Oh I am but a simple leaf
withering within the gutter
one summer of bliss
now! Just an autumn flutter.
For some; destine to fall
upon stony ground, a part
of life’s infernal gyration.
Yet for those that fall
within your reach, to live
on within your soul!
While limbs that stretch
towards the solstice, create
vivacious veins as channels of hope,
a pledge of foliation continues
to endure what spring has
furnished; autumn expires.
Yes! If we can but learn
from nature’s complex simplicity,
that life be of a cycle
from the seed we are conceived,
then let spring be my beginning
winter my exultant eve!
Let our two cultures
merge as one, the
to become the sustenance;
our transfusion the
Let us breathe the
fragrance of born again;
let each slender limb,
stout body bear our
tenaciousness, each lyrical
leaf our life’s blood.
Let us mollycoddle each
precious tear that falls from a
angry sky; dance gracefully
upon the wind, embrace
on moonless nights, bathe
in summer madness.
Let us hear the bluebell call,
the daffodil pray, the apple
blossom bear witness; the
clamour of the field mouse
the pitapat of the butterfly
the silence of lovers in love.
Let us be sanctuary to the
symbolic songstress, scuttling
squirrel, vulgar urchin;
a fortress for the warrior
a haven for the pacifist
an inspiration for the poet!
The call of springtime
we will invoke,
we will gladly choke;
“This! Obliging old oak.”
Copyright Harry J Horsman 2000
has long died;
she comes to pass.
across open yards,
blotted white -
then, one last
escapes with might
to southern breeze.
transform with ease.
slowly brighten -
in budding delight,
they sleep no more.
soft to touch,
in wake of warmth
and bubbling sounds
of children’s laughter.
Under a hearty sun,
bare feet and legs
long to lilt
as passion follows
out to taste the open air,
waiting for night
to kiss in the flush
of descending moonlight –
as shooting stars
sleep no more.
last sparks in the fireplace
cool, no longer needed
to kindle romance.
I soften to the touch
of spring dew,
the joyous music -
fresh falling rain;
taking her time
to seed waking soil
until she voraciously
like a lost love –
a restless gypsy
on a journey-
she sleeps no more.
Spring dresses earth
in liveliest colors…
and I smile,
Overwhelmed with the beauty
touching my soul
and sun showers falling
on sweetened dreams.
autumn is here.
of the rain
and blossoms spring.
the snow shapes
the crisp cold
ices the wintertide.
the sand sculptures
a childhood summer past.
the seasonal airs
stimulates the senses
and the memories they carry.
in the glee,
in the hopes and dreams,
in the human spirit,
lives the miracle of life.
voices in every pitch
deep and resounding,
of echoes and whispers – uncut.
Any Old Poem Will Do - Contest
For Skat A
Entered: August 29 2014
~Spring versus Summer~
Spring is slowly leaving
And summer is swiftly arriving
And for me that really matter
Because the days are getting hotter
I love spring but mostly I love fall
That's when I really have a ball
That's when the days are just kinder
By reminding me when days are just better!
I hate to see spring go,
And for summer to my door just to show,
I don't like to feel all the heat,
Because that's when my body takes the beat
I prefer much better the cold weather
But I like it more when we are together,
Lots of rain and winds start to fall and blow,
Spring is about to exit and take her bow
Spring is slowly leaving
And summer is swiftly arriving
It makes me sad to see spring go
And for summer to my door just to show.
Dorian Petersen Potter
Scrumptious sight of prairies and grass
Ardent beaming of flower buds and buzzing bees
Leafless coils, branches of trees become alive
Hastening! Arousing everyone's joy and vive
Everyone happy on cheerful springtime!
A cotillion trips and chirps of jolly birds
From some distance, I have started to heard
Fantastic shun and kisses of pretty butterflies
Tempting all species of flora and fauna to thrive
Welcoming, beckoning the heat of summertime!
First crisp of breeze, creating dew in morning
Canopy of red and orange leaves from branches, enchanting!
Turning the world into a canvass of nature's brush
Unnoticeable, such romantic dash making anyone blush
Revel, embrace the sweet amorous season of autumn!
Solid chilling raindrops of snowflakes
Giving warning: careful during breaks
Covering branches, bringing icy cold aches
Yet, skiing an exhilarating cool escape
Delight in the coolness ambiance of winter!
CONTEST: MEMORIES ON BRANCHES
SPONSOR: GAIL ANGEL DOYLE
A flower breaks out afresh from its swollen,
green bud and then stretches outward into
the sun-drenched sky.
A thing of nature that's timeless
and perennial, it faithfully blooms and
adorns its surroundings like its predecessors.
Never alone, it is joined by its floral neighbors
of its own kind in fragrant numbers, suffusing
the atmosphere all around with a heavy, yet
sweet stench of lavender and honeysuckle.
The thick odor seduces and encourages the
flower-borne bees, hornets, and yellow-
jackets nearby into a steady rhythm and pulse
of continuous labor over the pollen-rich
blossoms and perfumed, colorfully-tinted
petals. From an adjacent pond the over-
abundant and unsubtle beauty of the
lily-of-the-valleys add their distinctiveness
to the already rich and lush floral landscape,
now teeming with the life and vigor of
spring in full bloom.
First of all I am going to tell you a story about the four seasons,
winter summer spring and fall,
Its a story not to forget at all and it is easy to remember that
Fall is a season that likes it cool, the nice wind blowing as all the leaves make sounds as they hit the ground,
And Winter it's a season of snow with the frosty nicknames that everyone knows.
And Summer is the hotest season of all,bringing up the heat so much you wish it was still fall.
Now spring is the prettyest season I have seen, where everything is blooming and growing green.Its a season where all the birds start singing cause of the joy they have had with winter,summer, spring, and fall....
I do not know?
From bright colors even the brightest blond turns grey.
Grown men now stand.
Were once young children did play.
The once new cover.
Is now tattered and torn.
time has all but erased the oaths once proud men had sworn.
The field now overgrown still haunts memories of the blue and grey.
Old worn headstones markers of were they'll forever lay.
No bell to ring no voice shall call.
The ghosts of the past erased by spring summer and fall.
The old porch stands hidden by a overgrowth of vines.
Now blank are the boards that once were painted signs.
The blood followed swiftly from the wound of the past.
To forge a path to a time that could never last.
Gone is the tree that once stood so very tall.
Forgotten by time
So is the legend of spring summer and fall.
My love, your breath, fresh as a spring breeze,
Caresses my face, with a wondrous tone,
As your sweet lips, approach mine, we moan.
For expectation, of such pleasurable tease,
For there is no time, for emotions to please,
Our brief moments, are barely, only a loan.
For passion delivers, future beautifully alone,
Our ecstasies of movements together, appease.
After spring, before the heat of summer time,
Our ardor grows; grows within each heart.
Our touch, Heavens blessing, to each other,
These moments, hours, days have no crime.
Together forever, our souls, never part,
Our spirits are free, to love; never smother.
Summer lies sleeping somewhere in fields of daisies
her warm breeze waltzes with each blade of grass
Autumn’s reclined wrapped within soft, cool mists
her nursery of seeds and parched leaves put to bed
Winter has awoken and rides the frigid northern winds
Ushering in a moment of slumber to proffer the circle of life
And... spring will come tomorrow, a new beginning to champion
When all asleep arise once more, with burst of colors everywhere!
Standing out in a field alone, a little white flower named Daisy longed for someone to share her world.
One day a blue flower named Bachelor Button entered her world they became friends.
She knew by his name that he was not the propagating kind, but that didn’t stop their relationship she called him BB short for best bud.
The seasons of Spring & Summer they enjoyed the sun, laughed in the rain and held on fast in the Fall.
Winter came it was long and hard they were both covered in a blanket of snow, not knowing whether they would ever see each other again or even survive .The snow fell then came the ice, this went on for months.
The Sun shone brightly the first day of spring. A few days later warmth of the sun melted the snow, Daisy popped up .
I’ve been waiting days for you to come out, said BB, they both chanted hooray!
The snow was completely gone in a few days, the birds started building their nests , bugs were crawling around ,butterflies began to visit the two flowers. I wish there were more of us Daisy said, to BB.
They laughed as the sun and wind blew through their leaves. Then it started the sun and rain took turns until one morning the air & field was filled with the smell of flowers.
Daisy and BB looked at each other and asked what kind of flowers are these ? they’re not white like daisies they’re not blue like bachelor buttons. They did not know the birds and bugs carried the seeds from the two of them and the caterpillars buried them under the soil.
The seeds from the new flowers were then carried by the winds many miles away, they landed in fertilized gardens and flourished, although they faced danger everyday.
as they were called WEEDS ..
The Gardener pulls weeds out of the garden so they don’t choke the flowers, which cost a lot of money and require lots of maintenance.
However there was a Gardener who saw her friends spending hours weeding their garden , that they didn’t have enough time to admire and enjoy the labors of their love
So she set out to give a home to all the weeds ,she provided a place where they could fit in and multiply, they required no maintenance, rain provides their water .
The best part of all is their beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Ask my granddaughter-- What are those flowers in the garden ?
She will answer "WILDFLOWERS " their parents were Daisy and BB
when winter comes and skeletons of trees
stand starkly upon the snow
i will think of you
and your head on my lap before the fireplace
skating on the gaunt, deep pond
where we made love on brighter days
hot chocolate and fired brandies
and standing at windows while flurries fell
when it is spring again and trees bear promises
as islands of snow die slowly in their shadows
i will think of you
when all was alive again and you believed in us
within the world of nest-making and streams going home
making bouquets of foothill flowers
constantly profaning the word “forever”
and imagining that winter was forever gone
when summer is upon me with sweltering wrath
i will come to the forest where we walked and
i will think of you
where we were prone beneath the well dressed limbs
in a canopy above us, fitted into one another like lovers
by the quarry lake where you were covered in beads of water
and the sun loved you and glistened upon your body
where i looked at you as one would view sunsets or miracles
autumn will come with all its dark omens and i will walk
upon the crisp leaves made spectacular by death
and i will think of you
where the earth wore its gaudy colors while ours had faded
into the murky hues of uneasiness and fear
and soon the trees will awaken alone and naked to the world
and i will understand their plight in a box called home
where once laughter lived and life was wonderful
there was a time before seasons and sentiment
when small, gentle hands covered my eyes with giggles
and you gasped, “oh, i’m sorry! i thought you were someone else!”
i smiled then and replied, “i am.”
it was the spring of us that led into the caldron of summer passion
before time and treasons took their toll
before reality and reason tore the glitter from our eyes
and our autumn came that condemned us to our winter
An old board and a rope had made me a swing,
Sitting there when I was around the age of nine,
I curiously looked up to see the first sign of spring,
Where a robin was building a nest of twigs entwined.
Summer's heat burned my shoulders, so I sought shade,
I climbed up into your strong arms at the age of fourteen,
Along with a book, I relaxed in a solitude no one could invade,
I found myself lost within the pages and the leaves of green.
On a lazy, autumn afternoon, at the age of twenty-three,
I raked the dead leaves that buried my feet into a pile,
Through the orange limbs my black cat peered down at me,
Then leapt from the tree to play among the leaves for awhile.
Now, as I am rapidly approaching the age of thirty-one,
Branches are encased in ice, as winter continues to unfold,
From my window, I see the cardinals and the disappearing sun,
Reminding me that life still survives in the bitter cold.
March, 7th, 2014
Gail Angel Doyle's contest - "Memories On Branches"
seasons is the relationship.
changes a lot.
SUMMER tells us the value of FRIENDS.
WINTER tells us the caring of FRIENDS.
SPRING is about the quarrel with the FRIENDS.
AUTUMN tells about the LONELINESS.
THUNDER occurs when you fight with me.
LIGHTING occurs when.,
i miss my LOVED ONE.
RAIN occurs when.,
i spend time with my LOVELY ONE.
BREEZE occurs when you give a SMILE after a CRY.
that's the life,
which i spend with my DEAR ONE.
There are four seasons in a year. Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter. In the Spring time, you can enjoy the outdoors and go for a walk. And look at the trees turning beautiful colors, you can also enjoy raking the leaves into a big pile and jump into them. We also know the New Year is coming with Winter. Winter is a cold month with snow, now the children can play outside in the snow. And everyone else can enjoy the snow also.
so far the days of singing rays
have come to meet their sullen end
twixt nights of joy with hidden ploy
a sweetly tone, they do offend
O gasp! the serpent true must strike
O gasp! the lustful raging psych
whose cares are lost forever long
roaring out, O hear my song!
ideas soon drain, decisions fill
a mind at pace with thoughts that spill
float soundlessly thy solstice chill
the misty seep, foreboding reap
emotions run amok like thieves
for darkly cast, a favored past
along is lain misguided leaves
Looking through the lattice like grid One pane springs forth the budding greens flowering colors, an early sun so vivid As seasons change, so the reflective scene Viewing next pane but not quite the same greener a child dives into watery sheen to cool himself from the suns hot flame As the next pane turns a little frosty, greens leave for the coming golden and reds A light rain dances on the lake, geese are lofty, as times change, yet wings of beauty are spread Icicles drip in the window, cold has returned but the white shimmering lights remain The woven snowflakes and a child turns glides across the lake spins the last pane
Warm days herald in the spring
as she dances among young flowers
the mating call strong adds its ring
soon nestlings, calves and beavers
grow strong as she swirls past dancing
Hot flush of summer vibrant flowers
greet summer as she flashes past
in haste in case her time she flitters
falling in love a dance spell is cast
Autumn slowly following does
a dance most stately performs
she prances and flaunts on tiptoes
her stage is the forest platform
Winter grim and bleak in marches
her dance sometime very sullen
with her icy fingers she clutches
when she lets go you are heartbroken
On very rare occasions they come together
and dance around in joy of sisters united
oh what a time they have as they caper
forgetting the many times they have feuded
written 09/28/2013 by Shadow Hamilton
contest A Season's Dance
Am I crazy, or am I just talking to myself?
Look at yourself,
dacing through twilight suns
in sunshine colored dresses.
And you say I'm the crazy one.
Please, don't make me laugh,
I am too much annyoid with taught lessons,
of life and death and love is a magical thing
but I am not impressed till my Gypsy Queen
comes up from the shoreline of the Middle East
and comes and lays next to me, as we watch the ships sail
through the Golden horn of Old Istanbul
into the bay of Asia Minor.
You say I am crazy, Am I or am I just talking to myself.
I believe I am having a conversation that has no end about your beauty,
I talk to whomever has an open ear, and even if people listened,
Who would care about what I have to say?
Since I first laid eyes upon your beauty,
I melted and you took my sanity away from me,
you took my innocence away and turned me into a worried monster.
I love you, and you take me home with you
to meet your father and mother,
both poets who made love and created a beautiful poem called you.
I am in love with you, your songs you sing,
sounding better than a nightingale in the midst of the twilight.
Walking the seashores with your mother as I talk to your father.
He isn't listening, all though he is a good actor,
for he acts if he knows what I say to him.
I talk of you and marriage,
throwing of the rice, exchanging of the golden crowns,
the tolling of church bells, and a happy reception afterwards.
The honeymoon, meant for the first born to carry on the family crest.
As we grow old, I want to grow old with you
Nothing now, a few thousand miles of ocean and sea
seperates us from each other.
Do not worry, for I shall come one day
in the month of May, your mother's favorite month
and I shall bring along a golden ring, a pearl necklace and two roses.
We shall walk the streets together hand and hand,
and wait for the wedding guests to arrive and see us on our way
to new beginnings in holy mantrimony.
Care for me,
I ask you one question, Am I crazy, or am I just talking to myself?
Talking to white walls that don't responed with life.
I need you, too give me a straight answer, to love me
embrace me with your beauty and let me drink from your knowledge.
For my sweet Persian Bride, I shall love you for eternity.
Now, come off the beach and cross the crossing paths
of mortality and morality and join hands with me,
as we sing the nights away, along with the sweet nightingales.
As we look into each other's eyes
I ask you, am I crazy to love you?
I remember the cabin by the lake in the wood
and Grandma giving us buckets, telling us we should
walk up the creek to get some water from the stream.
Remembering it now is almost like a dream.
No electricity, no plumbing, no water at hand
but we thought it the prettiest place in the land.
In spring we got water not far from the door.
As summer progressed we had to walk a little more.
By August the spring barely flowed at all
so we'd follow the stream, though we were quite small.
Alone in the woods with a bucket each,
following that creek 'til a pool we'd reach.
Filling the buckets, then back down the hill.
This was our chore, I remember it still.
We'd pick wild flowers and try to catch frogs,
taking too long as we walked along logs.
Every morning two buckets of water we brought.
These were for drinking, lake water was not.
Lake water was boiled and used for cleaning up.
The only one who drank it was the cocker spaniel pup.
The stream was the run-off from melted snow.
Down the mountain it ran, to the lake below.
Fast and furious , the winter through
but gentle and quiet by summer it grew.
The cabins at the lake are updated now
with electricity and plumbing but I remember how
two eight year old girls went for water each day.
Their chore done before they headed off to play.
for Constance's 'Write Me a rippling Stream'
( seasons that I love ) 5-7-5-7-7 Tanka poetry.
I love all seasons;
Plants and flowers bloom in spring
Birds sing in summer
Leaves tumbling down in autumn
Snow caps mountains in winter
By Dr Ko Ko Thein (a) Dr Mya Thein
She slips from the sleeping ice.
Green, fresh, free to flow
through the great fjord.
Past the blue mountains.
She glides smoothly
over the rocks with glee,
covering them with her cool touch.
Tall evergreens cheer her on.
Waving as she courses down her chosen path,
All the while never tiring!
Surging forward to join the others like her.
This vast journey ,
will not end till she reaches
The Great Shores.
Her journey is joyful.
Touching all on her banks,
leaving the gift of life in her wake.
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.
Your love is an endless melody played just for me
Sweet notes in spring and all SUMMER long
A single ROSE for a lonely heart.
Your love is a joyful afternoon RENDEZVOUS. IT IS MORE
than just the spirit of my leaping heart. It is as rare as a
LAVANDER ROSE. It is the MASTER OF all loves, an enigma
Never to be understood.
It pulls at every invisible heart string. It is the DELICATE cloth which binds my soul. it causes me to aspire
To that which has been silently DESIRED .
YOUR Love is a MEADOW filled with VIOLET blades of grass
Each blade has its own unique name whispered on winds with
It is each and EVERYTHING every single day and all that sings
Cherry blossoms bloom;
the townspeople sing, laugh, dance:
hope springs eternal.
This poem is dry/
Free from liquid tongues/
It cries out loud as the misty words blown reflects winter/
Hearts cold /
This poem is mine/
Re-read it after a while/
The message turns warmer in time/
You are told/
It carries old expressive survivors who died in the future/
Marry words that lose leaves but surviving the bitter cold season/
Words that bought blankets for them lyrical branches/
This poem is sweet/
Dry poems have rights to be pleased/
This poem is sweet/
Rhymes shelter on the sentence's rooftop before engagement parties/
Cut and paste scissors blur the vision/
Not true expression/
Bees group hug in mud of resurrected angels to echo this poem/
Echo this poem/
Spread the word in this cold world/
We will all get warm/
It’s October, we find time to go by the spring-house to get the tulips. It is time to prepare for winter and the inevitable coming of spring. The bulbs look hopelessly dead and ugly, rather pitiful in fact. John nurtures them tenderly.
tucks the bulbs in bed
till spring's alarm
Through many snows and chilling temperatures, we do not consider at all what is taking place under the ground. One warm March day we see tiny noses poking up through the soil around the back porch. By April, we are sitting in the swing admiring the result of John’s loving labor of last fall.
seeing the blooms
How could such ugliness have turned to such beauty in the cold, hard earth? As May approaches bringing other flowers, our short-lived tulips drop their blossoms and say good-bye. But as John knows, the wisest of gardeners do not hasten to bother the beauty in its passing.
dust to dust
all blossoms shrivel
food for the soil
wilting leaves nourish the bulb
hidden in the ground
The bulb remains unattractive throughout the whole cycle of growth. Along in mid-July when all external signs of life have faded, John removes the unsightly bulbs from their bed, putting them back in the spring-house until fall. Without them, there will be no blossoms next spring. It is the care we show the bulb which bursts into the beauty we bless in time.
Effulgent sun proffers love
Above the undergrowth…of
Thorns and weeds
The moon unravels wonders
a kiss of sunshine
pouty crimson horizon
Beneath groaning wood
And shrill midsummer whistling
Cherry blossom girl