Best Seasonsold Poems
They are along the edge of the woods,
in the meadow along the mighty river,
in a little crack in the drive way,
in orderly spaces in well groomed gardens.
They are in old, forgotten cemetaries,
in hedgerows along schools and shopping centers,
in ballfields, along ponds and ditches,
they popp up on cliffs, on top of windy hills,
in an old and abandoned flowerbox,
or almost empty clay pots.
They grace parking lots, the side of the highway,
they wind up mighty trees, fences and gates,
they thrive between the corn, wheat and barley,
they climb old barns, forgotten homesteads,
they spread out when left unattended,
to mark the spot a family once,
so many years ago, took pride in owning.
They are a prophet of seasons to come,
they are a splash of cheer and color,
they are visited by bees, bugs and butterflies,
they soothe us with their eternal scents,
and they always bring a smile to my face.
A flower so blooms through the new fallen snow
While wicked old winter’s wind wistfully blows
Allowing a glimpse, of spring through the white
Though old mister winter kisses green grass goodnight
A sign of the future, a welcoming spring
The flower gave hope, despite white suffering
It told of its virtue, its strength and its pride
And said, though it’s winter, it shan’t ever hide
For there in the distance you can see spring draw near
Winter will end soon, just like year after year
The winter days drag and drag
the frown on my face increasingly sags
turning me into a haggard old hag
my husband continues to nag and nag
he's tired of living in ratted old rags
time is frozen and forever lags
this season is one big snag after snag
by: Virginia Frayer
The rain fell and the frost came.
Pavements became sheets of glass
waiting for unsteady limbs,
ready for their fall.
The back door opened,
shuffling feet made
there way down a glistening path,
an old key to this problem
held tight in the palm of a hand.
When...
Slip Bang Jolt!
Stars appeared
before dark.
Pain made his
presence
known.
Jack Frost
laughed loudly.
The old bag of salt
sat in the musky shed
looking almost tierd and worn.
It was time again for it
to see the light of day,
to once more do battle,
scratch and scrape that glass
beyond repair and dissolve
any hope of another ambush.
Jack Frost was
about to be
assaulted.
The element of surprise
was perhaps lost,
but the element of
Sodium Chloride
was about to
wage war and win.
All day the air had been so warm and still,
dry as the desert sands, that was until
a worn out old sun that had shone at his best
put on his night cap and sank in the west,
Once twilight had faded, clouds started to form,
then came the start of a fierce summer storm!
Whoosh! the winds, whistling and whipping the trees,
bending the old oaks and elms with great ease,
and through the windows, sharp flashes of light,
piercing the black of the midsummer night,
Crack! as great thunderclaps rolled overhead,
making us shiver and shake in our bed!,
the rain makes it's entrance, oh, what a beat!,
so heavy, so loud, like a thousand clogged feet!
on rooftops, on gravel, on everyone's lawn!,
just as quick as it started, all was over by dawn.
Sunshine drifted through the marred pane;
Diffused, wavering, casting shadows in the room,
Wandering through the corners and the closet.
Spring arrived suddenly in this prairie land,
Melting dirty piles of old snow,
Turning farmyards into sloppy mires of mud.
Fresh air rushed into the old barn
Raising small, golden bits of last year’s hay,
Bringing tears to the man milking the black and white cow.
Lilacs sat upon the dinner table that night,
Lingering scent on the hands of the old woman who cut them;
Promising winter is now behind.
On a calm summer evening,
just minutes after four,
clouds wrap the horizon
with an head above it’s core.
An elderly store owner
observes from his door,
staring the dark mass
as its thunderheads soar.
He stares them in silence
as they soar from the west.
As stray clouds darken,
blending with the rest.
He’s suddenly growing fearful,
and wants to get away.
But the nearest town
is ten miles away.
Suddenly, a black funnel
stretches down to the ground.
It dances before him
with a roaring sound.
The wind bends the trees,
and leaves begin to soar.
It blows his hat off,
and rushes through the door.
So he runs back inside,
and stumbles to the floor,
as the large violent storm
shows its fury even more.
The old man gets up,
and dashes to the back,
as the wood around the door
begins to tear and crack.
He drops to the floor
and keeps his head down,
as the vicious cyclone
rips through the town.
The windows shatter quickly,
spraying glass in the air.
Debris is tossed around him,
falling everywhere.
As the ferocious wind
passes the door,
its vacuum effect
yanks furniture from the store.
A few minutes later,
the storm moves away,
on course to threaten
the next town’s day.
The wind begins to cease,
diminishing to a breeze.
So the old man gets up,
and rests upon his knees.
He rises slowly,
and creeps to the door,
stepping on glass
all over the floor.
After reaching the entrance,
he looks out to his right,
and spots the black funnel
soaring out of sight.
The piercing sound of a roosters crow
Wakes me from a sound slumber.
I quietly stumble out of bed
I walk to the bay window and glance out
Into the corn fields. What a beautiful day.
I thought as I hastily put on my clothes
A bright, sunny, warm day
I walk out on the front porch
Where mom and I had played games
The night before
The warm crisp summery breeze brushes
By me.
The sun casts its radiant light on my
Flushed cheeks
And casts its shadows on the old red barn
I catch a whiff of a sun kissed watermelon
Still on the vine.
Off in the distance I hear the dull wale of a herd of cows
Chuck our old German Shepard lazily strolls by
And settles down on a pile of hay dad had raked
Next to the house a few weeks back
Tired I suppose from chasing birds.
What a peaceful day it is out here in the country
Trees, stand tall and bare
I wonder if they are cold, I am
I shiver as I write
Trucks and buses
Travel by loudly
Snow flying off
Cars
Parked crooked, dented hood
Wind barely blowing
But it's still cold
It freezes the little bit of faith I had
Puddles stream from one end of the parking lot
Drop a rock in the puddle
Watch the rings form bigger
Smell of cafeteria and fresh rain
Clouds cover the dark and gloomy sky
Leaves
None
No leaves, No heart
I feel bare, and forgotten
Birds fly over head
Screeching loudly
I wish I could fly
I wish I was free
Windows tinted dark
Reflecting the gloomy light
Snow piles half melted
Hidden under trees and bushes
Flag flapping in the wnd
Empty, no people
But us few searching for a story to tell
I have one
Few people linger past
Ground is rough
Grass short and yellow
Squishy
I step and leave my mark
Few houses sit near with no noise or movement
Make me feel empty
With no feelings
Old picnic table sits alone
In the shade of an old bare tree
Blue paint peeled off
Showing its real old brown color
Peoples names, dates, and little sayings
Carved into the remaining blue paint
Empty tennis court
one single ball rolls across the ground
Look around, feel the breeze, smell the rain
Catch the essence of this place.
With winter gone
The spring thaw
Moved quietly over the land
Revealing an old summer road
That led high up
Into the tall mountains
While winter flourished
All about the forest
I patiently waited
For the warmth of spring
So I might take this road
Over the foothills
To the high mountain lake
I remember many years ago
The first time I came upon
This old mountain road
Back then the road
Like myself, was young
With its wild flower path
That led to the very top
What I remember most
Was the sound of the forest
And the crackling
Of last years dry leaves underfoot
As I hiked up the path
It seems strange
When I think about it
But, from what I remember
The springs back then
Were more colorful
And the sky much fuller
Than they seem these days
I realize now
That the eyes of a young man
See things quite differently
And as the years pass by
Memories seem embellished
By the passing of time