Best Unseasonably Poems
Upon the arc rises familiar visage of tenebrous dawn
As birdsongs protest, yet another day gone wrong,
In anguish of emptiness thrashing~ stygian, forlorn,
Screaming relentlessly of despondent, indignant void
Blasting his emotions, clasped in poignant thoughts.
Nothingness was the theme of his darkened night
That brazenly shrouded luminance of starlit skies,
As the waxing moon turned pallid, refusing to shine
And benevolence of Venus dolefully uttered a sigh
When dreams, too, acceded to nightmares’ assault.
Life has been a long journey, trekking hills of misery
In hollow pursuit of hope, always despaired trying~
Every forward step of progress unresponsive, lacking
To rescue him from oblivion, from gravity of abyss,
Where silence echoes fear, warning there is no exit.
He knows intimately, she too feels dread of anxiety:
Of ocean-storms unseasonably rushing summer heat,
Parching her delicate notions of blossoming spring,
Of harsh winters encroaching on her autumns fiercely;
Yet, she stands steadfastly, defying the curse of grief.
Prodding goodwill of divinity she tolls bells of harmony
Giving voice and meaning to life’s reassuring feelings
Clamoring for a day to brighten halo of their morning,
Demanding relief; with her clenched fists at the ready…
Forever, if it takes that long, to alter path of destiny.
December 20, 2021
Poem of the day on December 22, 2021
Placed 1st: Pick-A-Title, Vol 27 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title: A Shout Into The Void
An unseasonably warm November day
In my yard the unsuspecting children play
Left in my loving care with words unsaid
Unaware of the tears they would shed
Future's written, words are hurled
Only eight but a girl of the world
Hair of gold, no worries, no cares
Not ready for what life would bear
"Where's daddy?, He didn't say goodnight
It's not like him, it doesn't seem right
Something's wrong, I need him now
Take me to him, take me right now"
My tears did fall that solemn night
My brother walked into the light
Taken too soon, no chance to fight
A child's nightmare, an uncles fright
Fourteen years and the tears still fall
His life was perfect, he had it all
A wife, two kids, God his right hand man
Succumbing to the fate of His master plan
My heart still bleeds for my sweet little niece
"Goodbye my daddy, may you rest in peace"
**Looking for constructive criticism...please voice your opinions**
revised***
An unseasonably warm autumn day
in the yard unsuspecting children play.
Left in loving care with words unsaid
unaware of tears she soon would shed.
Futures are written, words are hurled,
only eight, a girl of the world
hair of gold, no worry, no care.
Not ready for what life would bear.
Where is daddy?, He didn't say goodnight.
It's not like him, it just doesn't seem right.
Something is wrong, I need my daddy now.
Take me to him, take me to him right now.
Many tears fell that solemn eve
dear father, into the light did leave.
Taken too soon, no chance to fight
child's nightmare, an uncles fright.
Fourteen years have passed and tears still fall
His life seemed perfect, thought he had it all.
A wife, two kids, God as his right hand man
succumbing the fate of His master plan.
Sad hearts still bleed for this sweet little niece.
Goodbye my daddy, may you rest in peace.
An unseasonably warm November day
In my yard the unsuspecting kids play
Left in my loving care with words unsaid
Unaware of the tears they would shed
Future's written, words are hurled
Only eight but a girl of the world
Hair of gold, no worries, no cares
Not ready for what life would bear
Where's daddy?, He didn't say goodnight
It's not like him, it doesn't seem right
Something's wrong, I need him now
Take me to him, take me right now
My tears did fall that very night
My brother walked into the light
Taken too soon, no chance to fight
A child's nightmare, an uncles fright
Fourteen years and the tears still fall
His life was perfect, he had it all
A wife, two kids, God his right hand man
Succumbing to the fate of His master plan
My heart still bleeds for my sweet little niece
Goodbye my daddy, may you rest in peace
Glorious sunny days of late
such warmth and so inviting
buds burst into flower
every minute of every hour
say goodbye to winter gloom
cold and dismal winter days
for spring is here the sun is out
and I am off to catch some rays
But oh that wind is getting stronger
blowing from the West
experts forecast snow and rain
so put away my summer dress
for it is only early March
seduced by February’s warmth
spring really has not sprung at all
where did I put my cashmere shawl
So warn those budding shrubs and trees
the wind and snow is on the way
and tell the buds they should stay put
too early for their spring display
such cold and windy weather today
for those who live within the UK
Storm Freya is the culprit
for Freya is her name
and any damage she may cause
Freya must take the blame
Written 2nd March 2019
Our unseasonably warm weather comes to an end with the threat of Storm Freya – she is certainly no friend!
Contest A STRAND (1067)
Sponsor Brian Strand
FIRST PLACE
Wednesday, January 27th,
unseasonably warm by a few degrees
black and white of old snow
and soon to be new trees rest
against smoldering grey clouds.
The “wolfy” wind rests
tired from Tuesday’s “huffing and puffing”.
An urgent stillness greets the silence,
birds warily peer from stilled hangouts,
discarded food wrappers sleep in the alleys,
“Old Glory” hangs listless and burdened,
soft yellow windows blink – focus on the day.
A lone dog barks reclaiming his territory
from the nightly interlopers,
in the distance coyote’s yip
calling the children home to bed.
The old clock ticks as the sun
struggles to disperse the cloudy veil,
filtered light casting no shadows
on the black and white union of grey.
John G. Lawless
1/27/2016
THE SWAN
It’s unseasonably warm
The sun is high
And I’ve wandered down among the rushes
Bare-legged, knobby kneed, warm mud oozing between my toes
When she catches my eye as she slowly slides by
This graceful swan
No alarm shown, no ruffling of feathers, no hurry
She continues on, close to the bank
And, after a certain spell, is gone
I gaze up into a cloudless sky – one gull gliding high
And suddenly I am one – for but a moment –
With some formless, sandy jelly
Inched ashore from the hot primordial sea
This sense scalds, travels the length of me
And only a close reappearance of that lovely swan
Brings me back to reality
This poem was inspired by Andrea Dietrich's charming book, Prosies. If you haven't read it, I urge you to buy a copy =
Shadow Poetry
1209 Milwaukee Street
Excelsior Springs MO 64024
Cracked open like a jar of peanut-butter,
the mind is emptied
With a certain medicative methodism
That would be habitual,
were it done more frequently.
A few things escape,
Like the shopping list left behind on the coffee table
Or the milk that was to be purchased.
So many other things, which were only just things really,
Seem to linger like the plague.
Old telephone numbers cling to the crevices,
Rotting away with the names of former lovers
And something that once resembled guilt.
A constant ticker tape of obligations and responsibility
Clicks as it spits out the duties of the hour,
Constantly moving along to its unheard song
Between two unlistening ears.
In between are flashes of color,
Of autumn leaves and unseasonably bare legs
That grow goosebumps in short shorts
and a cold breeze.
Observations couple with imagination
To form shapes and sounds
And olfactory stimulation
That was never anything more
than perfume in the wind.
To finalize the transaction,
The doorway to the mind
collapses upon itself,
Smothering hot embers into nothing more
than dank smoke and steam.
As the last gasp of airflow is fused shut
By the rush of busy-ness and day to day
A single breath leaks out, that had once simmered
On the lips of a beautiful woman.
"Un besito," she had whispered passionate once,
Two words that meant more than the world.
Soft as a snowflake falls
and melts on the earth still warm
December roses dare to bloom
Winter is calling her seasons firm
Like a love that is fragile and shy
December roses unseasonably stay
soon the winds of winter will arrive
and blow your petals away
The nights frost is heavy
the winds chill the ground
the snow begins falling so strong
In snowflakes the roses drown
Beauty can be fragile
with a smile that is wry
Nature enforces her seasons
December roses freezing goodbye
Like a love short but long remember
December roses dare to display
pretty roses to treasure
gifted by warmth of odd December days
One rose the month surrender
into a poetry book I pressed
So I can look and remember
December roses of warmth's kiss
No matter unseasonably
blustery March like weather
prevails across my neck of the woods
(Southeastern Montgomery County, Pennsylvania)
and across the main body
of these United States of America
particularly original Thirteen Colonies
global warming alive and well
and promises to return
with a vengeance
after station identification.
Find out pertinent ice age accouterments;
gear up as soon as possible
with suitable and necessary arctic trappings
by accessing without delay
https://icetrek.com/equipment-guide.
Researchers used data on Earth's orbit
to find the historical warm
interglacial period that looks
most like the current one
and predicted that the next ice age
would usually begin within 1,500 years.
Now back to regularly scheduled program
donned and trumpeted as poetic blurb.
Incumbent onus warrants immediate action
to stem tide of global warming
or erect breakers to thwart dire crisis,
cuz figurative and literal tsunami
in the offing gathering strength.
Plethora of humans (think overpopulation)
directly linkedin to planet Earth dire strait
re: environmental catastrophe, née debacle
teeters along brink tipping point inevitably
pitching civilization headlong into oblivion
*****sapiens (minus those living off grid)
admirably self sufficient unto themselves,
perhaps ecological intentional community
while yours truly, one guilt ridden wordsmith
laments impacting minimal carbon footprint
(courtesy these thankful little feet size nine+)
nonetheless psychological torment wracks
lovely bones garden variety/generic human
specifically comprising complex edifice me
Matthew Scott Harris riven with loathsome
abomination, constipation, indignation, et al
mustered, tethered, yoked into capitalistic,
commercialistic, consumeristic ditto et alia
versus altruistic holistic, simplistic again re:
call synonymous words regarding contrast
between belching, exhausting, and polluting
(naming three adjectives describing impact
predominantly nsync with prophetic albeit,
profit oriented profligate, profane paradigm
unleashing immense global carbon emissions.
Rain
Rain is needed as we enter the outer limits of October
And sunny California is unseasonably very warm
It’s very dry as we approach the entry way to November
Nevertheless, weather experts are predicting El Niño storms
10232015contest
It snowed in Baghdad yesterday;
The Whales will have to find
Somewhere else to go;
The Islands are SOLD OUT.
The traffic in the sky
Is going to get worse;
As the Earth floods again,
The Lost City of New Orleans comes to mind.
Noah looked out his window,
And it was unseasonably warm,
Not a cloud in the sky.
He decided to go fishing,
But when he got to the ocean
They told him it was CLOSED for renovations.
The gods looked up from
Their studio apartment in the ghetto.
"He doesn't realize the flood
Will come from below,"
One of them says, which is not important.
“The land named by RED which was inappropriately christened
For one thing it is not, GREEN
Is the stage it will take place on.”
"The people want to know WHEN?" the God of Traffic asks.
"Tell them, sooner than you think,"
Says the God of Money,
Who knows death is imminent.
The Almighty Dollar goes home,
And takes a bath with a bread maker,
As Noah tries to resurrect
A miniature version of his ark inside a bottle of ABSOLUT.
By: Joseph DeMarco
A sultry Sunday afternoon at Shady Acres, unseasonably warm for February. Outside not a breath of air stirs. Heat, a shimmering wall, rises from a blacktopped circular drive. Sprinklers spray, and water sweeps in waves splashing on red-flowering bottlebrush shrubs that hummingbirds love so well. Inside are comfortable chairs and couches covered in cool Haitian cotton, area rugs with a Persian design in rose and beige, potted ficus and dwarf palms, and prints of quaking aspens and gardens artfully arranged on eggshell-tinted walls.
In this tranquil, tasteful place where no one really wants to be, an old woman sits alone in a corner staring vacantly out a window, a smudged and faded valentine clasped tightly in her gnarled right hand, the words "Will you be…" barely legible after so many years.
She sits where she sits every day, patiently waiting for something…or someone…she can't quite remember which. Perhaps it's the old man sitting alone in another corner of the same room staring out another window, trying to remember somewhere he was supposed to go, something he needed to do, someone he wanted to see.
Author's note: Dear reader, this is not, of course, a poem...exactly...but, since it's far too short to qualify as a story, perhaps it can pass as a "vignette" for Valentine's Day.
Unseasonably freezing,
yet passengers travel in drove
with alacrity and continuity.
the day seems so busy
that time flies so quickly.
It’s a day-to-day routine
no one is spared
yet most remain quiet
while they head for work,
school or elsewhere.
There’s a growing delay
whenever it rains;
cars and other vehicles
squeeze in to other lanes
trying to speed up;
this makes me realize
it’s not good to hurry up
for accidents may happen.
It’s good to say,
‘take it easy man!’
as most Yankees would quip
life can be easy,
with that attitude –
openness and patience.
Like A Fire Cat - Teaser Taste Of Spring...
Did Fistbump With Ole Man Winter
Once again, this fella alights
this poetaster and trots out weather,
nope not cuz freezing cold bites,
this poetic instance highlights
spate of unseasonably warm temperatures
circa early February 2019,
melting oppressive plights,
whereby totally tubular solar balm
energizes and alights
to zoom into heavenly heights
pleasantly zapping dendrites
with heaven sent
sunny rays, which excites
every fiber of this fella, writes,
a diametrically opposite
meteorological pleasure
pitch perfect to fly kites
versus torturous blast, sans
polar vortex arctic
cold one futilely fights,
where no complaint as
ecstasy knows no heights,
asper in above average winter
cathartically, holistically,
therapeutically... quiets
cabin fever with sneak
preview of summer -
skipping over stone temple rites
of spring despite dramatic
unseasonably warm weather
this anomaly nonetheless delights
this wordsmith voluntarily
holed up days and nights
from bone chilling, crushing brutal
(cudgel wielding) cold
understandably inducing flights
of fantasy imagining
(like...just yesterday)
hightailing to tropical
island paradise sights
blinds this sun worshipper
twittering revelling,
basking with robins
noah matter an old gipper
slakes insatiable thirsts
nsync with teetotaling
brewster herbalist honeydripper
ah... methinks this clime
makes me chipper
recalling good ole times
feeling like a day tripper
sprawled out atop roofed mansion
fronting happy hunting grounds
upon memory steadfast gripper
amidst haunting demesne
of "Glen Elm" transformed
courtesy where backhoes did stripper
of native flora and fauna
into ticky tack vinyl city for hipper
crats all in the name of progress!
.
He Wears a Blue Hot Uniform
On this unseasonably July hot afternoon,
The wet postman with weary steps, trods down the sidewalk home.
An ill-clad lady caught him crushing her lingering white flowers,
And though she was annoyed, would not
Scold him, but, instead,
She wouldst hand him a cold cloth and water for his dripping head,
Pat him on his shoulder, pick up a a dirty dropped letter,
And then retreat into her air-conditioning.
On this unseasonably July hot afternoon.