Best Months Poems
January brash and bold,
Brings the worst of winter's cold.
February's stay is brief,
Green sprouts showing some relief.
March may come in like a lamb
And soon become ferocious ram.
Changeling April flirts a bit
And well may have a stormy fit.
We revel in the days of May
And beg her to extend her stay.
We could not bear she leave so soon
Did she not bequeath us, lovely June.
When perfection comes, it comes in June
While July plays a hotter tune.
August can be warmer still.
September brings a welcome chill.
October can go either way
With cooler night and warmer day.
November comes with wind and rain
Predicting winter's wrath again.
December brings the holidays
Silver bells and Christmas plays.
These happy times help us forget,
About December's snow, a bit.
Accept each month the best you can.
God needs them for His yearly plan.
By: Joyce
A Look Back at Eighteen Months Here-The Show is Over
When your poems reside in a shoe,
like mine,
pounding the pavement to nowhere.
The onset of blisters isn't imagined.
Those blisters take roots,
hindering your motivation
to move-
and to continue to write.
It hurts.
Seeing those poems take residence
in pity.
Sans the
comfort of
leather and lace,
shine and sole,
all of which would have been nice.
But all my eyes see are my poems,
tucked away in worn loafers,
unpolished,
unnoticed.
Not exactly eye candy.
But eyesores ...judging by the lack of views, here.
And undoubtedly my shoes made of synthetics
and sneakers
to the purveyors of good poetry
and good shoeshine.
I look down for good reason,
defacto
and stigmatized,
no contest wins,
no poems ever in the top 100 (new) list,
no scent of roses (or views),
nothing.
Nothing.
An abyss of sublimity,
save for the white bird
that chirps
to nobodies ears.
To wit.
For he who signs up for this site
got a handful of mixed emotions,
confetti less tomorrows,
a begotten rah, rah,
a ladle of spiel,
poems published ...
and in my case alone footnote
that I was a member
sans the shoe shine.
I really have to admit,
writing here,
eighteen months now,
has taken its toe.
I have no one to blame but myself.
Kind Regards,
connie pachecho
4/26/2018
The proprietor of the show has decided to call it quits, citing mental health issues here. The posse of black bears got to me. The guises, pretense, and hate towards me eroded my spirit. Tell her she can play with my insanity but not my spirit. To my readers, I really appreciate your patronage during this journey here even though the crops are bare and the barn fronts a blank stare.
The cows fight with the pigs, and bacon went to waste. One thing I take is the seed in me to aspire elsewhere, which I've already planted at HP under the name Logan Robertson. Thanks again. Wish everybody the best.
He's infuriatingly...
pretty...
and I follow myself over his smile to find my eyes, promising uncertainty and chewing on
my bottom lip with the hunger that resides in...
love...
He rolled me over and kissed my dreams, his mouth became my salvation and I nailed myself
to the bedpost as we made love, my legs became morning while I screamed midnight to the
dawn...
and I had never seen such a beautiful sunrise, I had never seen the beginning color herself so
strangely...
I told him, as our eyes appeared shallow, as the light dimmed and he breathed summer on my
neck...
“Blue is blue, Dear, don't try to shade it with red.”
But he explained to me the art of bruises, he informed me the results were beautiful, and
he held up a mirror to my unmarked skin, places where the black and blue and...
purple...
has dissipated...
while he sheltered my chest with his hand, covering my heart with his palm, and told me
the results still beat...
in.me.
I cried, tears of the rain that once fell in April, and he held me, time slipping between
us, beads of sweat that spoke eternity and seven more months, and I spoke silently so he
could hear me, I whispered his name...
“God, you're beautiful,” he said on the second I realized the sadness had left me, that
she had found content and was studying the games we never played with the fascination of a
child, I touched his cheek with the surreal movements that occur when one has fallen and
been caught and smiled at the thought of us...
I sacrificed my pain that night, I handed it straight over to midnight when the day broke,
I blended the sunrise with blue and watched the sky turn purple with him right beside me,
I counted the minutes to eternity and he laughed at my obsessions as he told me I was...
beautiful...
as he drank my belief off my left shoulder with a kiss...
and I looked at him, in the light, my eyes deep with the memories of the sea, as I kissed
him, with a certainty I never questioned as tomorrow started forever...
and he would live inside me
for seven
more
months.
I always feel like a prisoner in the winter, banished from the outside by the jealous wind. As I get older, I continue to make peace with the cold, but I follow the spring. It is a different door, one covered with vines and stars, and to it I am drawn, as if to a beautiful girl.. no other days compare to her.
The flash of a disposable camera, clicked with young fingers, pink-polished nails. A yellow sun dress patterned with orange daisies. The basket on the bike is filled with stuff for lunch, sodas and sandwiches and things. Laughter resounds over the tops of trees as we careen, the children of May, across the sun-spotted road.
The compass points north
You know, this is Saturday
That means we go east
You yell to me that I run too fast, but all I hear is my heartbeat in my ears. I look back, you run faster. The evening begins to cast a spell in our town; the colors purple and orange appear like watercolor in the sky and we both stop to watch. Vapor trails crisscross above us, they're streaks across the fading day, pieces of the memories we've made.
Heat lightning at night
She's reading a magazine
Sarah's rare green eyes
To your door we go, but only you proceed. Your father doesn't trust me yet, but I tell you that I'll try harder. Maybe, one day, he'll give me a pat on the shoulder and a smile. It does hurt, I won't deny, to listen to the screen door wheeze shut and hear your bounding footsteps on the stairs. What comforts me is that I know tomorrow brings you around again, walking through a high archway, lovely enough to steal the sun's attention from the flowers.
These suburban dreams
The pink and yellow houses
Waiting with my thoughts
-For Debbie Guzzi's "Spring Haibun" contest
January Cold
Freezing
Wheezing
February Valentine's Woe’s
Dating
Waiting
March Rainbow
Find pot
Gold sought
April Showers
Powers
Flowers
May Migration
Hummer
Comer
June Summer Night
Night Loons
Full Moons
July Fireworks
Dogs fear
Bombs near
August Humid Day
Sweaty
Fretty
September Trees
Leaves fall
Bares all
October Haunted House
Fright night
Ghost white
November Turkey Jerky
Quick swoop
Flown Coop
December Holiday Shopping
Online
Devine
Spring and Fall join hands
squeezing sadness from our hearts
green and threadbare leaves
11/11/2021
The First Six Months
January, you remind me to close the door to yesteryear
And to welcome the new entry ways you have for me
Febuary, I'm off and running, and not the least bothered by
Any resolutions that I did not make
March, I am filled with the energy you bring and the anticipation
for things just ahead
April, with a name like yours, how can I not see and feel the
Spirit of resurrection in the air? Ah April, how refreshing you are
May, I have seen and crossed many bridges, both the great and
Beautiful ones, but none serve up the service you deliver. Why,
You are the calm and silent one connecting and blending the warmth
Of Spring with the heat of Summer.
June, your name competes with April and I will say this: I am acquainted
With a lady name April, but one of my best friends has a wife name June.
She is one jewel of a person.
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They quickly pass, the waning days more brief,
like love once shied beneath a garish moon,
expose the truths betrayed by Autumn's thief.
Infatuation always ends too soon ~
still tethered to the oak, a hopeful leaf...
for Andrea's "Half Past Summer" Contest
"Suicide doesn't kill the pain-
it just passes it on to someone else"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
weeping from loss I emptied the ocean,
remembering each emotion
abandoned by devotion-
sights unseen by nude eyes shine,
forgetting your dear heart is divine-
please spread angel dust as a sign...
that you will be fine
ice falls down your cheek-
frozen like the air i breath
winter never knew her value,
for she is a season of loss
and o, those honey-hazel eyes
you wear-
once full of honeysuckle
brilliance,
now enveloped by thoughts
of your willow weeping,
your ebon pupils dilate-
(forever blinded by my affliction)
i gently tucked your laugh away
for safekeeping
lost in a landslide of non-forgotten
lachrymose moments
“reveries of safety try to flow,
but they've been sandbagged by pain and woe”
youthful lesions crawl with ease-
one pin prick to the heart is
enough to be lost inside what might
have been
searching for touches needing
to be touched,
longing to kiss the unkissable
craving to voice what’s unspeakable
shielding your innocence to fear not
what lied ahead-
(soul stolen by youthful demons)
the december rain is falling, and-
so are you
~three months later~
seems like a long time
but it’s been no time-
feels like a lifetime…
since you've gone
for i cannot live
with your need to swallow death-
sin of an angel
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Forms used:
Rhyme (AAABBBB), Verse, Couplet, Verse, Senryu
August 8, 2019
Only six months 'til Christmas...
Yes, just six months to go-
I'd best start making lists,
Buying bottles for' ‘rellies' who like to get pissed
And scouring for bargains at Tesco.
Only six months since the last one
And I've just finished paying the bills-
The credit card's clear
(Like that barrel of beer),
And I feel a bit green 'round the gills.
I'd better start writing cards soon;
(It’s much harder nearer the time)
But I just hope nobody dies:
Last year I sent Brenda's too early,
And her wake got quite a surprise:
Reading cards by the coffin,
Expecting sombre tones,
It said "Hope you get drunk
And make whoopee with Dunk! "
P.s. You know how to have a good time!'
It's only six months 'til Christmas.
I hardly remember why
We prepare for so long,
Get stressed when it goes wrong
It makes me just want to cry!
It's six months since the last one
And I forgot to send the socks to Uncle John.
I found them in the drawer,
Stuck right near the floor.
Never mind, I'll re-wrap them anon.
I know I sound like a miser
And it's the season of generosity,
But it's hard to be carefree
When I can only shop at Aldi
And my income is almost all gone.
This year I promise to be
More organised,
Thoughtful and full of good cheer.
Well... promises are made to be broken.
And anyway, there's always NEXT year!
Copyright Emily Joshua
It took only two seconds to realise what would become
A friendship.
Only if it could have lasted.
It seemed we couldn't be separated,
Everyday we spent together.
Then
I fell for you
But,
You asked of her.
Jealousy fell upon me.
Words were then spoken,
Thats when everything ended.
3 Months
It wasn't suppose to end so soon
But it did.
It hurt,
I lost a best friend,
A lifetime friend
And
My one true love,
In just
3 Months.
Words do hurt
As well as actions.
Thats the mistake I did,
It took only two seconds to realise what would become
An end
To a great friendship.
Length of days begins to wane, twilight quickens
and moonlight obeys the seasonal call of nature.
The time is half past summer, two months till fall
and the warm splayed fingers of sunlight's heat
are reaching for the zenith of their time to reign.
Soon, night will darken earlier; stars appear brighter,
and autumn's crisping days will wither crimson leaves
fluttering in swan song dances, swirling on the ground.
The leaves have not yet begun to turn the bright colors of autumn,
but night air is chill as if it knows you have gone from my life;
gone with the warmth of summer; leaving my life lackluster.
Bleak February,
masquerading as the month of love,
though no redeeming qualities are born in you.
No purple berry
nor fuchsia flower blooming brightly,
just sighing earth between pale moons of snow.
The garden fairy
sleeps undisturbed in frozen blankets,
waiting for sweet robins to awaken her.
Heavy to carry,
this dreary pause in changing seasons,
colorless like a vintage family photo.
March, please be wary -
you will have so much tidying to do,
erasing death and decay to welcome spring
Anthony Bianco / Tie Dye in July
~~~
Find fairies in January
learn fae contrary ~
Sword perry in February
effective thrusts vary ~
Fertilize yards in March
battle patches sparse ~
Plant maples in April
tree growth enable ~
Inhale nature in May
gorgeous green display ~
Write tunes in June
serenade listening moon ~
Tie dye in July
before fireworks fly ~
Keep promises in August
reinforce your honest ~
Pile leaves in September
jumpers seek center ~
Groom Rover in October
unbearable canine odor ~
Prepare turkey in November
calendar scheduled attender ~
Feel elfish all December
Santa’s toy assembler ~
~~~