Best Seasoned Poems

~

Winter breathes in sepia tones along a lonely two lane street
divided amongst the sweeping frozen dunes
now forced into shouldered amnesty

Street lights shiver in snowcapped bonnets
while sidewalks sleep ‘neath blankets of flittering flakes
The air, frigidly crisp…moves of tiny chiffon sparkles dancing

Rooftops, plump and soft, show off...

Continue reading...

What, if any, shall my love be; if tho is not there in the meadow of our season? Will our love wilt as flowers do in the burning sun without thy water to sip into its roots? Shall we not meet by the tree in...

Continue reading...

I've been meaning to write for a long time. 
but sometimes 
my words willingly remain hostage 
in my heart. 
Not wanting to be heard.
Covered and crumpled.
I cannot sink in 
I am 18.
it's frightening,
Getting old
my mind is somewhere between
the land and the sky, 
wishing to fly,...

Continue reading...

I used to claim, I'm just getting old til
a friend said, "no, seasoned", with a gentle scold.
It does sound better. I must admit, but am still
pondering which spices fit?
Was I seasoned by the sea with its salty air?
Am I spiced by my anger which at...

Continue reading...

A nonchalant twist of an age 
freckled wrist
The cast finished in the stance 
of an archer
A long languid shimmering line 
slowly slips
Arcs, hovers then drops on the 
water...

Continue reading...

The Seasoned Commuter

On The platform for ten to seven
No more trains if I get to heaven
Coffee and paper held in each hand
Bought a new ticket, cost me four grand!
The train is on time, not running late
I need three hands or maybe a plate?
I’m near the...

Continue reading...

She used to think she was too thin. 
Probably because everyone referred 
to her as skinny. Her older brother 
called her bony butt, to her chagrin.
If.......if only the curves would come.
At sixteen they surreptitiously arrived.
Curves on curves that brought too
much unwanted and embarrassing 
attention from...

Continue reading...

He sits under the trees of the garden,
As unto the voice of his maker he hearkens,
A pillar of light is he as the world darkens,
Declaring the gospel's true pattern,

Humbled,he stands in the courts of his accusers,
Smiling at the fowl word of his criticizers,
As he diligently...

Continue reading...

There’s nothing so fine as a bright April Day
A light breeze blowing through the sycamores
The backyard squirrels have come out to play,
An adventure kind of day I can’t stay indoors.
Chores to be done, but spring fever has struck
The meadow beckons for an afternoon stroll,
Then to...

Continue reading...

seasoned blossoms
wilted in the garden.......
new lines in her face

____________________
6/9/17...

Continue reading...

We boomers, as our generation’s called,
have lived through two seasons, considered great,
during which our values were overhauled --
The Summer of Love and Autumn of Hate.
Both brought us together and gave us hope.
In the face of injustice, both were staged --
the first, a celebration with free...

Continue reading...

Vibrant fertility;
bountiful guardians adorn your embrace.
Fallen soldiers; 
lay limp scattered on the firm ground. 
Naked abandonment;
vulnerability exposed for all humanity.
Reawakened hope; 
dewy beads spring new beginnings.

Written by: Diana-Marie Bombardieri
January 08, 2012...

Continue reading...

I tuned into yesterday's presidential debate
where neither candidate came across great.
Two seasoned horses at the gate, one will
determine this country's fate.
Too many problems on our plate and they
began to argue about some thing innate..
The borders, inflation, and two wars in our
lap and these old blokes...

Continue reading...

We are close for perfection.
The neon lights tired walls,
The downy smell of misty
Steps is but for demanding
Nostrils gone astray by dawn.
Springs comes and goes 
A whimsical frail thought
Caught between rain and pain,
One kind of lump that grows
Inside the pernicious heart. 
Summer has not caught up...

Continue reading...

A SEASONED SONG
rose,oh rosemary
sweet aroma to me,
fragrant,my thyme with thee;
lovely lemon balm
ope'd hand is my palm,
mark! love's finger print,
indelibl'd with mint;
hold sweet basil at bay,
hark! these sage words I say
my evening primrose,
see my ardour grows
aside the mistletoe.
Such is this feverfew
in my lovage for you

Listen to...

Continue reading...