Best Seasonally Poems
Music and romance are camarilla comrades,
just like poems are my shield and arrows.
But not all lullabies of lovers,
harmonise like a street choir of angels.
If love resembles the weather,
then poetry is like a snowflake.
Its fragile abstract nature
can betray the innocence of a poetic heart -
serenading in slaughtered symphonies of silence.
When lust burns in assailable impurity,
love suffers in small doses,
performing a masquerade concealing truthful tones.
So what is the purpose of poetry if it offers no remedy?
Whispering winds form hailstorms in my mind,
wondering if there is a sanctuary
for lonely spirits suffering as seasonally sad souls.
In the midst of melancholic misfortune,
I wish to drown in tepid tides of holy water,
because fate is frozen in winter wanderlust.
Heartache taught me how to be a poet,
each scar inflicted from profound lies and cries.
But what is the purpose of poetry if there is no muse?
In the perception of imagination,
I search for the one
who left frozen tears on my pillowcase.
But her eyes see celestite waves kissing
ecru shorelines under blue pearlescent skies,
blessed with the radiance of saffron sunshine,
in the heavenly harmony of relaxing music.
So, I wonder why she resides in ebony emotions,
refusing to dance, lost in lyrical lament.
Some spirits evolve into envious entities,
but mine just misses the rose window to her soul.
When wine dark skies glare in misery and gloom,
composing ashen clouds to pour in plentiful rain,
I feel the chills of an Antarctic iced leaf on an ice covered lake,
but maintain an evergreen glow,
hoping to forever illuminate like cathartic moonlight -
reflecting upon her bronze fibers.
Opposites attract like fireflies in the night.
I am the bridge and you are the chorus.
so I follow footprints in the snow,
under the guidance of devotary sincere stars.
In the hope we will make melodies at midnight -
merging into rivers of unassailable purity
And If I can't be a poet, then I'll become a poem.
I cannot predict how my ink will spill,
so will you guide each verse to give it a purpose,
breathing my words into life?
Will you love me more than poetry?
Kissing all those diamond promises
into my rhinestone heart -
or will you massacre the music,
abandoning me like an unfinished symphony.
The stranger in the mirror says:
Alz is not well
Those grey hairs alzways lose twenty-something
track of time ...
can’t tell when he’s at,
where he last slept
Or how he fell
My sixty-ish seconds of elusive,
lucid thought
wanna know why
am I wearing bottoms
shaped like a bell
As this bruised sanity,
so mnemonic frail,
vainly cling to the psychedelic notion
that these reminiscing eyes
are seeing swell
Alz is definitely not well
Got a funhouse mirror of the mind,
giving me the strangest
distortions of time
Had a spring dew wedding yesterday!
But my closest, unfamiliar kin repeatedly tell me,
my winter wife dearly passed away
ten years ago —
The wrinkled tears seasonally show,
120 new moon recall cycles
that ebb and flows
It alzways bothers me,
how it can be
that cherished memories
vanish like vapor
Sunset forgetfulness dawns so easily
Like the mist on the mirror,
which that vaguely familiar stranger breathe
As the nauseating fog of forgetfulness
uneasily dissipates once more,
I'm beginning to slowly understand
why it is, that blank expression reflection
in the mirror I do alzways abhor
It’s got my precious recollections evaporating,
these memento thoughts disappearing —
Such a queasy, erasure sensation
This fading identity illness
is a sickly feeling
I'm slowly beginning to comprehend
Alz is not well ... or ending well
When the leaves of your verses
which are petals fallen from the sky,
fall gently,
nature seeds will cover
your naked body... then it will be done
spring...
So let me be your lovely sun
let it be your summer, be your man
on moonlit nights...
Let me write history with you...
I will induce the sighs of the breezes
under our shelter and we will love each other
seasonally or forever...
As the seasons do,
continuously...!
Seeing Silent suddenly seems seasonally satisfying
I lived in a rural area until I was twenty years old. My home was adjacent to a farm where corn was grown and locally sold. Maples and pine trees clustered across from the uneven country road. I can still remember fragrance of flowers and pine that smelled so softy pretty. This pastoral scene was not far from the city. Only a few houses were near. Occasionally was spotted a rabbit or deer. A small number of cars passed. In the evening, their lights, amidst pitch darkness were cast. Unforgettable was the sight of fire flies blinking with their evening light.
A stream ran along a group of trees; a place forbidden, but as you know, that is exactly where children go. It was a few yards from the only childhood home I’ve known. My brother placed a board across the stream below. I was coaxed to go; moving cautiously slow. I trusted him; that is why, I still try. Not too far away was a little general store. The size did not matter, for there were candies and goodies galore. My sister and I engaged in all sorts of talk, as we took this freeing countryside walk. The threesome could sometimes be found playfully leaped around, and picked blackberries when seasonally found.
The house was quite small in size, and of three bedrooms comprised; my parents’, the one shared by my sister and me, and the other, for my brother. The dwelling still lives in my unconscious mind; I’m still there in dreams, where reality is blind. Arguments blemished the space, with memories stuck fast in place. There are also glimpses strong, where laughter belonged. That was the place where a dog named, Brownie, was born and lived thirteen years. My sister, older brother and I, with the saddest of tears, placed his large white tin bowl over his memory site. His name on the bottom; I was assigned to write. About two decades ago, the house was taken down without glory; part of my bitter- sweet childhood story. A spiritless group of professional offices now stand, on grounds, that once was my family's home and land.
09-04-15
7 Haiku Geese
Canadian Geese do point
Fly in ‘V’ shaped directives
Past’s learnt directions!
….didee © HAIKU
*Arrow signs direct
Sky-masses of geese elites
Comings and goings!
…..didee ©HAIKU
*All northern geese
Bid ‘fly-byes’ seasonally
Spring and winter tours!
….didee © HAIKU
Our geese have great flocks
Soaring far north in summer
Down south in winter!
….didee © HAIKU
Two pilots each tour
One Canadian goose ‘flagpoles
Two tails split ends!
…. didee © HAIKU
We waited the winter long
For your passing now in spring
Bringing summer soon!
….didee©HAIKU
Winter Leaves
by Odin Roark
Seemingly adrift
Without care
Emblematic of interim homelessness
Yet
They rest unraked
Awaiting the next frost
The next thaw
The cyclic disintegration
The sequence they know so well
Still
We
The conscious ones
See not the wisdom of their seasonal trial
That arctic-like mission
Taking them to where they need to be
Come spring
The mulch of the winter
Delivers the gift
The nutrients for realizing
Spring’s glory
The cycle’s inevitable reconnect
Some might see it like love
Except nature knows
Without the up down
Bloom /wilting
Life/ death
There is no continuum
Blossoming
Lest we forget
The same tree
Bush
Vine
Doesn’t pack it in
Just because
Temperatures go seasonally cold
When will we learn
The heart
The mind
The being
Like all of nature
Is meant to be susceptible?
And
Like our favorite flower
We too
Are vulnerable
The difference is
The plant knows
Cycles are not only innocent
They are like the nature of everything
Knowing reality loathes tampering
And perhaps
The reason leaves naturally go on
Nurture the next generation
Without agenda
Is they’re gifted over us
They don’t have sentience
To mess them up
"Ghost Gum Burns"
Ghost Gum burns
Inside a heart bleeds
lifted by fire tornado turns
(LadyLabyrinth/2020)
“My Lovely Jinn” / Johnny Hollow
https://youtu.be/kzXn__UAF0c
1.
Corymbia aparrerinja commonly known as ghost gum, is an evergreen tree that is native to Central Australia. It grows up to 20 metres in height and has smooth, white to cream and pink-tinged bark, which sheds seasonally in thin scales
2.Jinn: Collective Noun
Jinn is an Arabic collective noun deriving from the Semitic root jnn (Arabic), whose primary meaning is "to hide" or "to conceal".
3.Jinn: Genie (Supernatural/Islamic Mythology)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jinn
4. turn.
https://www.thefreedictionary.com/turn
How this world does effloresce and grow
Anywhere you look, up high and down low
Next to that rock, give it a short look
By something else, you possibly mistook
Lively, verdant acres unfold every year
And each winter do seasonally disappear
Returning upon the melting of each snow
Giving us existence and an outdoor show
What grows healthy next
for PositivEnergy Democracy,
dearest,
in your humble
not so LeftBrain dominant
NegativEnergy Supremacy
opinion?
EcoSchools for secularLeft-sacredRight education
teaching and listening
to non-violent communication
restoring healthy climates
empowering slow-grow transportation
systems going from WinLose
toward WinWin.
That sounds too active ego/eco-conscious discerning
perennial organic design
than I've known cooperatively-owned action,
implementation,
installation,
incarnation
then cumulative evaluation
and re-seeding co-investments
in further dawning spring
of health re-incarnations.
We'll love more closely EcoVillaged communities
creating co-housing neighborhood spaces
seasonally healthing ZeroZones
for redundant WinWin organic implementations,
experimentally renewable installations,
cooperatively resonant systemization,
resilient creolization.
At risk
of appearing too LeftBrain deductively ordering
and monoculturally neat and trimmed,
precisely demanding and tediously grim
and retributively commanding,
I do like you better flexibly complex
yet restoringly accessible
more than merely chaotically comprehensive.
And I appreciate
your post-millennial
smart 2020 ReVisioning Revolution
for Left-Right CoTherapeutic Justice
and global Work That ReConnects Peace,
my romantic honey pot.
More of a ZeroZone spot
really,
dear,
just a bit more
toward my YinSquared and Cubed
Centering Network.
Right with Left there?
Inside your WinWin echoing
sacred ecological
Yang BigBang binomial
bilateral
bicameral 2020 balancing revision?
Honey spot
needs to stop talking now
and I'm actively hoping you will talk less
and mentor more cooperatively
as swell
Western WinLose Work
and Eastern WinWin Play that Reconnects
Yang Ego-health
against pathology
and for Eco-wealth
Prime ZeroZone Relationship.
What's next
for Yang-Yin
Left-Right
PositivEnergy DiPolar Democracy
dear,
in your humble
not so LeftBrain dominant
Gaian ZeroZone Hypothesis?
With underlying arms well akimbo
Seductively they glance at each other
Smiles seasonally defined
Amidst celebration in the bed of rose
Gently they pulled their panties
Preaching to one another amidst copulation
The Bible too far from bed
Humbly replaced rubber cum metal
None was Godly alarmed
The Reason for the season ruefully undermined
Where then lies the climax
As ejaculation overtakes redemption
Who will save the saving Jesus
Lonely outstretched on the cross
Works already ongoing on the second grave
Christ Himself has run drought of blood
Where lies a candid remorse
For the pints already outpoured
Salvation has grown archaic
Wooing versus soul winning epitomize affray of the moment
How can the immoral game be refereed
The spinster is much in need of it
Gently lovely lowly she plays her wing
Who can suspend the salacious match
Time is here at hand
When Christ Himself shall arise with whistle
Showing the end of the match
And making selection for next league
Being the reason for the season
© Izunna I. Okafor 2017
Listen my children
and you shall hear
of the midnight ride
speeding greed will steer.
Just as our cooperative economy
is fueled by gratitude,
our competitive WinLose economy
is fueled by greed.
Other parallel points of contrast
ecologically and logically follow
in their own sweet and sour time.
Cooperative industry,
business
tribes
governments
systems and networks
enjoy organically limited slow-growth
in comparison
to capitalism and elitism and egotism
fast-growth
toward insufficiency of Earth's carrying capacity,
and Yang-dominant WinLose evolutionary enculturation
of Yang-Yin divisive survival stories--
Mom and Dad never could get along--
secularly supplanting sacred
Yin/Yang health/wealth thrival stories
of slow Paradise
revolving seasonally appropriate deep-ecological development,
listening to both redevelopment Left
and reverting-reverse-time decompositional analysis Right
of restoring nutritional-slow
and toxic-fast
health trends.
Further,
and don't fall asleep yet,
we're just getting to the best part,
slow grown cooperatives toward abundance
are dominated by matriarchal/patriarchal integrity stories
more than fast-paced
overshooting patriarchal Westerns with shot gun dissonance,
the chaos of believing and teaching
that justice is what comes out of the end of a rifle association,
incommensurability of values
across economically healthy corporations
as also ecologically wealthy organic-flowing incorporations,
both born of FatherSun
deductive LeftBrain enlightenment
and MotherEarth
inductive RightBrain polyphonic feelings
of color and sound
music and dance
in octave-fractal
slow-growth marches
toward salt marshes
predicting oceans
of YangLight
slow-breeding Yin-tides of revolution.
Matriarchy,
where what is embedded deepest
is also ethically and aesthetically highest
richest
healthiest.
Listen my children
and you shall hear
of the midnight ride
speeding greed will *****.
And everyone died alone unhappily ever after
as before.
A chilly mist hung in the air that Sunday morning in April when I pulled up in front of Harpers Grove Community Church. The gravel parking lot was rapidly filling up, and folks, nodding cordially to each other, were threading their way through neat rows of parked cars. Several young men, lingering over a last cigarette, checked out the strange car with the out-of-state license plate. When the last one ground out his smoke beneath new wingtips and disappeared into the vestibule, I stepped out of my car to get a better look at the churchyard.
It was much as I remembered it. The giant oak still towered precariously over the narthex. The mulberry bushes and hedging were sprouting seasonally, and faded daffodils clung to overgrown stalks. An atmosphere of unkemptness pervaded the place, but I couldn't quite determine what made it seem so. The sloped slate roof obviously needed attention.
The old whitewashed privies had disappeared, and, in some previous year, an educational wing had been tacked onto the rear of the frame building, brick and businesslike. Essentially, however, it was the same church house I had come to from the day I was born until our family moved away during my first year in high school.
EIGHTH PLACE WINNER
September 21, 2022
Submitted to "Chapter 1 Poetry Contest"
Sponsored by Matt Caliri
The weatherman predicted warmth
And so I ditched my socks.
I felt a little chill which vanished
After several blocks.
My ankle wore a bracelet which
Had languished, calmly waiting,
Until my foot was sockless
To break free of hibernating.
And as I strolled the sunny streets,
Sans socks but thus adorned,
I thought of my beloved boots,
Now seasonally scorned.
I’ll wear them once again this fall
With socks, I guarantee,
But now I’m just delighted
To be bare beneath the knee!
Near the river,children,
newly married women,
neighbours and relations
neatly dressed, wear threads on
necks, men wear threads on wrists
Next aarti's shown, to greet
Nation's pride Cauvery
Note:
South Indians rely on River Cauvery for the irrigated agriculture.Since the river experiences water flow seasonally, people are always excited to welcome and they celebrate the day(the water comes from the dam) as AADI PERUKKU. During this day,they tie knots on their necks and welcome the water by showing aarti(a form of puja,where the light from mudllamp and camphor along with flowers are offered) and peform several rituals.