Prose Poetry Seasons Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Seasons

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Details | Prose Poetry |

Seasons and Imaginations

Wind so cold.
Fondles my face.
The tears from heaven.
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.
     like it's my first time in the snow.
     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 | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Her Name was Autumn

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

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Cherries in December

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

Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |

Hunting for Spring

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

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

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

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

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

Written for my good Friend Jack Ellison.

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |


REFRAINS OF WINTER SONATA When fallen brown leaves brush a sepia picturesque and the bubbly breeze blows a heated winter sonata, the giant roses of clouds are teased, they shed icy petals tumbling, drifting like little ballerinas dropping to rest on branches of trees, grasses, houses and down to window ledges clustering in lily-white hues. Frosty mornings and nights lure the need for warmth from brewed coffee, a kiss or just a minute of touch... Absorbing the air, alone, I wander to the cover-walks, I see children tramping and playing on hills of frost, some couples carelessly sliding, they laugh out loud, yet afar, some robins, deer and beggars frown in despair as they are homeless. No fire nor a person to cuddle with. No adequate food to eat nor a flowing water to drink too... Cold. Wet. All white, frozen snow-tears are in their eyes and so I am one afternoon, a year and six months ago. The winter atmosphere can stir love passions within but how can it all be when the only woman, I love. I wanted to marry and ready to give my all: refused me? She, slowly walking away, leaving me crying-- a snow. ________________________________________________________ ~~SPONSOR: Broken Wings CONTEST: Write ME A Winter Poem~~ __Olive Eloisa Guillermo__ 8:16 pm, November 14, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

A Girl Named Autumn

Seasons change as do people... 

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

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

In Fall

In fall, Boomer Halloweens produce orange and black memories.
     Will I ever outgrow treat-laden bags and glowing pumpkins? 
Van Gogh's flaming hand draws crowds in the Blue Ridge;
     he paints the trees, but God does the skies.
The slanting sunlight creeps up my back, 
     its lengthening rays whispering “snow.”
Manic animals off their meds gather food.
     Stashes forgotten, they must follow winter's diet.
Sleep comes early to me now, in fall.

Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Here Comes Winter Again

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

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

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

Check out my writings at:

Copyright © Samar Saleh | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |

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 | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |

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 
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 
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 

Copyright © Daniel Cheeseman | Year Posted 2010

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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,
waiting 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 | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

As Time Passes

As Time Passes 

Today a swift breath
of wind slapped my cheeks
leaving a tingling chill.

The sky’s face grew gloomy
shedding crocodile tears
falling like water rocks.

Dormant by passing time
flower buds and seeds
sought storage shelters
in terrestrial cabins.

we sit by the window
contemplating the new arrival.

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

Sacred Mother Earth- Colors Of Nature

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright © anne p. murray | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |

In This Beginning

Exactly where and when does Ego begin,
my creation story introduction,
and is there anything in there about a sequel?

Identity of EarthTime revolving HeavenlyStimulants,
autonomic memory unfolding Ego's storage capacity,
regeneratively biased in favor of time's continuance,
dipolar dynamics of balance and diastatic-diastolic harmony,
evolving Ego-function rooted in Elder PrimeTime's 
seasons of light and dark landscapes.

Birth through young adulthood
diastolic trending eco-biosystems,
and then from mature adulthood on through disbirth
decompositional interior processing trends
reviewing regenerative exterior experiential forms with ecofunctions
sinking deeply into ecoconscious CoPresent Great Transition
diastatic (0)-soul TaoTime of Yang/Yin co-arising elation,
surfing love of regenerating time ourselves,
reincarnations of all prior generations of history,
children of Earth's RNA Tribes,
eco-polyconscious TransPresent bicameral memory 
refold storage

RE: investment and divestment
for/of/with/toward future regenerating health v. pathology 

TO: Ego-Identity bicameral flowstream neural-temporal incubators,
now evolving toward polypathic maturation 
of multi-paradigmatic Earth-health trends

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

Words From My Thoughts

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

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

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

Copyright © Lamptey Godson Kofi | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |


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 | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |


(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 | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |

The Center of Spring

This is perhaps the most powerful day, 
early spring giving way to the main course, 
the trees hastily bursting their buds, 
blooming in reds, oranges and yellows - 
the reflection of the opposite season, 
now with the addition of white, 
white as the clouds above, 
which can't bring themselves to look like winter clouds anymore - 
they lie in the blue air 
watching the nymphs and pixies flit through the flowering trees, 
they ride high above lawn and pasture; 
clouds are the smiling souls of sheep, 
sheep from far off and long ago, 
remembering when they were lambs at play, 
now looking down upon the new fields, 
fields that bear witness to the raging torrent of unleashed energy - 
this is Mother Nature going all in, 
both her feet upon the accelerator of change, 
lighting the afterburners with one hand while making a fist with the other,
shaking it at Old Man Winter, 
just daring him to give it one more try before October, 
that next October when the grass will be tired, 
when the tone of light and the shade of sound slow down, 
when the clouds will remember how to look like they're in cold air.

For now, the grass shines into your mind - 
that's what tells you it's that powerful day of spring, 
that special green color, 
deeper, fuller, richer, vibrant and electrifying, 
it races to your eye and fills you. 
Mother Nature twirls in the upsurge of growth - 
she can hear it, and you can see it and smell it - 
and if you get close enough you can touch it, 
blade of grass, leaf of clover, 
and you're there with all the wee beasties of the yard and garden, 
feeling what spring really is - 
all life turning its face to the sun and jumping up and down.

Copyright © Doug Vinson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

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 | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

Love and Seasons

You gave out your heart but only got back half in return. It's only a small scratch, and you climb back right up. It's okay, you say, whatever it takes as you fill up the emptiness with lies regrets and sin. After winter pasts comes spring, where life begins and flowers (love) blossoms now you're more cautious, handling your half with care. Alas, things aren't meant to last he breaks it unevenly and takes the bigger half. The ground is kind to you, and you don't want to get up. It's okay, you say, whatever it takes as you fill up the emptiness with false optimism, despair, and apathy. Because seasons do not stop for love and years will go by with springs and winters. Your weary soul has losts its identifier you no longer shiver with the cold, and flowers look like snow so when you felt the warmth again you thought it wasn't so. Was it spring? Could it be? You look out the window, trying to find more clues But it all feels the same, and so you decide against it and lock the door shut.

Copyright © Bre Varzena | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Gator Bait Series 1st Cold Snapped

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

I believe it was twenty below...

Where she was going she already knew...

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

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

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

The heater was broken and blowing cold air...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was his favourite fishing spot...

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

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

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

When I get to the Florida Keys..

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

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

The Reflection on Seasons in the Supposition of Snow.

I stared at walls and contemplated colors~

I believe it was after midnight~

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

and here we were.

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


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 | Year Posted 2007

Details | Prose Poetry |






BY FIRE???????????



Copyright © WAEL MOREICHEH | Year Posted 2008

Details | Prose Poetry |

The Story of Mr February

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

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

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

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

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

By: NH Kandjimi

Copyright © Nelson Herculano | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |


 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 | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

Glistening Silver

Glistening Silver

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

Copyright © Natala Orobello | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |


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

Copyright © Gail Roberts | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |



In the winter solstice
Of struggle,
Nets of justice and equality
Lay rotting in the inclement trying times;
Yet hope prevails.
Out of the circadian celestial revolution
Of nature’s chiming seasons,
The healing Sun will rise 
To resurrect the fallen leaves of change
And melt away
The freezing snows of injustice.

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |


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.
Architectures of the most modern world.
The skilled hands of God's artists.
As winter melted into spring
Sleepy flower beds, Slowly arising.
Tulips and peaches. Mums and daisies.
Sunkissed leaves on treetops
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.
 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 | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |


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

Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007