Best Almanac Poems
behind window's pane
i sense the still of the sky...
spent leaves whirl on by
© Harry J Horsman 2021
WINTER
in
anger-
whips up the waves,
pounds the shingle
shore
SPRING
in
action-
brings to life
and feathers its
nest
SUMMER
so
lazy-
rests the soul
and flowers the
land
AUTUMN
so
mellow-
scents and sounds
in the harvest
home.
Old Farmer’s Almanac -
Goes on sale 9/8/16
Sitting, witch like,
around a cast iron stove
wood crackling
as they confer…
Old Farmers
digging through
the soil of time
gathering the harvest
of experience
stirring the simmering
success of the years.
Codifying the coincidences
highlighting the absurdities
poking fun at the pundits
trusting the thickness
of the squirrels tale
to estimate the intent
of the coming winter.
Prognosticators
sifting the ashes
of long cold fires,
seers seeking wisdom
within the knowledge
of their touch,
within the history
of their hands,
filtered through
their simple trust
one in another
offering guidance,
breadcrumbs
to be followed
a passion preserved
a love passed on.
John G. Lawless
9/5/2015
When I was five,
I was supreme ruler
of a boundless realm.
Hopes were high,
supervision constant.
Animals could speak,
kisses could heal.
When I was fifteen,
I was third in command
of a band less than four.
Hopes were higher,
Supervision rare.
Girls could speak,
kisses could fly.
When I was twenty-five,
anarchy burned bright
waving its tricolour.
Hopes were a drag,
supervision avoided.
Speaking in tongues,
They kissed as well.
When I was thirty-five,
I was doing time,
received no letters.
Hope was a dream,
supervision everywhere.
Little spoke and
Little kissed, either.
Today I was sipping a beer
in a high-back chair
pushing out words.
Hope turned the pages,
and played with my hair.
We spoke between paragraphs,
and kissed form goodbye.
Januari brings the glow, that
Makes the beech and filbert grow
February brings the rain, that
Warms our open pool again
March brings breezes hot and still, that
Make demand for doctors skill
April brings a brimstone heat, that
Scatters blisters on our feet
May brings lots of reddish tan,
Searing sun hurts where it can
June brings flies in overdoses, that
Fill the children’s eyes and noses
Hot July brings broiling hours, with
Scalding spots and singeing showers
August sun burns sheaves of corn and
Never harvest home is borne
Warm September brings the fruit,
Tropic species start to shoot
Brown October turns virescent
There you see what's Natures present
Dull November lives at last
Lets the leaves grow whizzing fast
Chill December’s obsolete
Freezer pop’s the Christmas treat
The Almanac and the Bible
By: Tom Wright
1/18/02
Upon a shelf, two books, of black and green,
the almanac appeared most freshly laid.
It's cover divulged the service it had seen,
It's yellowish pages being dog eared and frayed.
By the second book, my eye was quickly caught,
being un-mistakenly, the pristine of the two.
It's cover still unbent, as if fresh bought,
It's unturned pages still quite crisp and new.
Holy Bible, was the title, It's binding bore,
I wondered as I wafted the dust away,
Just why the Almanac was read much more,
and curious as to what It's owner might have to say.
He said I acquire much knowledge from this one,
of moon, stars, and signs, that seeds I plant might grow.
I boldly asked if he knew God's only Son,
and watched his eyes well up as he said no.
He related to me a story, of a time when as a lad,
when the Bible was his family's only creed.
About losing the desire that once he had,
but now realized his need to sow, another kind of seed.
He said, I've felt God's presence in the night,
as sleep settled heavy oer my room.
I pondered why my thoughts took flight,
to sinful things and Hell's impending doom.
But forthwith, neath God's wings, from sin I'll hide,
as from a Lion, that daily seeks It's prey.
Being therewith content, forever to abide,
and walking in His shadow every day.
As for this Almanac, I ascertain no need,
but for this unused Bible, no more collecting dust.
It's words and teachings I'll forever heed,
I vow, in God, forever more to put my trust.
WINTER
in
anger-
whips up the waves,
pounds the shingle
shore
SPRING
in
action-
brings to life
and feathers its
nest
SUMMER
so
lazy-
rests the soul
and flowers the
land
AUTUMN
so
mellow-
scents and sounds
in the harvest
home.
Spring births abundance
Summer gives pleasant pause
Seasons set in stone
Fall gives beautiful closure
Winter's perfect storms
There's a story to be told,
That even Hollywood shared in part.
Showing entertainment by its fiction,
Could drown the mind and fill the heart.
Historically, great showmen of the day,
Would sculpt their molds with fantasy.
With enough breath of reality present,
To confuse and convince them of heresy.
Sadly, this playbook has a lengthy heritage,
As dark, cultish chapters spread throughout the land.
Where a sprinkling of legitimacy provides shelter,
While the balance follows the judicially planned.
Our most recent display of this power,
That left the majority harmless and weak,
Reinforced how wealth interacted,
Against poverty that wishes to speak.
So with steady messaging sowing a seed,
Where now great doubt was not remote.
The drumbeat of infinite freedom was heard,
As they sought a selective vote.
Through it all, the struggles continued,
From the pulpits to our highest courts.
As the powerful seek political refuge,
Behind the dollars that offer supports.
The evening stars were gone, replaced
by a spreading, ominous purple bruise of cloud.
When the wind rose, in sudden violent
crisscrossing gusts, everything went into motion.
White cabanas shook, like staked swans
flapping to fly, lavender bushes thrashed
their thorny arms as if in panic, umbrella pines
creaked and writhed like tethered balloons.
Lightning lit the winding, stony stairs, like ornamental
neon lights, as we’d run up the path from the beach.
Shockwaves of thunder accompanied the flashes
- there was no lag - the storm was there and upon us.
We were laughing and screaming, like children
chased through a dark Halloween funhouse.
The first, fat drops of rain popped behind us,
like a giant’s, arrhythmic, snapping fingers.
As we reached the open, French, louvered doors,
that led from our suite down to the shoreline,
we body-slammed them against the tempest.
And braced them fully closed with our backs, as if to vilify the
natural courses of wind and rain with an animal will to break in.
The lashing monsoon heralded our urgent, stormy union.
We were like the storm - insistent, wild and untamed.
All was revealed on that flashing, tempestuous night
as need, euphoria and lightning lit the naked night
.
.
A song for this:
Walk Between Raindrops by Donald Fagen
Hurricane Waters by Citizen Cope
wiseacres worked out
wishy-washy withdrawals
worth the worst wording
The word almanac is originally Arabic word means literally weather, astronomical data, and (sun, moon, and many stars) observations.
almanac or al-manakh
the weather data
Arabic origin word
November’s the month that you get a chance, To spend time outside a little while longer. Warm sunny days may show up now and then, But the wind is cooler and a little bit stronger.
Leaf’s dangling on branches here and there, Plenty of warning before they are totally bare. Darkness comes early, light no longer yours, Better get busy, finish up those outdoor chores.
Repair all the cracks in the window panes, Clean out the twigs and leaves in your drains. Stack up plenty of logs in a nearby covered space You’ll have nightly warmth coming from your fireplace.
November gives you the time to put your mind at ease, The Almanac gives warning, this winter a deep freeze. Sitting by the fire with your coffee, you have not a care, You were the smart one, you knew how well to prepare.
Author Eileen Clark