Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

See and share Beautiful Nature Photos and amazing photos of interesting places


Best Andrea Dietrich Poems

Below are the all-time best Andrea Dietrich poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

View ALL Andrea Dietrich Poems

123
Details | Andrea Dietrich Poem

Cinder Girl

An ember sparked will softly glow,
and fed by fuel, will grow and grow.
I once was cinder, sparked by you,
first timid. . . till the flames then grew.

And so our start was touch of dawn,
with amber hue, for I was drawn
to eyes so welcoming and warm
I never guessed you’d do me harm.

Like morning glory, love in June
the rapture of mid-afternoon,
romance of which the ancients wrote,
our passion had no antidote.

And with the dusk, though scarlet tinged,
our love began to come unhinged,
for clouds arrived, which filled your eyes,
extinguishing bright twilight skies.

With cold of night came shadows’ pall,
and I could not tear down your wall.
By midnight’s hour, the fire was dead.
Mere ashes smoldered in its stead.

You left, and should you reappear,
I’ve vowed to shun you.  Now I fear
the very thing for which I yearn -
one touch. . . and then again - to burn.

For John Heck's contest: Love - It Heals & It Hurts


Details | Andrea Dietrich Poem

A Tale of Fire and Ice

Part I: Ice

He shines like silver midnight moon -
cool marble statue, this tycoon.
And though he makes the ladies swoon,
of ice he’s hewn.; of ice he’s hewn.

He’s poker-faced and can deceive
competitors and can achieve
most anything, but can’t conceive
of Genevieve, of Genevieve.

Like Neptune, distant from the sun -
relationships he chose to shun.
He thought the search for love was done.
He has no one; he has no one.

Now love’s allure has come his way.
What will he do? What will he say?
Will he grab hold, beg love to stay,
or let it stray? Or let it stray?

Part II: Fire

This dragoness disguised in lace -
passion’s flower with angel’s face,
precisely picks the time and place
each dream to chase, each dream to chase.

Like ink the color red, she stains
the hearts of those whose love she drains,
and then she leaves when naught remains
No lust she feigns; no lust she feigns.

And now there’s one who would suffice.
For him alone, she’d sacrifice
her everything, so he of ice
she must entice, she must entice.

So Genevieve now strikes the flame.
Will man of ice his love proclaim?
Beneath her fire and his cold frame,
they’re both the same. They’re both the same.

By Andrea Dietrich 

For Carol Brown's FIRE And ICE Poetry Contest
and now for PD's Best Love poem 3 Poetry Contest


Details | Andrea Dietrich Poem

September

"September, beautiful month of my birth, is nigh, but I cannot feel glad." September, drifting in with glow of moon, you stifle Summer’s ardor. . . and she grieves. In guise of fire, the Fall comes all too soon. Your breath grows cool. You’ll blow and loosen leaves. The hills and woodlands will reflect new hues. You stifle Summer’s ardor. . . and she grieves. In Autumn’s chill, the colors are a ruse. For as you pass, the trees are set ablaze. The hills and woodlands then reflect new hues. Though warmth may linger through your final days, old Sun is waning, yet he still seems strong! For as you pass, the trees are set ablaze. September, you’re a melancholy song. Though time be short, you paint a brilliant dusk! Old sun is waning, yet he still seems strong. October looms. . . Your ending will be brusque. September, drifting in with glow of moon, though time be short, you paint a brilliant dusk. In guise of fire, the Fall comes all too soon.
by Andrea Dietrich For the contest of Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~ "A Poem, Please"


Details | Andrea Dietrich Poem

In Strangler's Wood

In forest dark where trees bend low
beneath a slice of half moon’s glow,
          silent shadows waver there,
          chilled by gusts of autumn air.

Quavering, as if afraid,
they fall on stumps from trees decayed.
     among those stumps the shadows creep
     and shroud a form that seems asleep.

Lightning flashes . . . Thunder peals.
A sight forlorn the light reveals
          a man, quite dead, in woolen coat,
          with scarf of death left on his throat.

The shadows saw, and now they quake,
lone witnesses in murder’s wake.
     They cannot speak, but if they could,
     they’d tell all travelers of the wood:

"We’re not the foe.  It’s one of you
that makes us tremble as we do.
          Although we loom and cause you fear,
          something worse is lurking here."

Then Thunder echoes in accord
as from the sky, cold rain is poured.
     And silent shadows start to shrink
     into a night of blackened ink.


Entered and won a placement in the Contest: My Favorites








Details | Andrea Dietrich Poem

This Night

I’m driftwood, and I’m floating out to sea as sun descends upon my home - the grove of trees whose fragrance still remains with me. And likewise, heaven’s work of art, a mauve surrounding me, now permeates my soul. Warm water, in the twilight growing cold, is rocking me. Beneath dark blue, a shoal moves swiftly; overhead there will unfold the myriad of stars in semblance of a giant carousel in dimming sky. Those stars that glitter for the grove I love will glitter too for me, where here I lie alone, enraptured. . . and I think I might drift evermore, enveloped by this night. Written by Andrea Dietrich and entered in the Put Your Best Rhyme Forward!!!!!Contest of Just That Archaic Poet


Details | Andrea Dietrich Poem

The Rose Bowl

The sky is one gigantic bowl of pink turned upside down, spilling soft rosy petals that peeked out from beneath snow white billowed clouds till - fully blossomed - they burst out. Growing radiant at the edge of twilight, they’ve scattered as rubescent streaks falling, lush and luminescent, as we watch in solitude. No parade this evening - just you and I aglow, wishing for an eternity to be like this: so splendidly in love. . . in the pink.


Details | Andrea Dietrich Poem

My Tree's Seasons

spring wakens my tree - a bejeweled perfumed bride. . . . love birds make their nest summer’s yellowed lawn beneath my tree’s sombrero. . . . grass breathes sweet relief fall’s quick change artist - from green to gold to crimson. . . . disrobed, my tree naps For PD's All About Trees (old/new) poem Poetry contest


Details | Andrea Dietrich Poem

A Button Poem

Buttons for game pieces, buttons on totes,
Buttons on toys, shoes, sweaters and coats.

Buttons that open and buttons that close
On pockets and purses and edges of clothes.

Buttons that decorate; buttons that don’t.
Buttons I'm sure to lose; buttons I won’t.

Buttons as filler for bean bags and such.
Buttons collected are not used so much!

Buttons on greeting cards and on jewelry!
Thousands of buttons adorning a tree!

Buttons to reset , to turn on a light.
There’s “Cute as a button” and also as “bright“!

Button up (but not down); push them “hot” (but not cold);
“Button your lip” and do as your told!

Though buttons may vanish one day from earth,
We'll wear on our bellies - buttons since birth!


Details | Andrea Dietrich Poem

How Poetry Began

That thing that we call poetry - when asked where it began, I’d say it started beautifully before the dawn of man! It glistened on the oceans before man came to be. It blossomed on the grassy cliffs that met the first great sea. It glittered in the moon and stars and beamed on earth below in meadows where bright flowers danced and on the pristine snow. It sparkled on the lakes and streams, and when man came along, he took sweet words that flowed to him and turned them into song. This was how it always was before we knew of time. The poet who begot us all made it to be sublime. Poetry has now evolved, and as with many things, there are many kinds. . . but I still like it when it sings! Inspired by the contest of Justin Bordner and some of the beautiful poems I've been seeing in this contest


Details | Andrea Dietrich Poem

A Dryad's Tale

One day while passing by a tree, I heard a sigh. It seemed the oak could speak; I felt my knees go weak, for like a siren’s song, his whisper made me long to stop and lay me down upon his shaded ground. Because the day was hot, I lingered at that spot. The oak got in my mind because I felt inclined to slip out of my dress, and yes, I must confess it was as if that tree had cast a spell on me! With words of poetry, he started wooing me. His leaves then brushed my skin. I trembled deep within. His branches were so lush, I hoped I would not blush to think each sturdy limb might draw me up to him. I don’t know how or why, but under summer’s sky I disappeared into his essence and I knew the tree had captured me. His wood nymph I would be, for he and I were one that day beneath the sun. As if immortal, now I live beneath his bough; at times I disappear within him, but no fear lives in me any more because the forest floor I roam now with great joy; the woodland is my home! Beneath the firmament, lost in my oak tree’s scent, I feel completely free, his beauty all I see. A young maid passes by; perhaps she hears us sigh and thinks it but the breeze now passing through the trees. But no, it is but I, beneath the summer sky locked in my tree’s embrace, and with my new found grace, I look at her and see the girl I used to be, and my reality is this sweet fantasy I have several poems that are favorites but this is one based on fantasy and I really liked how it turned out!


123