry Contest
of Francine Roberts
Spring takes its bow early in Florida’s climate
Winds expire, February debuts in quiet
Dazzling lavender blooms on cherry trees wake first
Sweet aroma o’er the verdant landscape’s dispersed
Summer lures eager tourists to beaches in May
Dipping their toes, they feel the ocean’s salty spray
Torrid heat ushers hurricane season in June
Cautious homeowners await the year’s first typhoon
But for late November, Fall seems nonexistent
Taking to nature trails, hikers’ hours are now spent
Wild boar and turkeys identified by their musk
Gopher tortoises chill in shells, deer await dusk
Locals celebrate yuletide holidays with joy
Brevity of winter - nature’s cruelest ploy
*Written August 22, 2014
A refresh of rain, falling down on them all
Un-quenching each leaf with tilt refrain
Linden shaped blossoms in spring do install
Such beautiful heaven that no one can maim
The burst of an orange, a tulip in bloom
Infusion of flowers, by meadow's festoon
The shine of an orchid, ever so stark,
It stays on my mind, long after dark
The Rose brings her beauty, as I swift appraise
And summer goes trailing with fever, her blaze
Heat waves arrive, wearing red flaming scarves
Bronzed cherub angels, by cool fountain spout
Yellow kissed flowers by summer's head count
The dahlias in love, with passions, don't starve
Bikinis and tank tops with summer tanned legs
Atop the hot board walk, skip trampling keds
Bleach blonds and ravens in tune with the fair
Coasters and bolsters and times without care
It's all in the season of sunshine and thrills
Where fireworks burst, o'er emerald hills!
The seasons pass as my eyes behold
Soft change in hues when bending limbs grow bare
As colored leaves turn brown begin to fold
To finally scatter into Autumn's air
These days remembered on a road of leaves
Traveling aspen groves ablaze in gold
A Winter's chill before the Autumn grieves
Reminds that all life ends before its cold
And calls in voice its yearly subtle dance
As songs from birds now give a quiet note
While those in love hope colors will enhance
To feel chill from Winter when color dies
To bless the fallen leaves with sadder eyes
The Winter's cold comes dressed in velvet white
And spills its unique flakes upon the Earth
Scenes of beauty calm, open eye's delight
And cleanse the ground before the Spring's rebirth
I'll walk upon the freshest fallen snow
And see the trail of prints I leave behind
While knowing it reveals the path I go
I'll make a snowy Angel some will find
To cross the banks of white where depth is low
And sit among the quiet, Winter's brought
To see the landscape clean with softest glow
Shall bring to me another gentle thought
I'll lift my eyes to find a pictured scene
And marvel at the white that is pristine
written by Mystic Rose & Frederic Parker
It was the first part of September
As the leaves were just starting to turn
The bonfire shrank to just one ember
A fearful forecast she would discern
Yes, the hurricane season lived on
Although the seas were starting to cool
Bounty of trees now plucked – pecan
As children made their way back to school
Indian Summer brought such sad news
A woman still in her autumn years
Struggled from her eyes, tears to excuse
She had to face the greatest of fears
The doctor offered no hope for her
Would this month be her last September?
*Entry for Brian’s September Contest
Leaves twirl through the chilly air
Leaving naked tree limbs flailing
Soft sweaters cover me with care
Winds caress with gentle breezing
Crackling and popping beneath my feet
When I walk across the dirt pathway
Colorful leaves even cover the street
Creating oak, poplar and birch bouquet
Squirrels carry nuts into their haunts
While birds begin to fly toward the south
Melancholy feelings start to taunt
Bringing suspicions of winter’s mouth
Autumn is a season of colorful charms
When harvest begins at all the farms
©2014 by Regina Riddle
Written on July 24, 2014
Lost loons sulk in song, their search for meaning
sends us to sleep. The park holds a stillness,
but I dream of winds, ardent pines leaning
towards waves, soothing the lake’s brokenness.
Morning pulls us and from our tent we crawl,
hailed by dawn’s parting, greeted by pale mist.
While coffee perks on the campfire, I’ll
put my head on your shoulder, find your kiss
is as smoky as the breakfast you fry.
Later, we explore the mossy woodlands
and stray from the path, surrender to sighs
shading the forest floor, under the span
of birch. Night falls and winks to wet lovers
who roll in stars then rock moonlit waters.
About this poem
This is a modern sonnet. It uses off rhyme, unusual punctuation placement and contains plenty of enjambment that extends past the usual insular quatrains.
Killbear park is a provincial park in Ontario. Its sites are quite... private ;-)
It''s great to see the leaves again
To see the flowers grow
Spring excites me so
I love the freshness of the rain
I can shake off winter's aches and pains
As I listen to the March winds blow
Spring is a wonderful time I know
Spring is here to keep me sane
Now I hear the red robin chirp
I see the sun shining bright
I want to play and not work
Out in the pretty sunlight
Where life is new and pure
I love Spring of that I'm sure!
The caramel leaves seem to fall from sky
In waves, as zephyr sings through chimes and eaves
Its song that whispers a fall lullaby
As a gentle rustling wind through autumn leaves
September a time to slow down, be still
Slowly now we have less light_ more dark
A drawing to home and hearth seems our will
Beckoning to fill with bounty our hearts
Caramel sauce for those crisp apples near
The heat of summer is in distant past
None of that snow of winter yet to fear
Watering chores of summer now are past
All things for coming winter out in place
Now one can slow to a snail's simple pace
In honor of Brian Strand's contest...
Click on"About That Poem"
As the night creeps upon, the air is cold
Beneath the dark as the snow filters the air in dark
Again this feeling in my bones; makes me feel real old
Please listen! Can you not hear it; a sweet song of the singing lark.
It captivates my hearing ears, for your mine as I am silent
The softly falling snow makes you joyfully smile
As it slowly diminishes, I sing with joyful lament
I'll softly be walking with my snowshoes for many a mile.
Of sweet and innocent lullaby in the cold in the breeze
Gone are all the sweetest scent of the flowers in bloom of sweet
As I see strolling along, a stray dog joyfully does flees
He gleefully dances within the falling snow as he sees.
All this does make my heart soar with pure happiness within greatest ease.
All the fallen snow does make my heart soar with purest happiness of ease.
Written: Nov. 21, 2014
Eve T. M. Carter
Each summer - hurrah! We got out of school.
How much we could do outdoors to have fun.
Kickball we’d play; we’d ride bikes to the pool.
We’d spend nearly all our time in the sun.
Night time would find us outside our homes too
with siblings or with the neighborhood throng.
Sun lingered and there was still much to do
as evenings grew cool and shadows grew long. . . .
And just before dark enveloped the day,
something would come that enthralled me the most -
small creatures that flitted every which way -
each blinking, then vanishing like a ghost.
I miss seeing fireflies, for it was grand
to catch and then hold one inside my hand.
Written Aug. 29, 2012
< enticing to eyes watching mama's pink roses bloom
fourty years later someone else now cares for them
fresh cut daily and seen in her arms their long stems
tears streaming down face I sit under swollen moon
waiting watching for sun to come up again soon
to catch one more glimsp of mama's planted old gems
unfurling petals before been chopped or condemned
think I'll ask if can take one for my dining room
aroma bursting amidst thy supper's table
bowed heads we come and thank our Heavenly father
somebody still cared though sick and times unable
and answers it's door for which one has come bothered
to let bask in roses empowering fable
and not to be called as it's one's roses robber
French Sonnet is a poem with rhyme scheme
Of ABBAABBA and CDCDCD
Or ABBAABBA and CDECDE
Syllable count is 12 syllable per line.
This poem is dedicated to those who are suffering from natural disaster
wrote by Mrs.Madhavi Suyog Pagare
Almighty - Shower Your Love !!!!!
Ohh my Almighty, Ohh my Nature..
Everything was alright, everything was fine..
But what made you do this????
That you astringently affected the Life of Divine..
Why you had lend with with no mercy..
You showered your gift in terms of cursy..
Drenching tears of the exciting people..
Pangs of separation happened between lovely couple..
How much it is aching to there pity family..
Everyone got acceleratingly disheartened gradually..
Just now left with the new dawn and the iota of Hope..
Hey nature please try to rudenessly cope..
Mankind struggling for their last breathe..
Please bless them for our sake under your sheathe..
Please endow them for their wellbeing and glorious life ahead!!!!
Sonnet On The Sun
One orb and only one shines on in life
You are much warmer than the morning sun
Remember the volcanoes at Tenerife
Canary Islands paradise adrift in fun
Hanging there upon a limb of golden time
We conjure elements of joy forever
What favors in the mind recall unwinds
When in our orbits moon pulls down its lever
But there within the walls of love light sealed
The glow of life can’t hide inside forever
There in the wicket world concealed, revealed
That Winter breaks for kinder weather
My love with sun and moon gathered family
Their fortunes shine on together amicably
And now the weeping willow turns to green.
So brilliant red, the robin’s breast,
Just like the sun, now sinking in the West,
And down the lane more signs of spring are seen :
The spiky blackthorn blossom’s shining white –
It looks as if the hedgerow’s decked with snow.
Beneath, the peeping primrose seems to glow
With luminous and creamy lunar light.
Come hear the soaring skylark’s tuneful song
And listen to the jackdaw’s chimney chat.
See squabbling sparrows startled by the cat
As through the undergrowth he slinks along.
We mark these signs of Spring so early in the year,
But damage from late frosts may dash our hopes I fear.
Within ashen sky, glistening falling flakes flow.
I hear them, whispering gently to and fro,
Not saying a word, they speak gently to me.
Telling me of beauty above, I’ll never see.
Each one a different wonder of life’s bliss,
Rendering, touching crystal clarity, not to miss,
Surrendering glory of nature, with snow,
Before my eyes, smothering green, glittering so
Lazily lying upon all, silvery frosty covers adrift,
Announcing another season, arriving now swift.
Now the sound of crunching, an allegory,
Kidnaping moment, amidst such glory,
Each day continuing, upon nightfall glisten,
True sensations, winters blanket disposition.
written by Cecil Hickman
date written 11-19-12
Once upon a spring arcadian scene
The long cold winter hoar melts on the bud:
Romney low country lambs fattened to wean
Chew in flocks upon the ruminant cud.
In stone moss stream, wild aromatic grass,
The sleeping flower does uncloistered return:
But an ancient blood moon shall come to pass
On the hilltop flax and green valley fern.
Soon the muster will shatter a false peace
In cornucopia of beast and plume:
Nigh the yard gates will fill with milky fleece
And only finest wool spin on the loom.
So becomes the burnt offering withal
For the butcher's blade is sharpened to fall.
How peaceful this one afternoon in June.
The people in their homes seem tucked away.
With everything about me, I’m in tune
while from my big back yard I now survey
the color of Crayola sky in blue,
a backdrop for the trees Crayola green.
As clouds sit still, a white tail passes through
some cauliflower clouds, and now unseen,
it trails a jet to lands that yonder lie.
A tiny butterfly alights on ground,
and on my fence a single dragonfly
has residence, content to be around.
Both sun and wind are mellow, and a bug
orange and black now gives my skin a hug.
For Joann Grisetti's
Memories of June Contest
Trees in silent strength stand bare
Yet in their silence dwells the hope of spring
Though winter keeps them in its icy glare
Desolate landscapes bare the scars of winter's sting
And hardly a creature utters a sound
Yet in their silence dwells the hope of spring
Days are bleak with gray skies all around
While icicles hang from window sills
And hardly a creature utters a sound
As life stands still in winter's chill
Those sunny days are hard to find
While icicles hang from window sills
Cold winds blow with storms that blind
But the hope of spring does not decline
Those sunny days are hard to find
As weary creatures look for a sign
Trees in silent strength stand bare
But the hope of spring does not decline
Though winter keeps them in its icy glare
Trees stand in frozen quietude
Abiding yet in the promise of spring
While winter plays a frosty interlude
As cold winds sends snowflakes swirling
Animals tucked away in their dens
Silently await springs arrival
But they must endure until then
To assure their survival
Soon spring blossoms will appear
Birds will flit from tree to tree and sing
Butterflies will dance on flowers fair
Abiding in the joy of spring
All those gray skies turn to blue
As springtime comes with morning dew
My young brothers and sisters,
Look at what the ants do during summer,
They pick up their hand-hoes and went to the plough-fields,
Going up and down storing food in their silos,
Food to feed themselves,
Feed themselves when the winter succumb.
Will you try it brothers and sisters?
You don’t have a plan,
You are just useless,
Just and no strength of mind.
Even if you can put sticks on your ears,
You will reap tears on your face,
Tears on your face.
Tears when the winter succumb.
These subtle days in solitude pass
as each season greets a new dream
with wind bending through meandering grass
an impulse charge of life redeem
With arms raised upward to healing light
in each breath I feel as one
a gift of completion sings eternal flight
with scattered stones, rich soil and pulsing sun
I once again return to the spirit within
made of fragmented pieces of endless breath
where flesh is left behind and spirit love mend
a flight soaring freedom without pain nor death
In awe I rest beneath the weeping willow tree
O' how my spirit longs for thee...
Nice warm days becoming fewer,
Summer will be on her way
To a place where Spring has lingered.
How I wish Summer could stay.
Fall will bring in his big brushes
With his cans of red and gold,
Spreading color with abandon
In his manner grand and bold.
When strong winds bring down his art forms,
Fall will pack his gear and go
To where summer has been reigning,
Leaving us with Winter's snow.
Though we'd like to choose the seasons,
God controls them with good reasons.
By: Joyce Johnson
The name of the contest was A Sonnet In The Wind". Any theme. No other instructions.
I enjoy writing sonnets, so I entered. She did not let me know why it received no rating. I have read the others and I am still wondering.
Weep not, poor winter, season most hated;
Season of death and despair, so despised.
Borne as a burden, brashly berated,
Annual martyr, yet ne'er canonized.
Man is made stronger through struggle and strife,
Sculpted by scars and then polished with pain.
Our woes are like water, needed for life;
Barren and dry is a world without rain.
So worry not, winter, stifle your cries,
Raise a great blizzard to temper my soul.
And though I may curse this yearly demise,
Know that you failed not to finish your goal.
With fabulous fervor the fine flakes fall,
As winter's cold confetti covers all.
The wind turns rustling the reddish-brown leaves.
Trees stand devoid of their cover and howl
Like bathers caught without a green towel.
The wind turns, the arctic soul misconceives.
The snows pile up around my silver car.
Outraged the trees thrash and howl in the wind
Smarting like young children regimented.
The snows pile up; the heart is as stones are.
The iris bloom, couples old, young elope.
Buds develop forth from bare twigs and grow,
A bald man farming a new luscious mo.
The iris bloom, the heart feels raptured hope.
The grass browns the dams are slowly emptied.
Branches hang drooping in the severe sun,
Young mothers at their hot sinks deflated.
The grass browns the heart resigns abandoned.
You seduce others, caress them and give
Love, mine remains fervent and I forgive.
< amidst grass carpet he plays
long ears bushy tail white paws
nibbles bulbs munches away
poor little thing had some flaws
hides hair braided and despaired
didn't stop this little guy
thought to self this wasn't fair
bowed head and started to cry
nectar is what he had sought
on this hopeful days journey
not to be trapped or be caught
or carted off on gurney
Mister Nibbles came to play
In garden's bedding today
Late August and the hot air drifts over the lake
the sky glowers striking a contrast black to gray
soon, very soon, the lake with be thundered awake
and the heat mirage with dissolve in disarray.
The last of children's giggles will echo ghostly
through the woods at water's edge mixed with sparrow song.
Pink skinned lovers chilled will be but a memory
and their cuddling brought indoors where it belongs
The garden's done, each tomato plant has yielded
scorched by the heat, fields and forest long for Autumn,
praise the heat of summer for it raised the corn fields,
raise a glass from the yield of the apple and the plum.
Say goodbye to August with a gentle kiss on the breeze
for the wild geese are flying, flying through the changing trees.
The latent pace of winter-tide drifts on,
hibernal winds exhale a frosty dawn,
the gentle warmth of summer’s long-since gone,
now ‘midst the jagged ice the sun lies torn.
Of broken heart she bleeds, to frigid pools,
a weary spectral light for life to take;
ethereal displays of winter jew’ls
reflect her soul on tears of downy flake.
Emotion spent she falls to deep repose,
where afternoon dies young, bereft of light,
‘cept for a moonlight serenade that flows
across the down that softly quilts the night.
Encased within her dreams of grief and pain,
a frozen world of beauty breathes in vain.
The January snow has thawed and gone at last
And in its wake a single snowdrop stands :
It grew unseen beneath a shining shroud
Which melted to reveal the hope of Spring,
While daffodils all spear towards the sky.
Already rooks have built their lofty nest
And robins, seen in pairs, fight over scraps.
The brightly coloured pheasant, struts on by,
His tail, a rapier, scything through the grass.
Against the light a dancing cloud of gnats
Hangs lightly in the clear fresh morning air,
Where hazel catkins, swinging from the trees,
Puff clouds of yellow pollen to the winds.
Eternal joy, to mark the signs of Spring !
every single season
she's in survival mode
focused on her beacon
nymph on a water road
while darkest seasons rule
she's hiding in the deep
on her small private stool
faking she's deep asleep
at first outburst of light
she's crawling all the way
for best possible sight
one long glorious day
seasons long renewals
© Ellie Daphne
Check out my poem "Holiday - Greeting-card - to fellow SOUPERS"and I hope you'll excuse me for not responding or commenting in the upcoming weeks/month(s)...
LoL Ellie Daphne
The thought came to her seeing how the spring
Thaw was here with green patches of onion,
And few areas of spring grasses__now green
That the garden would need tending~ attention
And send her forth (into the sun) to plant
Vegetables, herbs, tend flowers of the hour
Roses, beauties, burgundy, soft brillant
Petals gentle between fingers, power
Scent that allures both man, woman to come
Enjoy this day in this pleasant garden
That draws butterflies, which lightly touch some
Drinks nectar, touches pollen, beholden
Spring with its beauty, warmth, outdoor pleasures
Can disregard work when one sees treasures.
Sponsor:What's In Your Garden? Old Or New
Meter: Iambic Pentameter
Written by: Sara Kendrick
face of the blue
the arrival of
kiss the earth
paint the day
with chill rays
yellow and red
my keen nostrils
nuts with belief,
Mine eyes are
shall undress to
Shall kiss the
lips of sunlight
has cursed the
earth with her
And all shall
In the center I sit.
Unraveling a core,
I lay it by the shore.
It’s a wondrous fit.
It is in pieces by a bit.
It sails an ocean floor.
It has a rip where tore.
It makes the seas split.
It travels day and night.
A never-ending drift,
It is brilliantly bright.
Moving along so swift!
It travels a path lit by a Star,
Rendering miles that are afar!
© Copyright: Ann Rich 2007
January's cousin Fall left in a fit
For January brought her friend, Wind howling long
Denuded the trees of all their gowns knit
Now her great Aunt Spring feels no way strong
Great Aunt Spring has gone underground safely
Hidden from January's cold icy tricks
Underground or faraway supersafely
Waiting for Spring's return with corner tricks
Spring has a way to drive cold January
Far away up to Canada's great north
Where January cold winter wind that's airy
Really belongs, yeah Spring come forth
Birds and animals with heavy coats sing
With January but rejoice when enters spring
(Had started this one for a contest)
On dark and dreary nights lonely trodden
One does longing wait the winterless morn;
Stood in a green meadow glade unsodden -
Strobes of light tripping the riverbed spawn,
Where not errant rains flood the scented bath,
But perfumed scatterings in pollen's net;
That magical Eden, that mortal path
When the sights and sounds of new life beget.
Rise gathering mist of the waterfowl,
And behold the colour and élan of spring;
The Morepork on nocturnal midnight prowl
That casts its eye and spreads its speckled wing.
So blow again a warm and gentle breeze
On greensward and dryads in the gnarled trees.
A Morepork is a native New Zealand owl.
Oh, these sandbox days with shovel and pail,
Mother and girl as content as can be,
We play in the shade, delight in a snail,
Then discuss goslings and biology.
I am raising an urban preschooler
who loves the splash pad at our city park,
She climbs the steps by the old clock tower,
A brass lion laps up small fingermarks.
The patrolling officer makes her laugh,
But she prefers the stallion he rides,
Beautiful, she says, points to the flagstaff,
Yes, Sweetpea, you are, I whisper with pride.
After a snack, she naps on my shoulder,
My heart grows younger as she gets older.
Theme chosen: Happy heart
Date written: May 24, 2012 after tucking in a tired tike.
Thou have started a journey so serene.
One that shall take thee into spring,
Enjoying all of nature’s beauty unseen,
Feeling majestic powers, it will bring.
Imagine fragrances warmed by sunshine.
Feel cascading build of warmth around.
Mid day arrives, preparations combine.
As gentle fresh air moves without sound,
Brilliancy around thee captures your breath.
New birth engages your senses so deep.
Sweet visions revive thee, from sudden death.
Sounds caress thine ears, even in sleep.
Thou with thine eyes closed, awareness in smell.
Sensing lilacs, bidding winter farewell,
Sponsor Francine Roberts
Contest Name Bring on Spring
Heads close, one brunette and one tawny blonde,
Prepubescent girls build a flannel sheet tent,
Towels and dreams pile on a crisping lawn,
Soon, loud giggles become luminescent.
Two peas in a pod and somewhat alike,
Wearing bright halter tops with cut off jeans,
Making waves in my pool, riding twin bikes,
Then diving between Teen Beat magazines.
Before boys and bands and our womanhood,
There were days of Kool Aid and flip flop feet,
We ruled yellow fields, tamed enchanted woods,
Neighbours staying cool, toying with the heat.
Measured weeks free from control or pretence,
Treasured, one summer of shared innocence.
* Written Aug 24, 2012
Tumbling, tumbling, maple’s chameleon leaves
swathe blonding grass that is longing to sleep,
A Mennonite farmer hand-bundles wheat sheaves,
Harvest won’t wait and his field will not keep.
Fumbling, fumbling with sodden dresses
clean from a washing on this windy day,
A Mennonite wife hangs laundry, blessing
God’s bounty, His gifts on lovely display.
Crumbling, crumbling, pieces of pumpkin pie
warm from the oven and perfectly spiced,
Mennonite tots lick forks and watch geese fly,
Later they share wood toys, just a few suffice.
Humbling, humbling, these people of autumn
who toil endlessly, then Christmas welcome.
August 15, 2012
I came from behind and my God at what I saw.
I was astonished and in disbelief seen by you.
I counted exact minutes with the seconds too.
But I stood there intact with no lines to draw.
There are many versions of Grace Verse’s law.
So I read through them one by one until blue.
So I picked up the torch it was all I could do.
I was a flame burning stoked in complete awe.
I gave glory to the Sun and Moon,
I exalted a few Stars along my way.
I even rode in on a cloud at noon,
It was a bright beautiful blessed day.
But there were matted layers of deception,
I guess you can only imagine my reception.
© Copyright: Ann Rich 2006
My wind to the East you are my least.
My wind to the West you are the test.
Each and every day you are your best.
Each and every day you battle a beast.
My wind to the South you are a feast.
My wind to the North you are a crest.
Each and every day you never do rest.
Each and every day a new life leased.
The Sun makes your air.
The Moon is your guide.
Stars are always up there.
All of you are my pride.
Each of you I will easily leaven.
You are my four winds of heaven.
© Copyright: Ann Rich 2006
Stars above and stars below,
On silent ripples alone I go,
Across the water, the trembling plain,
In the empty quiet I’m at last without pain
The dark of the sky is a balm to my eyes
My ears are caressed by the pines and their sighs
And the mind’s rest must come from the sweet summer air
For if that's not peace then how could it bear,
The vicious words that stream from every cranny:
The screaming mistress and the sobbing of the nanny.
She falls and hears the slam of the door
The father yells from the top floor.
In moon filled dreams I watch her go
Swollen belly black against pure snow.
I have happily walked through your poems`s spring:
And many times,a sensible heart sounded
Like a queen-violin;and many times,a king
Among the newest impetuous verse surely was crowned:
In the place with stalactites and stalagmites,the dreams` voice resounded;
And certainly yours keeps its face in the sunshine ready to be beyond the praise.
With air hands ,I touch the season white,with your name rebounded.
Unforgettable one in the lasting generous heaven lays
And the poets` realm with much honor you raise.
You know: the bits of heart ,the life`s syllogism disobeys;
Tender is the night in which,the candles are brought
For more light.To each I tell the same and especially to thee:
No sweetest rest,no pleasure work can be.
(Especially to my first reader ,Peggy Bertrand this spontaneous attempt to fill
these empty moments with myself and my gratitude.)
October is the mellowest month
when all the leaves turn flaming red,
and squirrels munch on a fallen nut.
Notice how the days get shorter,
how the chill reminds of Holidays
that yesterday was a thought too far.
People stroll and enjoy the nice weather,
as they watch trees being stripped of their jewels,
but sad as Nature seems, fantasy can go far.
I sit on a park bench as Lassie, the golden retriever,
barks inviting me to hurl the ball as high as I can,
then runs like a tiger to catch it in the festive air.
She returns with the ball pinned within her strong teeth,
and as all the leaves turn flaming red, they fall on my feet.
Beauty is nothing; nothing if not spring,
flora shooting, oozing to cover bare
earth that winter spent, stripped; now gives green.
New life God has planted, planned with care
and bathed the globe with rains, spare and clean.
The air, great gasps of spring; the springing air,
blossom of peach and pear, scents fresh and keen.
Wonders of wonder all are flaxen fair.
Praise gifts, which bring this juice, bring us this joy.
Praise gifts of face found and fine wildflowers.
Praise gifts, and praise our debt for springtime’s cloy-
breadth of earth’s wild bounty, it is ours.
Praise gifts of song, for songbirds on bright wing.
Renewing life; Oh! Praise our gifted spring.
Your beauty and delicate nature, indeed we cannot deny
Yet having such a short life span, you somehow eventually die
Like the transient nature of mist and clouds, you superbly reappear
Then breathtakingly take your time to freshen up the air
A majestic symbol of power, knowledge and spiritual pulchritude
Celebrated blossoms attained in Spring you've magnificently exude
You evoke an artistic comparison through your bright ruddy hue
And in the night when we're asleep your petals the skies bedew
Your flowers are nearly pure white, and tinged with the palest pink,
Without hesitation you shrivel and fall before I could even blink
Your spiritual and cultural significance is never an incomplete
Accompanied by your long weeping branches are flowers so very petite
So stunning and stupendously, you lay about the trees
And even when you've carpeted the ground, your beauty never cease
Tell of your unspoken and profound anguish
before the thickest night shadows vanish,
let light return as dawn brings in new happy tunes;
rekindle the lost flame of youth while spring blooms!
Find that court troubadour from distant France,
he can write another song and make you dance,
why waste tears that will dry up as light rain,
when your wish can be used as a pretty refrain?
This castle cannot offer you freedom and joy,
its walls are as impregnable as his might;
a faithful queen stands by her king as a sky lit by bright moonlight...
should you avoid the strong temptation that lured Helen of Troy?
Tell of your unspoken and profound anguish....
what's the sense of living without a wish?
In thee, the world brightens
Exposing recondity to us
And yet a way out
In thee we fall to rise
Thou conceive ab inito
The plan of nation building
In you the crown caresses inspiration
To beautify his mother more
Night, we chat and converse
With our grayish haired roots
To beg and to thank
For greater we a’e in them
Protecting and directing our course
As He looked down from the heavens above,
He created spring and prepared the earth.
He decided Eden needed more love
and made this the season for a new birth.
A perfect garden but man was alone.
One night He caused man to dream in his sleep
and opened his breast removing a bone.
A flower was planted for man to keep.
I am that mate, I’m man's flowering rose.
I was planted in spring in hallowed ground.
Created in beauty the gardener knows,
the flower of man, to him I am bound.
No longer will man be alone to toil.
Planted in spring in God’s loving soil.
Now is the season I have come to bloom.
Thriving in summer, the gardener’s plan.
Born as a flower within the earth’s womb.
A beautiful rose created for man.
His gift of a flower since time began.
Companion for life, a loving soul mate.
Blossoming strength in the summertime span.
Flowering beauty at the garden gate.
I am that rose, such a wonderful fate.
Strength in beauty, I’m the gardener’s rose.
Created for man so we can relate.
I stand behind him where the garden grows.
Grace in beauty and feminine power.
Standing with him, I’m the summer flower.
Fall is the season of power and might.
A soul mate I was created to be
and placed in the garden at God’s decree.
Behind my man in the gardener’s sight,
a feminine rose is the male delight.
As I stand next to him, for all to see,
my mystical power that set him free
and the gardener smiled for it was right.
Fall is the season I start to relax,
the breeze is provoking my rest and sleep.
It is the season, our work is now done.
Together all year we learned all the facts
and memories that we, forever keep.
For we have been blessed together as one.
Winter lends a blanket of snow
here in the place where gardens grow.
Blossomed all year beautifully dressed.
Winter has come, it’s time to rest.
The gardener knows the reason,
my beauty doubles next season.
I gave him strength, held to my breast.
Winter has come, it’s time to rest.
My man smiles because of the rose.
A winter sleep is just repose.
A rose for a man, passed the test.
Winter has come, it’s time to rest.
Winter lends a blanket of snow.
Winter has come, it’s time to rest.
Spring: Shakespearian sonnet
Summer: Spenserian sonnet
Fall: Petrarchan sonnet
Winter: Kyrielle sonnet
Months of work coming to a final test,
three hour papers in hot rooms, it’s no jest.
Classics, linguistics, fine art, all for me,
revision time seems too short now you see.
June is a student’s nightmare, no release,
impatient for freedom and inner peace.
Am I ready for the open days show?
Images and sculpture, for public glow.
The nervous tension gives me a headache,
summer madness, for education’s sake.
By exam end I’m dazed, lost and confused.
Ready to relax, no longer abused.
Escaping class for some summer sunshine,
Idyllic dreams with the one I call mine.
A fall wind just did recon down the trail.
It's midsummer, this wind did not belong.
Cold, from the North, it noted all detail
of the terrain, although it didn't stay long.
I caught it unawares as it wove in
and out of trees still green and flowers strong
with scent, grasses while gold had life wthin
Bugs and butterflies still work all day long.
It must have noted that the blackberries were
just starting to ripen, a little slow
to be sure, and the stream was still a lure
to small boys walking against its down flow.
Could it be this wind's report will reveal
summer weak, and that fall will soon prevail?
There's a flower revival beyond my window pane,
Where velvet petals of fragrant rose remains.
Spring renewal spurns the colder freeze,
And casts love upon a floral breeze.
Pixies steal ribbons from a maiden’s room,
So her long loose tendrils catch nature’s bloom.
A green carpet of grass stretches beneath her feet,
While her beau makes her toes curl with kisses so sweet.
She pretends the world's a magic wonderland,
And fairies sprinkle dust to make love so grand.
Ah, for the splendor of this season in time,
When the youth feel giddy, but strong in their prime!
Oh! I long for those days when I was young,
And danced with pixies ’cause Spring had sprung.
Great grin, glow, O glow, ‘til grizzled I grow, humming
Brightly bring bliss back before boredom burns me black
My morn muse minding merry mountains’ moulded rock
Tantalizes thoughtless thought that taunts thoughtless thing
Lulling, longing, life with you, my love lives each day
Whispering wind warmly wheeze words o’ awe, I feel
Forever, firm beauty you own, as always will
Be beauteous blossom, bed o’ boredom stays at bay
Dearest darling, don’t dare dry honeyed aroma
Tempest thorns o’ thunders though sure to us they throw
Yet, you-- yodelled youth o’ yore to death not to sow
And, Angels adore you-- Clematis Cirrosha
Let love o’ mine, for you, flow in the darkest night
Heart diamond o’ thine, how precious is your light
winter snow will make its raid
after the summer's chase of fall.
the earth's landscape will become overlaid
with small frosty webs trapping all.
fall's carpe diem with its colorful leaves
boasts its showiness in monochromatics.
orange, red, and yellow foliage of trees weaves
a motion picture of diving dramatics.
winter and summer are opposite in purpose.
fall and spring divide the temperature extremes.
they all work together without being jealous.
seasons have better ethics than us it seems.
fall's deaths makes fertilizer in winter for life in spring
which is then chased by summer and the sport it will bring.
Fate's Seal Never Yields
A storm so dark and so very blue
fate delivers it's first misery clue
Earth and sky rapidly melt into an urn
soon, so very soon , comes my turn
Rain that spins so out of control
pelts down upon newly born souls
Awakening thoughts buried deep within
of the mortality of we lesser men
Short lives spent in duties often delayed
with dreams imagined but never quite made
Regret of the coming last dawn lingering around
like a lonely fish that is dark water bound
Ashes heaped upon a very wearisome head
Sleeping soundly in a very badly made bed
Robert J. Lindley 11/23/1977
I saw the Sun and the Moon take a stance in the universe.
And an unknown Star placed over them was put in charge.
The whole entire inhabitants scattered themselves at large.
And all the lands and seas became separated by a diverse.
The Sun Shined brightly in the west never to set in a curse.
The Moon gleamed fully bright to the east as the surcharge.
The door had been widely opened and many came by barge.
The stress was great because the world went into a reverse.
Fate and destiny was being dished out like a deck of cards.
Skies lit up and the Stars came back out like never before.
And the palm trees took up to the seas like standing guards.
And from this stemmed growth from that one opened door.
The Sun and Moon are exalted above and beyond you all,
And so is the Star in charge of those that flaw in its thrall.
® Registered: Ann Rich 2008
There was once a tale time could only tell
To be made and unmade, all souls cannot hide
From distant hands that cast a greater spell
All life and all death in us has to confide
Seasons bring memories to our minds undimmed
Blessed to the day, sacred to the night
Every end to every end, all humans skimmed
Across time and space, foresaid by plight
Many among us has long lived enough to allay
What has consumed our eyes to defy the vow
And expressions, adjourned, as if to say
If only you can see what we all see now
So long as we all can live with liberty...
So long we live somewhere beyond eternity...
Feeling the crisp chill of the brisk morning air
Trees formerly full are now virtually bare
Vibrant colors of many and striking hues replace
The lavish greens which previously were in place
Autumn has arrived with her presence aglow
An artistic colorful pallet of beauty to show
Leaves falling gracefully onto the frosty ground
Falling ever so hastily creating a glorious mound
Children running amorously awakened with cheer
For colorful mounds of leaves are so undoubtedly near
Jumping in one by one, the leaves do tell a tale
Of a once boldly standing oak which now looks so frail
Basking in the essence of autumn’s sweet delight
Her loveliness remains an untouchable splendorous sight
Enjoy her virtuous nature as her absence is drawing near
Vanished another season as winter suddenly appears
The snow is falling down the moonlit bay,
the wind rushing on the gorge.
Your cold head rested on the sand with mine,
with passion, facing the veiled skies.
Suede scorched suit of winter dreams
filled the years passed. And now,
we search through our sacrificial eyes,
speaking with the falling drops of tears.
As Spring so softly yields to warmer days
The first rose of summer shall bloom alone,
Her loveliness sets the garden ablaze.
The rip’ning world takes on a brighter hue
As queen of May, she dances round the stone
Beneath the cloudless skies of vibrant blue
And all I can do is sit here and gaze
On beauty found within a single rose.
I see the moistened pearl of morning dew
Upon her red petals it takes repose
And I can’t help my dreams that drift to you
For love had come so gently on wind’s blown
My eyes have seen so that my heart now knows
The first rose of summer shall bloom alone
Created, desolated, resurrected and even in reverse,
You are a transformation under a Sun drenched day.
Beckoned or heralded you climb above a beaming ray,
Bristles of your hair shall glow and many are perverse.
Shuffled, hurdled, corner-stoned and even immerse,
You are a salvation upon a Mountain leading a way.
Stripped or naked you run below an endless cache,
Light inside of you shall outpour so all will disperse.
The collectors shall find,
Lost on a course in time,
Many stranded or behind,
Many with no unjust crime!
Jacked up, a ripped off, a maniac or just downright a true blue loon,
Still remaining is a red flaming shield up under a sacred desert Moon.
Who has created deep azure sky,
In which, the clouds do love to float and sail?
And who has embellished the butterfly
With colorful beauty in detail?
Who does shower the snow in the winter?
In foggy days who spreads mist curtains ?
Who has crafted the curves of the rives?
Who has embossed the range of high mountains ?
Who streched the bands of seven colors,
Who has constructed the arch of rainbow?
Who has gifted the birds cozy feathers,
And made them able to fly to and fro?
I do adore the Divine Artisan,
Who has made the world in such perfection.
So many empty spaces with cracked dimensions as stardust flew by.
So I counted to ten and held my breath knowing this would just never end.
At every angle there was a gap so I tagged them all with messages to send.
I stepped through portals leading me to places orbiting way too high.
I passed through broken dreams and landed where the Sun never shined.
No Moon, no Stars, and no galaxies were straight, much less aligned.
The Earth had gone completely berserk and the seasons were sudden to change.
It was the gap warping time and even the people looked far beyond strange.
I listened to faint vibrations and watched galaxies as they all weakened.
Time was lost and gone forever, for they had all been forewarned and told.
I found a spot and planted the last starlight and watched closely as it strengthened.
It grew and grew even withering through the hot and cold.
Shooting through portals I spread my light and left it a sparkling trail.
Ray by ray a beam filled the gap and lit it up by my new starlight’s flaming tail.
®Registered: Ann Rich 2005
I laid on my back and gazed at the sky
Clouds seemed to float through layers of blue
A falcon soared by and caught my eye
The chickadee's song was a sweet coo-coo
Afternoon soon melted, the sun sunk low
Orange and pinks danced across the horizon
Overhead the moon began to glow
Day has now faded, night has just begun
Old, Mister Cricket raises his fiddle
Many young fireflies dip and dive
Everything is but a merry riddle
Midnight's not dead, it thrives, said I
The simplicity of a single day
Living, beautifully, my perfect Lord's way
My son, my son! He will one day put up his arms And shout out, “Play!”
He’ll scribble walls, my young aesthete, bang pots and pans to his own beat.
We’ll hide and seek in show’rs of May, and learn what clouds and stars might say.
He’ll run while stumbling with his feet and singing out his laughter sweet.
I know he’ll grow with every turn. My teachings round his mind he’ll churn.
I pray the good that I’ll instill enhance his power of free will,
And when he leaves he might secern what saves his world or makes it burn.
I hope his life shall then distill some greatness, making life a thrill.
I hope my days will still allow to reach these dreams I hold somehow,
‘Cause now’s the summer of my life and I’ve no child, and lost my wife.
If Fate my dreams does disavow, my art I heighten starting now.
I’ll also try by virtue rife to win my place in afterlife.
Remembered I might never be, most humans try this commonly.
Astounding this we try, agree? To endure like minor deity.
This Winters day the wind is whipping up rows of
turquoise white tipped waves pounding towards
an organic seaweed ladened haystacked shore.
White froth riding on marching parallell crests.
Five sailboats bending in a synchronised angle
slowly sail left towards the sturdy wooden jetty.
The sky painted in shades of cottonwool grey
carries the winds journey on the peaking sea.
The stinging sand dust carried by the wind
forms a fine powder vapour on the shoreline.
Such is the strength velocity of natures gale
but to seek refuge from the wind-lashed tide.
The wild wind intent on the ocean fades in notts
as we walk on the path leading to the main road.
A gentle, calm,serene lightly textured morning ocean
A still day without wind and barely a hint of a wave
Sand carved by a tractor leaves a steeper sand dune.
Smooth sea surface soft sounding sandy shores.
The tiniest of waves curl in a echoey glassy whisper
Laden with shells pebbles,red coral, rich with seaweed
A flat pale blue sea reaches out to a silhuette shadow
of a ship awaits in anticipation on the dark blue horizon
A grey warm windless sky greets the ocean hanging
sometimes darker sometimes lighter on the horizon.
Folklore says that souls of dead sailors are transformed
into pale -eyed, black wing tipped, red webbed seagulls.
I stand on the shore abundant with treasures of the sea
waiting looking out to sea hoping for my love to return.
Pleasingly plentiful portions of Summer on ageing aching bones
Laying prone on pumped up pillows in pools of delight
Or under cooling fan breeze uncovered all night
These are the days to remember in Winter
With the doors and the windows all closed
In front of the fireplace astare at its center
Flickering flame with the embers exposed
Thinking of sun coming through open windows
With bird singing echoes on unmoving leaves
The haze of the day in ever nodding noon
Nothing to do and with all day so disposed
Walking shirtless and barefoot in bee clover grass
Treasuring moments that too soon will pass
In measured leisure phase of ever plodding moon
Sun glared down as Breeze ruffled her hair
Teasingly lifting her skirts
Stroking her lovingly
With deft invisible hands
Her arms swayed in unison with waves
Of constant caresses
Sending the scent of her wafting ghostly
Through summer shades
She felt her lifeblood rise within her
Holding tightly to Mother Earth
Up through the rooted whole of her
Filling tingling fingers with joy
Sighs in Summer sunshine
Oxygen from Georgia Pine
Fall again leaves are being
Chopped, bagged, and spread
Over the emptied garden
The maples watch in helpless distress as they undress
The gutter mesh guard is re-set
The firewood will be stacked on racks closer to the door
Views are longer, sparser color shades to brown
Nature’s curtain closing down
Act Four is shivering in the wings
Indian Summer pulling strings
Intermission’s entertainment sings
Harley days of easy riders
Catching time to spend
Rumble round the bend
Disdainful beauty, goddess of the ice,
With gaze as piercing as a flint-tipped shard.
Age-old allure still does the Chill entice
To dance with her, and pose as Winter’s guard.
Her staff, which strikes the slipp’ry ground, commands
The timid Sun to seek his early death
And rules bold Night to sate all her demands;
She bends the iron with her frosty breath.
A sweeping cloak of snow behind her spreads
With ceaseless cold that trails within its wake.
As Winter, in her icy bearing, threads
Within a soul a crave, a pow’rful ache –
Desire to see the sun shine down once more,
Rememb’ring springtimes that had passed before.
Past loves emerge and bloom at autumn’s heart
Quick’ning with the blow and crunch of leaves.
The life has left the earth and made us part
To go our separate ways when seasons meet.
For o’er the planets face the way is strewn
With bits of death once living in the skies.
For they’ve all seen the later harvest moon
And dread the looming, chilly, longer nights.
The noise of crunching temps the jovial sorts
Who long for the destruction of the past.
The woeful cry is made for others’ sport
Who know old things are never blessed to last.
Seek not a way in which to make amends.
The way will only crunch, it will not bend.